Author: Momo Chan

I was born cursed. Whatever terrible thing I spoke aloud—it came true. To protect Cole, I spent three years in silence, swallowing every word that climbed up my throat. But he always came to me in the dead of night, pressing me to speak—begging me to curse him. “Just say I’ll get hit by a car,” he’d whisper. “Say the company’s going under.” And when I finally broke—when I screamed every ugly curse I had—he kissed the tears off my face with something that looked so much like love. I thought he was holding space for the darkest part of me. Until the words appeared, floating in the air above his head like closed captions scrolling across a screen: [Cole’s performance is FLAWLESS. Using the law of conservation, he transfers Zoe’s curses onto himself—only for the disaster to rebound entirely onto Zoe, canceling out Iris’s death flag!] [Poor stand-in. She’s about to take the hit for the multi-car pileup that was meant for the female lead!] The love in my throat curdled into something iron and sweet. No wonder every curse I spoke landed on me instead of him. The system prompt appeared in my peripheral vision: Death flag countdown: 3 days. To survive: strike back. Now. Cole was watching me, expectant and soft-eyed. “Come on. One more. Tell me you wish I were dead.” I smiled. My eyes went cold. “Cole.” I said his name like a door clicking shut. “Since you want to hear it so badly.” “Then I wish you a long life. And the loneliness to match.” … He blinked. Then he laughed—fond and exasperated—and dragged his thumb across the tip of my nose. “Zoe. What kind of curse is that?” “Long life is a gift. And lonely?” He pulled me against his chest, his chin resting on my forehead. “As long as you’re here, how could I ever be lonely?” The gesture was so practiced it made my ribs ache. I almost believed him again—until the next line appeared, bold and blood-red: [LMAO, he thinks that was a joke. She meant every word. He’s reading sincerity as flirting!] [MOVE IT. The female lead’s death flag just spiked! We need a nastier curse—NOW!] [Hold steady, Cole! One more round. Get her to curse a car accident tonight, and Iris’s flight lands safe tomorrow!] I went rigid. My fingernails pressed crescents into my palms. So that’s what it was. Three years of silence—and to him, I was just a battery. Something to charge. Every late-night coaxing. Every “just say it, baby.” All of it was fuel he was feeding to another woman’s fire. “You’re shaking,” he said. His hand moved to my back, slow and warm. “Did I scare you?” “Don’t be scared, Zoe.” He kissed the top of my head. “Just say the words. The bad energy leaves with them. I stay safe. That’s all.” “Just one more sentence.” “Say I’ll get in a wreck. Say I won’t make it out.” He cupped my face. His eyes were full of something that should have been love. But underneath—urgency. A clock ticking. He was waiting for me to load Iris Langford’s death onto my own back. The iron taste in my throat got worse. The system’s countdown detonated somewhere behind my eyes: Death flag countdown: 2 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes. Host’s vitals in critical decline. Strike back immediately. Strike back? I looked at the face I had loved for five years. God, it was disgusting. I opened my mouth. My voice came out raw. “Cole.” He lit up. “Yeah?” “Since you want it so much—” I pulled my lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I wish you a love that lives across an ocean. One that can never close the distance.” “I wish you betrayal. Ruin. A name no one respects.” “I wish you the permanent loss of everything you love.” Cole’s smile froze. The script overhead went berserk: [What the—why is she going off-script?] [That curse… something’s wrong with it.] [Whatever, bad words are bad words! Law of conservation: ACTIVATED!] The air thickened. Cole’s expression flickered—irritation, then the mask slipping back into place. He exhaled like someone tolerating a difficult child. “Zoe. Stop messing around.” “That kind of curse doesn’t work. It’s too vague.” “I need specifics.” He gripped my shoulders hard. “Say I’ll bleed. Say I’ll break a leg. Say it.” I wanted to. But I was already paying. The moment those curses left my mouth, the rebound hit—a fist closing around my heart, darkness crowding the edges of my vision. “Cole—” I folded into him, and a mouthful of blood bloomed red across his white shirt. Vivid. Impossible to look away from. Cole’s pupils blew wide. Not from grief. The script confirmed it: [YES! She’s bleeding! Rebound complete!] [Female lead’s flight hit turbulence—but she’s through it! The stand-in just bought her safe landing with a mouthful of blood!] Cole caught me, his voice tight with urgency. “Zoe! What happened—call an ambulance!” Panic written all over his face. But the arms holding me—steady as stone. Not a tremor. And his eyes kept drifting down to his watch. Calculating the minutes until Iris’s wheels touched ground.

I woke up alone in a hospital room. The only company was the system panel hovering at eye level: Strike back progress: 5%. Death flag countdown: 2 days, 20 hours. I stared at the ceiling and let myself remember how it started. Three years ago, I first understood what I was. I’d muttered “that project of Cole’s is going to tank”—and the next morning his firm was raided and shuttered. I’d said “that streetlight looks like it’s about to fall”—and a second later it collapsed on top of him, putting him in the ICU. So I went quiet. For him. Three years of swallowing every word. He held me and said, “It’s okay, Zoe. I don’t blame you.” I thought it was grace. It was grooming. He was fattening the lamb. The door opened. Cole walked in carrying a thermos, looking hollow-eyed and raw. “You’re up.” He crossed to the bed fast, shadows under his eyes, voice scraped thin. “You scared me. Doctor says it was acute stress—sudden hemorrhage.” “Why did you just start bleeding like that?” He filled a small bowl from the thermos and held it to my lips. “Here. Eat something.” I turned my head away. “Still upset with me?” He set the bowl down, patient as ever, and took my hand—the one without the IV. His voice turned careful, sincere. “Zoe. This was therapy. The doctor said the only way to break a psychological block is to face it—say the thing you’re afraid of saying.” “I was doing this for you.” Right. For me. If I hadn’t seen the script, I’d already be crying. [This man deserves an Oscar and a restraining order.] [“Therapy.” Sure. It’s called energy transfer, but okay!] [Something just went wrong on the female lead’s end—Cole’s here to refuel. Classic move.] His phone buzzed. One glance at the screen and something shifted in his face. His grip on my hand tightened. Eyes sharpening. “Zoe—can you do one more thing for me?” I said nothing. “The new development site. There might be an issue.” He frowned like a man carrying a great weight. “If something goes wrong, I’m finished. Everything gone.” “Just say the building’s going to collapse. Say it, and it won’t. Negative times negative.” He watched me hopefully. I almost laughed. When had I never noticed how full of holes his logic was? If negatives cancelled out, why did every curse I spoke land on me? “Cole.” I pulled my hand back. My voice came out flat and dry. “I’m tired.” “I’m done talking.” He went still. Like the version of me that had always said yes was a person he hadn’t prepared for losing. “Zoe.” The warmth drained from his tone. “Don’t be difficult.” “Think about the workers. Dozens of them. Their families.” “Could you really live with yourself if something happened to them?” There it was. The move he always fell back on. Old me would have caved—stammered a curse through the guilt, bled for it, called it love. But I had seen the script: [Iris just arrived at the construction site! CURSE IT NOW—a steel beam is about to go!] Right. Not workers. Not lives at stake. Iris Langford had decided to take a site visit. I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. “If it’s going to fall, stop building it.” “You—” Cole shot to his feet. The chair scraped back like a slap. “You’ve changed, Zoe.” He looked down at me from above, and all the patience had gone out of his voice. “You used to be reasonable.” You used to be easy to manipulate, he meant. “My throat hurts,” I said. “I can’t talk.” Cole breathed in sharply, reining himself in. Then the script flashed red: [DANGER. Beam’s loose! Ten seconds!] [Male lead—FORCE IT. Now!] He lunged forward and grabbed my jaw. His fingers bit in hard enough to bruise. “Say it.” His eyes had gone somewhere far and wild. “Say the building falls! Say it right now!” “Zoe. Don’t make me hate you.”

My jaw felt like it was being crushed. I stared up at the stranger wearing Cole’s face. Five years. This is who I loved for five years. For another woman, he didn’t hesitate for a second. “…” A sound clawed its way out of me. Cole eased his grip slightly, a flicker of hope crossing his face. “Good. Say it. Once you do, it’s over. We’re both fine.” I looked at him. At the countdown flickering above his head. [5. 4. 3…] “Cole.” I exhaled. “I wish your building…” Cole held his breath. “…stands forever. Strong as bedrock. Never falls.” His face collapsed. The script erupted: [WHAT?! A reverse blessing?!] [Wait—she’s cursed, not blessed. Good words from her mouth mean NOTHING—] [Oh no. Oh no no no. The female lead has no buffer now. The beam is actually dropping!] Cole let go of me and scrambled for his phone. It was already ringing before he got it out. His hands shook as he answered. “Iris? You okay?! Are you hurt—” From the speaker: chaos. Shouting. A siren starting up somewhere. “Cole…” Her voice was small and trembling, the voice of someone who had just been grazed by something enormous. “I’m so scared… a beam just came down… it missed me by inches…” Cole’s knees nearly buckled. “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay—” He kept repeating it, half prayer, half unraveling. I watched him from the bed with cold clarity. My reverse blessing hadn’t shielded her. But it had disrupted the equation. Without a genuine curse to feed the transfer, Iris’s plot armor couldn’t hold. She’d gotten lucky. Just lucky. Cole ended the call and turned to me. The look on his face was terrifying. “You did that on purpose.” He moved toward the bed slowly. “Do you have any idea how close she came? One centimeter, Zoe. One centimeter and her face—” “That was an accident,” I said. “Accident?” He laughed—a short, ugly sound—and reached out and ripped the IV from my arm. Blood welled at the needle site. I winced but kept my expression flat. “Since you won’t curse anything,” he said, pulling me off the bed by the wrist, “you’re coming to the site. You can look those workers in the eye.” “You can watch what your silence almost cost.” “Cole. I’m still a patient—” “You’ll live.” He cut me off, already dragging me toward the door. “Compared to what Iris went through, you’re fine.” The script drifted past in a stream: [Is he serious? She literally vomited blood an hour ago!] [Poor female lead, that must have been terrifying. The stand-in is so cruel, refusing to help.] [Excuse me?? No one OWES the female lead their body—] [The last one needs to sit down. The stand-in is literally a tool. Tools don’t get opinions.] I was shoved into the car. Cole put his foot down. The speedometer climbed. My stomach rolled. I pressed my hand to my mouth and held on. The system’s voice came through thin and fraying: Vitals at 30%. Host. If you don’t fight back, you will die in this car. I looked at Cole’s white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Then I looked out the window at the blur of traffic beside us. Fine. “Cole,” I said quietly. “Slow down.” “Or—” I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to crash.”

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On Halloween’ Day, Callum slid a divorce agreement across the table to me. “Your two ex-husbands called to pick a fight with me yesterday,” he said. “They told me you’re too uptight. That you can’t take a Halloween’ joke. That you’d never have the guts to sign a divorce agreement.” I’d been married twice before. Before Callum and I got together, I’d explained it to him directly: “The first time I got married, it was to help my childhood friend Sebastian secure his inheritance rights.” “The second time was to help Dominic, someone I’d trust with my life, get out of an arranged marriage.” “Both times, I walked away clean. No love lost, no grudges held. If that’s something you can’t live with, then we—” He’d grabbed my hand, eyes red, and cut me off. “I believe you. All of it. We don’t need to talk about the past anymore. But from now on — I’m the only one who gets a place in your eyes.” After we registered our marriage, he and my two ex-husbands were at each other’s throats constantly — yet with me, he was always gentle and attentive. I thought I’d finally married the right man. Then came the day I returned early from a business trip. I heard him in the living room, talking easily with Sebastian and Dominic — three men who supposedly despised each other: “Divorce is old news to her. She’s done it twice already.” “Hand her the agreement right on Halloween’ Day!” “Afterwards, just come back and tell her it was a joke. Easy.” “Vivienne’s wedding is next week. We made that promise back in senior year — her bachelorette night, all of us had to be single.” I stood outside the door and heard every word. So when Callum came to me with the divorce agreement, I simply took the pen and signed without a word. By the time Callum came looking for me again, I was six months pregnant. “You were right,” I told him. “I’m too uptight.” “So I took your Halloween’ joke at face value.” … I’d sat in the café across from our building for a full hour. Only after they’d all left did I go back home. When I walked in, Callum put down his phone and came to take my bags. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming back? I would have picked you up.” He took my suitcase with one hand, and the other naturally settled around my waist. Warm. Attentive. Exactly the same as always. “Have you eaten?” “Yes.” He nodded, then seemed to remember something. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” I set down my things and turned to look at him. He sighed and pushed the document across to me. “The company’s hit a snag. The lawyers recommended we do a formal asset separation. That means going through divorce proceedings — just on paper.” I looked down. A divorce agreement. He’d had it ready and waiting. “Once things blow over, we’ll remarry.” He held my hand, his voice sincere. “A few months at most.” I was quiet for a moment. “I know this is sudden,” he said, squeezing my palm, lowering his voice with a trace of indignation. “But Sebastian and Dominic called earlier. They were making digs at me — saying you used to do anything for them without question, but apparently I don’t get the same treatment.” “They also said a woman who’s been divorced twice wouldn’t dare go through a third one. That you couldn’t handle it.” “I’ve already figured it out — tomorrow is Halloween’ Day. We’ll go then. Then we wave the certificate in their faces, scare them half to death, show them they’ll never look down on you again.” “It’s Halloween’, after all. Anything can be written off as a joke. Once the company situation settles down, we’ll re-register properly. No one will say a word.” He looked at me, something between wounded pride and quiet hope in his eyes. “You’re not going to let them look down on me, are you?” I looked at those eyes for a long time. Those eyes that looked so sincere, so devoted — eyes that had just been clinking glasses with those two men, saying “she won’t make a scene.” “Of course not.” I gave him what he wanted. He visibly exhaled — then quickly masked it with a look of pleasant surprise. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s the end of the month — after we sign, we’ll go—” I took the pen, turned to the last page, and signed. “Call them,” I said, setting down the pen with a smile. “Tell them to stop talking.” Callum blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so easy about it. He smiled, tucked away the agreement, leaned over and kissed me. “Best wife in the world.” I let him. My heart was as still as standing water. He took the agreement to the study to make his call. His voice was low, but with only a door between us, I still heard it. “She signed.” Sebastian’s voice came through faintly from the other end: “Told you. Jo’s so easy to handle.” “Good. Keep Vivienne happy on your end. I’ll wrap up here and be over soon.” I sat in the room for a long time. My phone buzzed. A message from Dominic: [Haven’t seen you in ages. Want to get together?] I stared at it for a long time. Once, I would have replied “sure.” Would have thought carefully about what to wear, how to do my makeup. Would have thought about how to protect Callum’s dignity in front of them, to show them my marriage was a good one. To make sure they wouldn’t pick fights with him. After all — one side was the friend I’d grown up with my whole life, the other was the husband I loved. Both were people who mattered deeply to me. I’d never wanted them to be enemies for the rest of their lives. But now, I couldn’t even be bothered to reply. I flipped my phone face-down on the coffee table and went to the balcony to take in the laundry. As I passed the study, Callum was still on the phone. His voice was low, but carrying a kind of ease I had never heard from him before. The ease of a man who no longer had to perform. No longer had to pretend. I suddenly realized — in all the time we’d been together, he’d never spoken like that with me. The wind on the balcony was strong. I took the clothes down from the rack one by one, folded them, placed them in the basket. When I took down the last piece, my phone lit up again. This time it was Sebastian: [Heard you’re getting a divorce again?] [Callum’s a piece of work. He never deserved you. Don’t be sad.] [Grandpa Quinn’s eightieth birthday banquet is in a few days. Dominic and I will be there to celebrate — let’s catch up properly!] I let out a quiet laugh. How touching. As if he hadn’t been the one in the living room helping to plot the whole thing. I pressed the power button and dropped my phone into my pocket. I suddenly wanted to know what kind of person Vivienne was. That she was worth all three of them going to such lengths to keep a promise. That she was worth all three of them treating me — so casually — as a means to an end. But then I thought again. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter anymore. I picked up the laundry basket and turned back toward the house. I didn’t pause as I passed the study. Warm amber light spilled through the crack in the door. This light. This home. This man. Starting tomorrow, none of it had anything to do with me.

I’d barely set the laundry basket down when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, but Callum got there first. The person standing outside had a flush across her face — she’d clearly had a lot to drink. She saw Callum and smiled. “I knew you’d still be up.” Callum instinctively glanced back at me, then dropped his voice. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t answer. She swayed her way inside. Not until she spotted me standing in the living room did she stop, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Oh — you’re home too, Jo.” Sebastian caught her from behind and shot me an apologetic look. “Jo, she’s had too much. We were walking her home and she insisted on stopping by here.” Dominic stood in the doorway, his expression a little stiff. He glanced at me once, then his gaze moved to Callum, his voice turning sharp: “Callum, your wife is standing right there. Don’t you have any sense of decency?” Callum stiffened, then frowned. “You get her this drunk and dump her at my door, and I’m the one who needs to watch my behavior?” “I got her drunk? You’re the one who posted that you were ‘back on the market’ on your social media!” Dominic gave a cold laugh and stepped aside. “Fine — you’re above it all. She’s here. She’s your problem.” The two of them stood on opposite sides of the entryway. The air between them had frozen solid. Sebastian was caught in the middle, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Alright, alright, let’s not fight — Vivienne just wanted to drop by on the way—” I stood in the center of the living room and watched the whole performance from start to finish. They were far too coordinated for enemies. If I hadn’t heard the sound of their glasses clinking with my own ears, I might have believed their supposed hatred for each other. For so long, I’d thought what I had with Sebastian and Dominic was the kind of bond nothing could crack. At my most loyal, I’d even married both of them. My parents had died young. Grandpa was busy. It was the two of them who had filled every corner of my childhood and teenage years. Every hard moment — Sebastian was always there. Dominic once stepped between me and a trafficker’s knife. To me, they were closer than family. But when had our iron triangle become this? Probably when we started senior year. When Vivienne appeared. A new circle formed outside mine. Slowly, I became the leftover piece — only thought of when someone needed a favor. I pulled my gaze away from them. Some cracks didn’t start today. I’d just chosen, today, to finally see them. “You’ve all come at just the right time,” I said. “There’s something I’d like you to witness in person.”

I walked to the coffee table and picked up the divorce agreement. “Two copies — I’ve already signed both. Since everyone’s here, let’s make it official.” Callum’s expression shifted slightly, but he recovered quickly. I was the one bringing up the divorce, in front of Sebastian and Dominic. In his mind, I was proving how far I’d go for him. A trace of smugness crossed his eyes. “Jo,” he said, stepping toward me, his tone soothing. “We can handle this privately, no need to—” “Since the agreement’s already out,” Vivienne said suddenly, “can I ask — when are you moving out?” The living room went quiet for a beat. Callum frowned. Vivienne ignored him, looking only at me, her expression perfectly innocent: “This apartment is in my name. You can’t exactly stay here forever, can you?” I went still. The apartment. In her name. I looked instinctively at Callum. He avoided my gaze, his throat moving once. He said nothing. In that moment, image after image crashed through my mind. The day we moved in, him holding my hand, saying “this is our home.” When he bought the place, saying “I’ll handle all the paperwork, don’t worry about it.” Me, happily choosing curtains and sofas and the dining table… Every piece of furniture in this apartment — I’d made trip after trip to the home goods store to pick it out. Every corner of this place, decorated to his taste… I’d never cared whose name was on the deed. But I had never imagined that the home I shared with my husband would be registered under another woman’s name. I looked down at the agreement in my hands. I let out a quiet breath of laughter. “I’ll go now.” “Jo…” Callum stepped forward. “Civil registry office. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” I didn’t look back. I grabbed my suitcase, walked to the door, changed my shoes, pulled it open — one clean motion. The hallway lights blinked on and off. Waiting for the elevator, I could still hear the sounds drifting through the door: “She’s even more cooperative than when I had to beg her to marry me!” Laughter mixed with chatter, muffled behind the door like something from a stranger’s life. I stood at the elevator, listening to this story I no longer recognized. The person in the mirror looked calmer than I expected. It wasn’t until I was in the cab that my phone buzzed. A message from Callum: [About the apartment — I’ll explain…] [Be good. Find somewhere to stay for now. I’ll come get you in a few days.] I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then turned it face-down on my lap. Outside the window, streetlamps retreated one by one. Come get me in a few days. As if I’d just stepped out to buy groceries and would be back in a moment. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. Don’t bother, Callum. You don’t need to come.

The next morning at nine. Civil registry office. When I arrived, Callum was already waiting outside. He was leaning against the car door. When he saw me get out of the cab, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked over. “Where did you go last night?” “Grandpa’s.” He nodded. His eyes rested on my face for a moment. He reached out to touch my hair — I turned my head away. His hand stopped mid-air, held there for one second, then fell back to his side. “Jo,” he said, lowering his voice with a measured kind of certainty. “I know you saved face for me in front of Sebastian and Dominic last night. I appreciate that.” “As for the apartment…” He paused. “Vivienne needed to establish residency in the city, and she needed a property registered in her name. I figured it was just a technicality. You’ve never been the type to worry about those things — that’s why I didn’t mention it.” I looked at him and said nothing. I’m not the type to worry about those things? He gave our marital home to another woman. And dismissed it with “you have money, you wouldn’t care”? He didn’t think I wouldn’t care. He simply didn’t care whether I cared. “In any case — you still have the right to live there!” “After the divorce, stay somewhere else for a while,” he continued, already arranging things. “Once I’ve sorted everything out on my end, I’ll bring you back.” I almost laughed. Even now, he thought this was all still part of the performance. That I was playing along. “Let’s go,” I said, not taking his words. I turned and walked toward the building. “Time to process the paperwork.” He followed, his steps quick. The procedure was faster than I expected. Signatures. Fingerprints. Photographs. The officer brought down the stamp with a clean, final sound. The divorce certificate sat in my hands — a thin little booklet, not much different from the marriage certificate. Just a different color. Callum glanced down at his phone, a small frown crossing his face. “I need to take a call,” he said. “Wait here — I’ll walk you back after.” He stepped a short distance away and answered. His voice was low, but two words still drifted across: “Vivienne…” I stood where I was and watched his back. He hung up and came back quickly, looking hurried. “Something’s come up. Head back on your own — I’ll reach out later.” After he walked out the main doors, I turned slowly and headed toward the other end of the hall — the window for marriage registration. … By the time Callum walked out of the civil registry office, the sun had already climbed high in the sky. He looked at the divorce certificate in his hand, then checked his phone — Oct 31st. Halloween’ Day. Right. Today. The tension he’d been carrying loosened just a little. His phone rang — a client call. They talked for almost ten minutes. When he hung up, he glanced back at the registry office entrance. Why wasn’t Jo out yet? He hesitated, then turned to walk back. He wanted to say a few more words to her — at least lock in a timeline for remarrying, so she wouldn’t spiral into overthinking. He hadn’t taken two steps before he walked straight into a man pushing through the doors. The other man dropped everything he was holding. Callum’s divorce certificate slipped from his hand too. “Sorry.” He spoke first, bending down to collect them. Two certificates lay side by side on the ground — his divorce certificate, and the other man’s marriage certificate. A gust of wind caught the cover of the marriage certificate, flipping it open halfway, exposing the corner of a photograph. Callum’s hand went still. “It’s fine.” The other man picked up the marriage certificate before he could, his voice even. Callum looked up. The man was wearing a dark gray overcoat. Tall, composed, expression perfectly neutral. “Congratulations,” Callum said, a casual pleasantry. “Getting married today.” The man glanced at the divorce certificate in Callum’s hand. His tone was equally even: “Congratulations to you as well.” Callum blinked, not quite catching the meaning. The man had already tucked the marriage certificate into his inner pocket. His gaze passed over Callum’s face without lingering, and he turned and walked away. Callum stared after him, the thought growing heavier in his mind — today was Halloween’ Day. Who gets married on Halloween’ Day? And this man’s voice, this man’s build — he was certain he’d seen him somewhere before. “Wait—!”

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I had just completed the mate-bonding ceremony with Caden Voss, the future Alpha, the most coveted male in the pack, when my adopted sister Rena drove her car straight into me. The impact shattered my ovaries. The pack’s finest healer, my own mother, Dr. Elena Ashton, said both were beyond saving. They had to be fully removed. Caden’s howl of anguish shook the hospital walls. “It doesn’t matter! I just need my mate alive!” Mom and my brother Eli stood red-eyed, gripping my hands. “Easy now. Close your eyes. We have the best healers, the strongest herbs. Sleep, and the pain will pass.” In my most broken moment, I was grateful that everyone I loved was by my side. Then the anesthesia began to pull me under, and through the gap in the door, I heard them talking in the hall. Mom’s voice carried a thin edge of excitement. “Mara is healthy. Compatible blood type, right age. While we have her under, we take her heart and transplant it into Rena.” Dad, the pack’s Beta, agreed without a pause. “I’ve already had the security footage of Rena’s car deleted. Mara won’t ever know.” Eli’s voice, smooth and clinical. “I’ll synthesize a compound. Even with a damaged heart, Mara won’t suffer visibly.” A moment of silence. Then Caden’s voice — and the relief in it turned my blood to ice. “Rena loves to run, loves to travel. She needs a strong heart. As for Mara… we’ll make it up to her someday. I’ll go sign the surgical consent forms now.” I felt myself falling — not into sleep, but into a void with no floor. My heart ached as though the blade had already found it. 【System Alert: Host — your Cannon Fodder task has been completed. Heartbreak index has reached 100%. Do you wish to return to your original world immediately?】 I laughed. And then I wept. Their love — every tender look, every careful touch — I didn’t want any of it anymore. … I fought to roll off the surgical table. A nurse shoved a breathing tube down my throat and flooded my veins with sedative. As consciousness collapsed, I glimpsed Rena being wheeled in through the doors. Mom raised her scalpel and murmured to the nurses with calm precision. “Don’t bother stabilizing Mara’s ovaries damage. Extract the heart first. Rena’s transplant takes priority.” I felt the blade part my chest layer by layer, and in the last seconds before the dark swallowed me whole, Mom’s voice drifted in, soft and tender. “Hold on a little longer, baby girl. When you wake up, you’ll be able to run again. Run as far as you want.” She was talking to Rena. … When awareness flickered back, I confirmed everything with the system at once. 【Only if the host body dies: automatic return to the original world. Your congenital heart defect will be fully healed. One hundred million in bounty will be deposited to your linked account. Confirmed.】 How laughable. I had been so relieved that even after years lost to a rival pack’s captivity, I hadn’t lost my family’s love. That Caden had searched for me, proposed the moment I returned. And all along, they only kept me breathing because they needed my heart. I pulled the oxygen tube from my throat without a second’s hesitation. Breathing became agony. My face darkened to violet. The monitors screamed red. But I was smiling. Better to die than stay and look at them. Mom burst through the door with a team behind her, howling my name. She performed CPR with her bare hands and forced the tube back in. When I was stable, she glared at me with bloodshot eyes. “Mara! Why would you — it’s only your ovaries. You can still live a full life. You can’t—” I pressed a hand to the wound in my chest and rasped: “Is it really only my ovaries?” Caden fell to his knees, slapping his own face over and over. “Honey — blame me. When the car came, I didn’t shield you. I let you get hurt. The driver’s already in custody, I swear I’ll—” “You found a heart donor for Rena already, didn’t you?” he added, turning to Mom. “She’s going to be all right?” Dad’s voice was hollow. “We’ve contacted every pack healer in the country. We’ll find you a new heart soon, Mara. I promise.” Eli touched my shoulder gently. “I’m going back to the lab right now. I’ll engineer something custom. You’ll breathe just like anyone else.” How laughable. Three sentences to smooth over Rena running me down, destroying my body, and stealing my heart. I curved my lips into something that was almost a smile. “Where’s Rena? I want to speak with her myself. I saw her face when they brought her in.” Mom’s brow knotted. “How dare you accuse your sister. She was with me in the healer’s ward when you were hit — she nearly had a heart episode just from the shock of hearing you’d been injured. We found her a donor just in time.” “You found a donor at the exact same moment my heart failed,” I said. “What a coincidence.” The room went very still. “Mara…” Mom started. I was too tired. I pulled the blanket over my head. When I surfaced, only Caden remained, watching me with an expression I used to believe was love. I smiled at him. “Go check on Rena. Come back and tell me how she’s doing.” He left without hesitating. Alone at last, I exhaled slowly and reached for my phone with trembling hands. The system had promised to grant me one wish in exchange for completing its KPIs. Before they’d wheeled me into the OR, I’d spent that wish on two recordings. I watched them now, rigid, replaying every second of how they’d planned to hollow me out. Every word my mother had spoken while cutting into my chest. Every degree of warmth drained from my body. I was suddenly very glad I hadn’t died. Because leaving this easily would be far too generous to them.

During my recovery, they took turns sitting with me — one at a time, never long, always finding an excuse to rush away. I assumed they were simply busy. Pack Betas and Alpha heirs didn’t have idle hours. Then came the afternoon I needed the bathroom and no one was there. I dragged my IV stand down the hall alone. Through the glass of the VIP recovery suite, I stopped. Caden, who had just claimed an urgent pack council session, was feeding Rena a prawn dumpling with his fingers, laughing at something she’d said. My parents and Eli were all there, watching her with the soft, helpless adoration I used to think was reserved for me. Mom’s voice filtered through the glass, warmly scolding. “Rena, you can’t gorge yourself the moment you’re healed. Dumplings are too rich.” Rena tipped her head back like a contented cub. “I can’t help it. Dad makes them too well.” She pouted. “And all of you hovering around me is suffocating. How am I supposed to sneak snacks with four sets of eyes on me?” For three days, I’d been eating takeout congee I ordered myself. Rena had them there every hour, with Dad cooking her meals from scratch. I turned away stiffly and nearly walked into the nurses’ station. Through the partition, two nurses were whispering. “You know the patient in 302? The one everyone calls the real daughter? Dr. Ashton specifically told me to keep her on extra nutrition supplements — building her up like a reserve. If Rena has a serious rejection episode, they’ll need a full blood exchange from her.” I stood in the corridor for a long time, not moving. My heart — the damaged, borrowed thing still beating in my chest — felt like it was cracking open again. Why had it come to this? There was a time when Mom would panic if I so much as scraped my knee. She had driven herself into advanced healer certification just to take better care of me. Dad had built the Ashton name from nothing, so I’d never go without treatment. Eli had chosen pharmacology so my medicine wouldn’t taste bitter. They had even sheltered Caden’s family from a rival pack’s ambush — and that act of loyalty was how he and I first became entangled. All of Northveil Pack had known it: the Ashton heir was cherished beyond reason. And Caden Voss had loved me since we were young. Then I was stolen — held by a rival pack for seven years. When I came home, they held my hands and said, “Rena being here means nothing. We took her in to build good karma for you. You are still our only heart.” I believed them. I opened myself to Rena as a sister. But the warmth shifted slowly, then all at once. If Rena stumbled near me, Mom’s first question was whether I had pushed her. When Dad cooked, every dish was Rena’s favourite. Eli redirected his entire research toward a cure for Rena’s heart condition. And Caden, in arguments, once snapped at me to be more like Rena — gentler, sweeter, less difficult. Now they had carved my heart out to give it to her. And they planned to keep me alive as a walking blood reserve. The grief hit like claws raking through the chest. I wasn’t careful. I slipped. The fall cracked my surgical wounds open. I curled on the floor, gasping, and in a moment of pure instinct whimpered a single word into the tile. “Mom…” They came running — all four of them, the sound of their footsteps filling the hallway. Mom reached me first. She hauled me upright and fixed me with a furious stare. “Mara. I am so disappointed in you. You saw us with Rena, and now you’re throwing yourself on the floor for attention? You’re a grown wolf.”

Back at the Ashton estate, I was confined to a wheelchair under close watch. The pack healers had strict orders: I was not to harm myself again. Rena, meanwhile, was sprinting laps around the back courtyard in a pair of joggers, laughing as she went. Dad was out there too, passing her the ball, grinning the way I hadn’t seen him grin in years. Caden filmed her on his phone. Mom watched from the edge of the terrace with the look she used to reserve for me. I turned my wheelchair toward the garden path. “Ow!” Rena went down — a stumble, a sharp cry, grass-stained knees. All four of them surged to her side. Rena twisted and pointed at something on the ground near my chair. A small metal locking pin — fallen from the wheel assembly long before this moment. Her eyes filled. “Mara… I know you resent me for getting the transplant. I know you’re still in pain.” Her voice broke. “But I finally get to run. I finally get to feel what other wolves feel. How could you try to take that from me?” Mom crouched and examined Rena’s reddened shin with gentle hands. Dad looked at me with an expression like he’d bitten into something rotten. The vein at his temple pulsed. “Mara. We did not raise you to be this. What happened to you?” They looked at me the way wolves look at a rogue. Like I was something that needed to be dealt with. “I didn’t,” I said, my voice hollow. “That pin has been loose for days—” “Don’t make excuses.” Dad raised his hand. It swung toward my face. Caden caught his wrist. “Mara’s been through too much. Give her time.” Eli’s gaze cooled as it landed on me. “Fine. Rena’s been wanting to try that new private dining room downtown. We’ll celebrate her recovery.” He glanced back, expressionless. “You stay here and think about what you’ve done.” Caden hesitated. He looked at me, then at Rena — who grabbed his hand and swung it like a child, tilting her face up at him. “Come with us? You promised.” Caden patted my head. “Be good. I’ll bring back the seafood chowder you like.” I woke at 3 a.m. The bed beside mine was untouched. Caden had not come home. The whole estate was dark, except for one room — Rena’s. The door was slightly ajar. As I wheeled closer, a woman’s muffled, breathless voice bled through the gap. Caden’s voice came next, low and cracked with want. “You got the transplant. So when are you going to leave her? When?” “You’re the one I love. But Mara saved my life once — I can’t abandon her. And besides,” Rena’s voice softened, “if you have a rejection episode, we still need her blood.” “She can’t carry pups now. She can’t be a real mate. What does an Alpha heir need with a barren wolf?” I leaned against the cold wall outside that room for the rest of the night. Inside, they laughed. They whispered. They were tender with each other in a way I had believed was mine. When morning light came and the estate began to stir, I waited. I waited until all four of them passed through the hallway at the same moment. Then I threw open Rena’s door. In front of every witness, I ripped the sheets back and raised my phone.

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My husband Ethan Voss, Beta of the Voss Pack, brought his female assistant into our bed. When I caught them, he barely flinched. “Selene is gentle and unassuming. And she’s my Gamma-ranked aide. Why can’t you just accept her?” Ten years together. I swallowed my inner wolf’s howl and paid him off to disappear. Then my phone buzzed. My mother’s surgery had been forcibly halted. Every asset I owned had been frozen. I rushed to the hospital with an emergency specialist I’d managed to reach — only to find the parking garage sealed off by dozens of Ethan’s supercars. “Rowan.” His voice was lazy, almost amused. “You always loved throwing money at problems. Why not hire someone to move the cars?” I stared at him, fury clawing up my throat. “My mother handed you her research patents. That’s the only reason the Voss family empire ever rose to what it is. And this is how you repay her?” Ethan tilted his head and leaned back into Selene’s arms. She laughed, soft and sweet. “A hundred thousand per car, sweetheart. Better start dialing. Oh — and hurry. Dad’s running out of time on that operating table.” I sent the message I had hoped never to send. 【Dr. Ashford is under deliberate threat. Requesting immediate Pack Command support. Sending location now.】 I kept my eyes locked on Ethan as I hit send. “Is this because I paid for Selene’s relocation years ago?” He smiled and pulled her closer, his expression perfectly innocent. “Baby, I already told you. You can pay to move the cars.” The hospital was at least thirty minutes away. Every second here was another second bleeding from my mother’s life. Her heart condition was rare. In the entire pack, only two surgeons could perform this procedure. Ethan had already neutralized the first one. Now he had trapped the last along with me in this garage, playing games for his new lover’s entertainment. I tightened my fist. “You froze everything I own. You know I have no money. You’re not stalling me, Ethan. You’re killing her.” Laughter rippled through the crowd surrounding us. “She can’t even scrape together pocket change now.” “Mess with Selene, mess with everything Ethan holds dear.” In the middle of it all, Selene looked at me with quiet triumph, her fingers laced through Ethan’s. She raised their joined hands slowly, a wordless declaration of ownership. Watching them, I felt something hollow open in my chest. Once, he had held my hands with that same reverence when he made his vows to me. I never imagined that one day, the man I loved would drive my mother toward death just to shield the person he was sleeping with. I bit down until I tasted blood. The specialist beside me reached for his card — and was immediately shoved against a car and pinned down by Ethan’s men. Then my phone rang. “Ms. Ashford, is the surgeon still not here? Your mother is fading. We need her on the table now.” I stared at the garage exit. The specialist was being held against a car. Supercars sealed every lane. Without moving them, I wasn’t going anywhere. The call had barely ended when Ethan’s voice drifted behind me, soft as a caress. “Baby. A hundred thousand per car. I already said so.” My whole body shook. I squeezed my phone, knuckles white. But there were too many of them. Force would only make this worse. The taste of blood spread across my tongue. I reached up and unclipped my cufflinks. The first year of our startup, we’d been crammed into a tiny apartment. He had pressed them into my hands with red-rimmed eyes, whispering that once he inherited the Voss family empire he’d give me everything the world had to offer. He had. And then he’d become someone else entirely. Next, I unclasped my watch. The Voss family empire had built its legacy on horology. On our bonding day, Ethan had knelt through the night in the Pack Hall to receive this heirloom. It was because of that gesture — that proof of devotion — that his friends and Pack elders had never once looked down on me. Finally, I pulled the bonding ring from my finger and threw it at his feet. “Is this enough?!” Ethan glanced down. Something shifted in his eyes, and he opened his mouth — But before he could speak, Selene let out a small, perfectly timed laugh. She looked at me with just the right degree of mock-surprise. “Rowan,” she said, “these pieces… they’re replicas, aren’t they? Did someone con you?”

Selene unhurriedly removed her own cufflinks and watch. Identical in design to what I’d just thrown on the ground. But the quality — the weight, the finish — was incomparable. She met my gaze and smiled, her tone perfectly light. “Ethan gave them to me. Said they were one-of-a-kind.” My breath stopped. I turned to look at my husband. He didn’t meet my eyes. His gaze dropped to the floor. My heart seized. I pulled in a slow breath, forced my voice low and flat. “Ethan. Everything I’ve been wearing — all of it was fake?” He finally looked up. His expression was soft, almost coaxing. “Selene is young. She loves pretty things. Is it so hard to just let her have them?” Let her have them. Four words. Weightless. Like soothing a child throwing a tantrum. Selene tilted her head toward him, obedient and sweet. “Ethan, Rowan did mean well… let’s just say those were real and move three cars. Okay?” Three supercars at the outer perimeter rolled aside. But the gap they left wasn’t wide enough for a single person to squeeze through. Ethan looked at me. His eyes settled on my face, and he frowned slightly — like he was weighing something. Then, in the same gentle tone he used to reserve only for me: “Rowan. If you kneel down and give Selene a proper apology… we’ll call it even.” I looked into his eyes, and for a moment, I almost laughed. On our bonding day, he had refused to let me kneel even before his own parents. Now he was asking me to kneel before the woman he was sleeping with. In front of a crowd. He seemed to sense something. His gaze lingered on my eyes — just for a second — and his lips parted. Then my phone went off. A message. A photo attached. My mother, on the operating table. Tubes everywhere. Blood-soaked sheets. 【Ms. Ashford — you have ten minutes. Dr. Ashford is going into shock.】 The ground fell out from under me. I almost said yes. I almost opened my mouth — Then Selene reached out and tugged lightly at Ethan’s sleeve. Her eyes dropped to the pendant at my throat. She smiled, gentle as ever. “Rowan doesn’t want to kneel — that’s fine. We can keep moving cars… that pendant looks lovely, though. Maybe start with that?” My hand flew up instinctively, closing around the fang pendant. My father had left it to me. During the wildfire that swept through our territory, I had been trapped in the Pack shelter. He had run back into the smoke to find me. The fire took him before he got out. In his last moment, he had pressed the pendant into my palm. His lips moved. Three words. Stay alive, Rowan. My knuckles went white. I thought of my mother bleeding out on that table, and something in my chest cracked open. I raised my head and fixed my gaze on Ethan. Word by word: “And you, Ethan, do you think I should give this up too?”

Ethan’s eyes fell on the fang pendant. Something flickered across his face. He knew what it meant to me. Selene glanced at it and said nothing. Instead, she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his ear, whispering something only he could hear. Whatever hesitation had lived in Ethan’s eyes vanished. He stopped looking at me. Without a word, he reached out and seized the pendant and yanked. The chain bit into my skin. A sharp sting at my throat. The pendant came away with a smear of my blood. He passed it to Selene without looking back. She turned it over in her palm. The corner of her mouth lifted. She dropped it into her pocket, then looked up at me — and her eyes were full of it. Ethan finally turned. His voice was soft, cold as midwinter. “Rowan. Your father refused to bring Selene away from the mountains. Because of him, she spent years being abused. Your family owes her this.” My father had done aid work in the outer Pack territories. He had mentioned a boy named Selene once — said the child had latched onto him. I stared at Ethan’s face, and the pieces snapped into place. Selene. The girl from the mountains. That was her. But I remembered what my father had told me — he’d wanted to bring the child home. It was Selene who had said she couldn’t leave her parents. I almost laughed at the lie. I didn’t get the chance. Selene leaned close, and her voice dropped to something only I could hear. “Rowan. Aren’t you curious how Ethan knows all of this?” A small smile. “I told him. In bed, piece by piece. And you should have seen how much he pitied me. It was so satisfying.” I turned slowly and stared at her. She let the look land, then softened her eyes just slightly, as if genuinely concerned. “By the way — I should thank you. The one who locked you in that shelter during the fire?” She paused. “That was me.” “Your father was begging me to open the door. Down on his knees. Like a wounded animal.” The nightmares I’d carried for ten years. My father’s death had never stopped haunting me. And every time over the years I’d tried to investigate the details of that fire — every time I’d gotten close — something had intervened. Now I understood why. They had been together since before I even knew her name. The last thread holding me together snapped. I swung without thinking. My fist connected with her jaw. She went sideways and struck the side of a car with a dull, heavy sound. She straightened slowly, touched the blood at the corner of her mouth, and said nothing. Ethan shoved between us, eyes blazing as he turned on me. Before he could speak, my phone shattered the silence. “Ms. Ashford!” The surgeon’s voice was breaking. “Your mother has gone into shock. If you are not here in three minutes, we will lose her. Where are you?!”

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The night I died in the basement, my skin was falling off in sheets. My husband was upstairs in bed with the woman who put me there. In my last life, the orphan my husband took in gave me a necklace. After I put it on, I couldn’t stay awake. My body broke down in ways no doctor could explain, and by the end I was rotting from the inside out. I didn’t learn the truth until after I died. She was a corporate spy planted by a rival conglomerate. After her side lost, she used her face and her body to get Julian to bring her home. Once she was inside the estate, she used that necklace to destroy me. The pendant contained a trace amount of radium, enough to poison anyone who wore it against their skin day after day. Slow, invisible, impossible to diagnose until it was too late. Julian spent every night in her bed. He let me die in a locked room in the basement, alone, on a bare mattress that smelled like bleach and mold. After I was gone, they rolled me into a body bag and dumped me at a county crematorium. No service. No marker. Nothing. The only person who came for me was Seth, a housekeeper from Beatrice Sterling’s household. He pulled strings to get my remains out of that crematorium and buried me himself. All because I’d smiled at him once at a company gala. That was all it took. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment she handed me the necklace. She wanted what I had. I’d make sure she got it. —– “Julian really pulled it off. The board’s going to hand him the CEO seat after this.” “A full acquisition in three months. The Thornes don’t play around.” Guests raised their glasses and turned toward the head of the table where Julian sat beside me. Crystal and candlelight everywhere. The grand hall of the Thorne Estate packed with every name that mattered. Seraphina didn’t have a title or a ring, but she moved through the room like she already owned it. She walked over to me with a glass of champagne in one hand and a small velvet box in the other, all grace, all warmth. “I know how much you worried while Julian was away. I went to St. Catherine’s and had this blessed for you. For good luck.” She opened the box. A simple chain with a small pendant, nothing flashy. The last time, I was so happy Julian had come home victorious, so touched by her gesture, that I let her clasp it around my neck right there at the table. I had no idea what it really was. The pendant was laced with radium. Sealed under a thin coating that wore away with daily use, leaching radiation into the skin at the back of my neck. A little every day. Not enough to set off alarms. Just enough to kill, slowly. First came the fatigue. Then the aches I couldn’t explain. Then the sores. And Seraphina? She glowed brighter every day. The sicker I looked, the more radiant she appeared, and the more Julian turned to her. By the time I woke up from a week-long haze, my body was falling apart. Open sores, the smell of decay. Seraphina stood at the foot of my bed, fanned her nose, and draped herself over Julian like a silk scarf. “Oh my. She looks awful. What happened to her?” Julian’s face went cold. “Get this woman out of my sight. Lock her downstairs. Anyone who brings her food or water gets fired on the spot.” I tried to speak. My mouth opened and nothing came out. All I could do was watch him walk away. Up until the moment I choked on my own breath in that basement, I never understood how the man who once loved me could turn into that. It wasn’t until my mind was floating above my own corpse that I pieced it together. She’d been a spy all along. Embedded by a rival firm, using her looks to hook Julian and using that necklace to put me in the ground. She didn’t need to be sick herself. She just needed me to wear it. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear her apart. But I was nothing. Just a thought with no hands. The clink of glasses brought me back. I was standing in the grand hall again. The gala. The same faces, the same laughter, the same chandelier light bouncing off Julian’s cufflinks. Seraphina’s eyes flashed with something sharp and hungry, and then she smiled, soft as cashmere, and held the necklace out to me. “Here, let me put it on for you.”

I stepped aside before she could reach me. She froze. Then the tears came, instant and perfect. “You don’t want it?” “I spent weeks going to St. Catherine’s for this. I prayed for you and Julian every single day.” “I get it though. I’m just the girl Julian took in off the street. Why would you want anything from me.” The women at the table were already whispering. “Wow. She goes to all that effort and can’t even get a thank you.” “That poor girl has nothing and she’s still thinking about everyone else. Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing for the actual wife.” I forced a smile and said I loved the thought, and I’d absolutely keep the necklace. But I was already wearing one tonight and it would look odd to switch mid-dinner. Seraphina wiped her eyes and looked at me like a kicked puppy. “I know mine’s nothing compared to yours. But I knelt on that chapel floor so long my knees were raw.” “Just try it on? For me? I promise it’ll look so pretty.” She wasn’t going to let this go. Right then, a young man stepped into the hall and approached Julian with a polite nod. “Mr. Thorne, sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Sterling asked me to come get Mrs. Thorne. She’s expecting her for tea.” My heart slammed against my ribs. Seth. The one who pulled my remains from a county crematorium and buried me with his own hands. He glanced at me, just for a second. Something careful in his eyes. I was about to use this as my exit when Seraphina latched onto my arm. “Oh, put the necklace on before you go. You don’t want to show up at Mrs. Sterling’s wearing something nicer than hers, do you?” She was already reaching for my neck with the chain. Seth spoke up. “Hang on. I feel like I’ve seen you before. Were you at the Harrington Group event last fall? I swear you were with their team.” Seraphina went still. Then she laughed, light and easy. “Oh no, you’ve got the wrong person. Julian rescued me. I don’t exactly run in those circles.” Seth let it go. I jumped in. “Mrs. Sterling’s waiting, I shouldn’t keep her. Seraphina, I’ll wear it tonight, I promise. It’s not going anywhere.” I turned to leave and Seraphina grabbed my wrist. “It takes two seconds. Why are you making this so hard? Unless you’re just trying to get away from me.” Then she stumbled sideways and crashed right into Seth. “Get off me! He just grabbed me!” She clutched her side and the tears poured down. The women at the table went off. “Did he seriously just put his hands on her?” “God, that’s vile. Someone get him out of here.” Seraphina was shaking, tears streaming, the whole performance pitch-perfect. “I don’t care where I come from, no one gets to touch me like that. I swear to God I’ll call the police.” She lurched toward the edge of the marble bar counter and Julian was on his feet in a second, pulling her into his chest. Seth backed up with both hands raised, palms out. “I didn’t touch her. She stumbled into me. My hands were up the whole time. I never made contact.” Seraphina buried her face in Julian’s shirt and sobbed louder. Julian’s jaw was locked. “Get him out. Now. Call security.” I stepped forward. “Julian, Beatrice Sterling sent him. This is going to get back to her.” He didn’t even look at me. Seraphina lifted her head from Julian’s chest, eyes red and wet. “Why are you taking his side? Unless you liked it when he touched you. Is that what this is?” Pure poison. She was putting the image in Julian’s head that Seth and I had something going on. Julian looked at me and his eyes went cold. Whatever I’d said about Beatrice didn’t matter anymore. I opened my mouth but Seth cut in, hands still raised. “Mr. Thorne, do whatever you want to me. But Mrs. Sterling is still waiting for an answer. Let me do my job and I’ll be out of your house.” Something inside me cracked. If I said one more word in his defense, it would look exactly the way Seraphina wanted it to look. Seth knew that. He was taking the hit so I wouldn’t have to. I was shaking. My eyes landed on the necklace in Seraphina’s hand and something clicked into place. She wanted to poison me and take my place. Fine. I’d give her a taste of her own medicine. I looked at Seth and wondered what he would choose.

I could hear them downstairs. Muffled voices, something heavy hitting something soft. Last life he carried my body out of a crematorium. This life he was getting beaten for me. What could I do for him? Get him out. Get him free. Give him the life he actually wanted. One of the housekeepers rushed in. “They’re still going at it. Seth passed out and nobody told them to stop.” My chest tightened. “What did Julian say?” “He’s with Seraphina. He hasn’t said anything.” Hasn’t said stop. Which meant they’d keep going until Seth couldn’t get up again. Seraphina wanted him silenced. He’d recognized her face and she couldn’t risk him remembering where from. I turned toward the stairs and Seraphina’s voice hit me from the end of the hallway. She was standing there with two of the older housekeepers flanking her like bodyguards. “If you go down there right now, you’re proving everything I said at dinner.” I almost laughed. “You’re right. Why would I care what happens to the help.” I glanced at the necklace still in her hand. “You still want me to wear that?” Her eyes lit up. She held it out like an offering. “You’ll actually put it on?” I took it from her and sighed. “Tomorrow’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. I’m going to St. Catherine’s to light a candle.” “If you really mean all this, come with me. Put it on me there, in the chapel. In front of God.” Something flickered in her eyes. Suspicion. But it was gone in a second, swallowed by the thrill of winning. She probably thought I was caving to save face after the scene at dinner. “Of course. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” She smiled. The same smile she had in my last life when she got what she wanted. I nodded and turned to walk away. “You’re not going downstairs?” “No.” Seth was already unconscious. Going down there wouldn’t save him. Begging for him would only hand Seraphina exactly what she wanted. But I had another way. Back in my room, I typed out a message and had someone deliver it to Beatrice Sterling’s office. Beatrice might not care about one housekeeper. But she cared about her reputation. Someone roughing up her staff at a party? She’d want a word about that.

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I spent ten years at Hades’s side helping him, for love. Ten years, from the moment he was nothing — a fallen son of a forgotten bloodline, wandering the mortal roads with cracked sandals and an empty stomach — to the day he ascended Mount Olympus and claimed his seat among the gods. And through all of it, he called me Sister. Then came the day he led his chosen bride through the golden gates. And I fell ill. On the night I lay dying, he knelt at my side and gathered my cold, wasting hands in his. His eyes were rimmed red, and his voice, for all his divine power, cracked like a mortal man’s. “If the Fates grant us another life,” he swore, “I will give you your proper name. I will make you mine — before all of Olympus.” The Fates heard him. They gave me another life. I came back in the bloom of my sixteenth year, born once more into the House of Selen — a family of ancient and noble blood, revered across the divine realm. My father had decreed a sacred rite: I would stand upon the high balcony of our temple-house and cast the Golden Apple into the crowd below. Whoever caught it would become my husband. The courtyard was full. Demigods, heroes, young gods in their finest robes — all of them jostling and laughing and craning their necks toward me. And then I saw him. He was standing near the center of the crowd, just as I had known he would be. My fingers released the apple. It arced through the air — golden, gleaming, falling precisely where I had aimed it. Directly into his arms. But he stepped aside. A single, casual sidestep. And the apple tumbled past him and landed in the lap of a filthy, hollow-cheeked vagrant crouched in the shadows behind. The cheering stopped. Silence swallowed the courtyard whole. Every eye moved between me on the balcony, Hades standing still as marble in the crowd, and the stunned vagrant clutching the sacred apple with shaking hands. Hades lifted his face and looked up at me from across the distance. And in that moment, the memory struck me like lightning. I had lived this before. In our first life, we had grown up together — two children of neighboring divine houses, running through the same sunlit gardens. When his family’s power crumbled and he was cast out, left to wander without resources or patrons, I had quietly bled the treasuries of the House of Selen to fund his studies. I had fed him, sheltered him, believed in him. And something had grown between us. Something that felt, then, like love. He had promised me. He had said: I want to spend eternity with you. So when my father announced the apple-casting rite, I pulled Hades aside and asked him — begged him — to stand in the center of the crowd and catch what I threw. And I threw it perfectly. I calculated every breath of wind, every inch of distance. But he stepped aside. And the apple went to the vagrant. Just as now. In our first life, I had stood on that same balcony, burning with shame as the crowd murmured and stared. I had refused to honor the rite. I had rejected the vagrant — humiliated him, humiliated myself — and faced my father’s fury for it. Father made me kneel on the cold stone steps of the ancestor shrine for three days and three nights as punishment. And for what? For Hades’s sake. For his soft, practiced excuses. He had come to me afterward with red-rimmed eyes, clasping my hands, and told me the story of the woman named Minthe — daughter of the noble House of Su, who had saved his life on the road to his trials. She had asked for nothing except that he honor her with marriage. He had given his word. So he could not marry me. He was bound. Honorable. Sorry. And then he became everything I had helped him become. He won the Three Sacred Trials — the highest honor in the divine realm. He rose. He shone. And the woman he brought home in her gleaming white robes and golden crown was Minthe. I stood in the crowd and watched the man I had given everything to lead another woman beneath the laurel garland. Before I even had time to grieve, disaster found my own house. My father, facing political ruin, arranged a hasty marriage for me — a man older than my father, but stable, safe. And Hades appeared at my chamber door. He extended his hand and told me I deserved better than a rushed union. He told me he would protect me. He told me the House of Selen — that I — had been too good to him for him to allow this. So he brought me into his house. Not as a wife. Not as even a consort. Only as his Sister.

His new bride, Minthe, was less than pleased. Even under the pretense that I was merely Hades’s benefactress — his honored Sister, his childhood guardian — she looked at me as though I were a splinter lodged in her divine flesh. At first, I could not fully understand it. After all, it was Hades who had insisted on bringing me in. Hades who had defied gossip and whispers to install me in the east wing of his divine palace. By rights, her fury should have been aimed at him. But that is the way of things, even among the immortals. When a woman cannot reach the god who wronged her, she turns to the only other target within range. I will say this for Minthe: her methods were not subtle. She cut my allowances. She reduced my household to near nothing — jewels, fine cloth, even the most basic provisions. She left me stripped of comfort in what was, by all appearances, a palace of abundance. I might have endured it in silence. But the winter came, and she withheld the sacred fire. The eternal flame that warms an immortal’s wing was simply… not refilled. My handmaiden fell gravely ill with the cold. I had no choice but to go and ask. I found Minthe seated beside a roaring hearth, wrapped in furs, cracking open the roasted chestnuts that Hades had prepared for her with his own hands. She did not look up when I entered. “Oh — Sister has come to call,” she said, her voice airy and pleasant. “Have the servants been neglecting you?” I kept my tone even. “The eternal flame in the east wing has gone dark. My handmaiden has taken ill.” She laughed softly, tossing a shell into the fire. “Do forgive us, Sister. My lord has only recently secured his throne. There are so many offerings to make, so many alliances to maintain — the household has simply run short.” She looked up then, and her eyes were full of challenge. “I thought surely you, of all people, would understand. You were so generous with the House of Selen’s resources for so many years. Surely you don’t mind extending that generosity a little longer?” Her smile curved. “After all — Sister is a guest here. One ought to be grateful, ought one not?” Every word was a blade dressed in silk. I opened my mouth to answer. “My lord has returned.” Hades stepped through the door, still wearing his traveling cloak, snow-dusted and wind-cold from the outer reaches of Olympus. He saw me. He paused. Minthe rose immediately and folded herself into his arms. “My lord,” she said, her voice gone soft and wounded. “Sister has come to scold me for the household accounts. I have tried so hard to manage wisely, but there simply isn’t enough —” Hades frowned. He looked at me. “Sister,” he said, with the careful patience of someone managing a delicate situation, “Minthe bears a great many burdens. Please be patient a little longer. I will see to it that your needs are met.” I stared at him. He had the power to rearrange the very stars. And this was his answer. I said nothing. I said only: “Of course.” And I walked back to the dark and frozen east wing alone.

From that day, Minthe and I were at war. Not over Hades. I want to be clear about that. It was about dignity. Whatever I had once felt for that man, whatever foolish love had bound me to him in our first life — I did not come to his house for him. I came because I had nowhere else to go. And having come, I found I was owed at least the basic respect due to someone who had built the ground he stood upon. I had sustained him when he was nothing. The House of Selen had funded his rise. I would not be treated as a beggar in the halls I had helped to fill with light. So when she docked my provisions, I went to the treasury steward and argued my case. When she spread whispers about me among the serving nymphs, I confronted her directly. Every time, I was overruled. Hades’s law was simple: Minthe’s word was final. Once, she accused me of stealing her golden hairpin — made a scene that rattled the entire palace. I uncovered the truth within an afternoon: one of her own handmaidens had mislaid it. I brought the evidence before Hades and laid it out, clear and incontrovertible. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Sister, she is young. She does not always think before she speaks. Please — do not hold it against her.” I looked at him for a long moment. I felt something shift in me. When he had been a forgotten and powerless wanderer, I had shielded him from every slight. I had stood in front of him when others mocked him, and refused to let anyone diminish what I believed he could become. And now, enthroned and magnificent, he asked me to absorb every wound his wife inflicted and repay her with patience and grace. I began to understand that the world runs not on love, but on what is convenient. On what men are willing to protect when it costs them something. The worst came when Minthe poisoned me. It was not meant to kill. Only to humiliate — to leave me doubled over, weak and gasping, during a gathering of divine households. A small cruelty, carelessly deployed. When I discovered the source, something in me finally broke. I crossed the palace in three strides and struck her across the face. She screamed. She ran to Hades. That evening, Hades came to the east wing. He told me I must kneel before her and beg her forgiveness. I am Persephone of the House of Selen. My knees bend for the sky, for the earth, for my parents. For no one else. I refused. So Hades gave the order. His attendants surrounded me. They took up the iron-banded staves kept by the door. Once. Twice. Three times. The blows came down across my legs, and the pain finally drove me to my knees. Through blurring vision, I saw Minthe standing over me, and the corner of her mouth was curved into a smile. That night, Hades came alone to the east wing. He looked at my legs, which had lost all feeling. He sighed and reached for my hand. I pulled it away. He sat in silence for a moment. Then he spoke. “Sister. I am sorry for today. Truly.” “But Minthe — she saved my life, once. I swore an oath to her. I swore I would never allow her to suffer.” I looked at him. Saved your life. That is the coin she holds. And who carried you home through the winter storm when you collapsed, starving, in the road? Who sat with you through three nights of fever? Who poured the last of the family’s tungsten steel into the raging fire to forge the most resilient weapon for you? What coin do I hold? I did not say it. I was too tired. The cold and the injury worked together, and I sickened. Each day I grew weaker. The finest healers of Olympus came, and none of them could turn it back. The day I died, snow fell beyond the window like a blessing I no longer wanted. Hades knelt beside my bed, gripping my hand as though he could hold me to this world through sheer will. “Sister,” he said. “Forgive me. This life — I failed you completely.” “If the Fates grant another — I swear I will bring you home properly. With ceremony, with honor. I will give you your name.” I looked at him. My heart was perfectly still. What had I answered? I remembered. I used the last of my strength to pull my hand free, finger by finger. “Hades,” I whispered. “In the next life — let us never meet at all.” I closed my eyes. I heard him cry out behind me — a raw, torn sound, the voice of a god stripped to something human and helpless. And then I woke up. Back at the beginning. Standing on the temple-house balcony, the Golden Apple warm in my palm.

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My flight to London was supposed to leave in two hours. I found out at the gate that my first-class seat had been canceled. I called my assistant, and he stumbled over every word. “Ms. Kensington, I booked you the earliest first-class departure, but Preston’s new assistant — Genevieve — flagged it as unnecessary extravagance and switched it to a red-eye economy seat. Four hours later.” I didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I started asking questions. What I learned made my blood run cold. Ever since Genevieve Laurent walked into Kensington Enterprises, she’d been on a crusade. She killed the office espresso machines. She axed the catered Friday lunches. She slashed overtime Uber stipends down to nothing. People were coming out of pocket just to show up and do their jobs. The complaints from the floor had been building for weeks. Furious, I bought my own ticket, flew to London, closed the billion-dollar acquisition, and called Preston the moment I landed back on the tarmac. He brushed me off. “Genevieve is only trying to cut costs. She means well. You should actually be thanking her.” I laughed. I genuinely laughed. “If she’s so focused on saving money,” I said, “then I’ll save even more — I’ll fire both of you and cut two salaries at once.” The line went dead. Preston had hung up on me. I stared at my phone. The broke, disgraced son of a collapsed Wall Street dynasty — and he had the nerve to hang up on me. Three years ago, his father’s firm imploded overnight. The man jumped from the fourteenth floor. Preston had nothing left but a faded last name and an agreement my grandfather had made with his. Out of respect for the dead, I honored it. I brought him into the company, gave him a VP title, and let him rebuild whatever was left of his pride. This was how he paid me back. I booked the next flight home and opened my company Slack. What I found there was worse. One thread after another. My employees, venting in a channel they thought I never checked. “Genevieve literally stood over me while I printed contracts and counted the pages. I reprinted one sheet by accident and she docked $200 from my paycheck.” “No more Uber reimbursement after 9 PM. I’ve been splitting cabs with strangers to get home.” “Sales team is done. She capped client dinners at $15 per person. You can’t close a seven-figure deal over McDonald’s.” Kensington Enterprises wasn’t just a company. My grandfather built it from nothing over fifty years ago. Three generations of my family had poured everything into it — and the reputation we’d earned, with clients and employees alike, was the one thing money couldn’t manufacture. People trusted the Kensington name. That trust took decades. And Preston was letting this woman burn it to the ground. And then I found the one that stopped me cold. Preston and Genevieve had expensed a full week in Aspen — a “ski resort feasibility study.” Presidential suite. Private instructor. Michelin-starred dinners every night. Total damage to the company account: well over $200,000. And buried in the line items, charged to the company emergency fund — a $150,000 Bvlgari necklace. He used my money to buy jewelry for another woman. I closed my laptop. The flight home was eleven hours. I didn’t sleep for a single minute of it. The rage started as something almost laughable — my own fiancé, my own money, my own company. The sheer absurdity of it. By the time the wheels touched down in New York, I had made up my mind. Every single person who had played me for a fool was going to pay for it.

I didn’t call ahead. I walked into the Kensington Tower lobby in the same clothes I’d worn on the plane, and two men I had never seen before stepped directly into my path. “Badge or QR code,” the bigger one said. “No entry without Genevieve’s clearance.” I looked at him. “I’m Sloane Kensington. This is my building.” The two of them exchanged a glance. Then they laughed. “Sloane who? We answer to Preston and Genevieve. Nobody else.” Before I could respond, I heard heels on marble. Genevieve Laurent walked out of the elevator carrying a Starbucks cup, wearing a Chanel suit that I was fairly certain had been expensed to the company account. She moved through the lobby like she owned it — easy, unhurried, performing for the room. I watched her. And then I saw it. A small birthmark just below her left collarbone. The size of a coin. My mind snapped back ten years — to a manila folder on my desk, a charity trust application, a photograph of a teenage girl from a trailer park outside Odessa, Texas. Father in and out of prison. Drug debts. A caseworker’s note that said if funding didn’t come through, the girl would likely be sold off to cover what her father owed. I had approved that application without a second thought. I had been funding her anonymously ever since. The Ivy League tuition. The apartment deposits. The “fresh start” money every time she asked for it. That was no French socialite standing in my lobby. That was Brandy Jenkins.

“Brandy.” One word. I said it quietly. She froze mid-step. The Starbucks cup stopped halfway to her lips. I watched the color drain out of her face in real time. “That’s not my name,” she said. “Brandy Jenkins,” I said. “Odessa, Texas. Your father owed $40,000 to a local dealer and was three days away from handing you over to cover it. You were sixteen.” The lobby had gone completely silent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was steady but her jaw was tight. “The Halo Trust Fund,” I said. “Anonymous donor. Except I’m the donor. I have every wire transfer, every tuition invoice, every lease co-sign going back ten years. The nose job. The veneers. The name change.” I tilted my head. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own investment?” Something shifted behind her eyes. The socialite act cracked — and what came through wasn’t embarrassment. It was rage. “You want a thank you?” Her voice came out sharp and ugly. “Is that what this is? You write a few checks and you think you own my whole life?” “I think you walked into my company under a fake identity,” I said. “That’s what I think.” “I earned everything I have.” She was shaking now. “Every single thing. You were born in a penthouse and you have no idea what it feels like to survive on someone else’s pity. Every dollar you sent made me sick.” “You want the truth? I’m glad I took it. I’d do it again.” She took a step toward me, chin up, voice dropping to something vicious and triumphant. “And I don’t need you anymore. I have Preston now. And when he takes over this company, everything you built — everything your precious grandfather bled for — is going to be ours.” I looked at her. “You think Preston can take my company.” “I think he already has.” She smiled. “You’ve been gone a month, Sloane. Look around.” I looked around. She wasn’t entirely wrong. New security at every entrance. New faces at the front desk. The espresso machines were gone, replaced with a sign about “wellness-aligned beverage policies.” Three employees I recognized from the senior floor were sitting in the lobby with cardboard boxes on their laps. “Get her out,” Genevieve said to the guards, like she’d been giving that order for months. “She’s trespassing.” “I am the majority shareholder of this building,” I said flatly. “And I have a restraining order filed this morning citing workplace harassment.” She pulled out her phone and showed me the document. “Preston signed it. Your name is on it. You come within fifty feet of this office, you’re in violation.” She tilted her head, mimicking my earlier gesture. “Did you really think he wouldn’t prepare?” The two guards grabbed my arms. I didn’t fight it. One of them twisted hard — too hard, deliberately — and I felt my knee buckle as they shoved me toward the door. The marble step caught me wrong and I went down, both palms hitting the floor, the impact cracking up through my wrists. I stayed there for a moment. On my knees. On my own floor. Around me, my employees looked away. Genevieve crouched down to my level, voice soft enough that only I could hear. “This is my house now, Brandy was a girl who needed saving.” She stood back up. “Genevieve Laurent takes what she wants.” The guards grabbed my arms again to drag me the rest of the way out.

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Every siren High Priestess has a Heart Core. The queen swallowed my sister’s. But she forgot about the second one.” They gut my sister like a fish in front of me. She’s thrown into a basin full of pearls, her massive tail thrashing, casting this sick blue glow across every face in the room. Soldiers shove their hands all over her — rough, careless — tearing off her scales like they’re peeling bark off a tree. Blue scales scatter across the stone like broken glass. Then they slice her open. A man rams his fist inside her belly, roots around like he’s digging through a sack of grain, and pulls out a Core — glowing, pulsing, beautiful. And just like that, they stop. Got what they came for. All because some queen heard a bedtime story. Somewhere deep in the Endless Sea, there’s an ancient race — sirens. And inside every siren High Priestess, there’s a Heart Core. Swallow it, and you’ll be irresistible. Forever young. Forever beautiful. Queen Seraphina heard that and lost her goddamn mind. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Had to have it. So her husband — the great and mighty King Aldric — sent his army to the bottom of the sea to make his wife happy. They butchered everyone. Every siren they could find — ripped open, left floating belly-up in water so red it looked like sunset. My aunts. My cousins. My elders. All of them. Split open and thrown away like garbage. And my sister — my Caelia — they dragged her out and cut her apart while she was still breathing. I’m hiding beneath a reef, watching the whole thing. Blood in my eyes. Blood in my mouth. And every tear that rolls down my face turns hard — crystallizes into a tiny gem before it even hits the water. Siren tears do that. They turn into jewels. Mine are stained red. The last thing I hear is Caelia’s voice — soft, steady, even now — whispering to me from behind the rock where she shoved me to safety. ““Don’t cry, little one. Just… stay alive. Survive.”” Here’s the thing the world doesn’t know. They think there’s only one High Priestess per generation. One Core. But this time, there were two of us. My sister got the beauty. The grace. The Core that grants eternal youth. I got something else. I got blood that breeds monsters. Mindworms — thousands of them — born from my own flesh, fed on my own bone. Creatures that burrow into your brain and make you see things, feel things, dream things that aren’t real. Creatures that can fake a pregnancy. Creatures that can eat a man alive from the inside out. I drag myself to shore. The Ancient Siren Rite — splitting your tail into legs — is supposed to be agonizing, and let me tell you, that’s an understatement. It feels like someone’s taking a serrated blade to my spine and just pulling. But I do it. Because Caelia told me to stay alive. And I’m not staying alive to hide. I spend three months feeding the swarm. My blood. My bone marrow. Everything I have goes into breeding these things until a small silver-white serpent — barely the length of my forearm — coils around my wrist. It’s eaten every other creature I’ve raised. Thousands of them. It’s the last one standing. I call him Fang. And then I walk to the capital. I disguise myself as a dancer, bribe my way through the castle gates with a handful of Siren’s Tears — gems made from my own crying — and I buy every scrap of information I can get. King Aldric’s schedule. His habits. His weaknesses. His routine walks by the lake. That night, the moon lays itself across the water like a sheet of silver. I dance barefoot at the edge of Sunset Lake, my toes barely kissing the surface, sending ripples through the light. The scent that rises off my skin — it’s a siren thing. Sweet. Heavy. The kind of smell that makes you forget where you are. Hundreds of fireflies come spiraling out of the dark, drawn to it, swirling around me like I’m the center of the universe. I know he’s there. I can feel him watching from the bank. I keep dancing. When I finish, I turn — and our eyes meet. I let my face flood with surprise. My heart is hammering, but not for the reason he thinks. I scramble for my shoes like I’m about to bolt, and right on cue, his voice cuts across the water. “You — are you one of the court dancers? That was… I’ve never seen anything like it.” I keep my eyes down. Play dumb. “It’s a dance from my homeland, my lord. Most people haven’t.” The spring air has a bite to it. I let myself shiver — just a little. He notices. Of course he does. He takes the pale cloak off his own shoulders and drapes it over mine. Gentle. Almost careful. I look up at him with wide eyes. Let the blush come. It’s not hard — the cold does half the work. That scent thickens between us. The air turns warm and close. I catch the flash of something in his eyes. Fascination. Hunger. Then he straightens up and clears his throat, all business again. “The Queen loves dance. Her birthday’s coming up. You’ll perform this piece for her.” I drop to my knees on the cold stone. “Forgive me, Your Majesty — I had no idea who you were.” He waves it off, but his eyes won’t leave my face. “Get up. You’re fine. Just don’t let me down.” I thank him. Accept the assignment. Watch his back disappear into the night. Then I twitch my finger. A Mindworm — tiny, almost invisible — wriggles off my skin and burrows into his. By morning, every corridor in this castle is buzzing with the same story: the King met a dancer by the lake last night. A knock on my door. A stone-faced matron I’ve never seen before. It’s starting.

I’m brought straight to Queen Seraphina. The Gilded Hall is exactly what you’d expect — dripping with silk, gold everywhere, jewels stacked on jewels. And there she sits, alone on a raised platform like she’s holding court. Crown pins. Gemstone earrings. Rings on every finger. This is the woman who wiped out my bloodline because she wanted to look pretty forever. This is the woman who killed my sister. She takes one look at me and her face crumples with disgust. Presses her lacquered nails against her lips. “This ugly little thing is supposed to dance for me?” Before I came, I dotted my face with fake freckles. Dark ones. Clusters of them. Covered every inch. Because I know what Seraphina is. She’s the kind of woman who’d slit your throat for being prettier than her. If she saw my real face right now, I’d be dead by dinner. I kneel on the stone floor, nails biting into my palms so hard I almost bleed. Every cell in my body is screaming — kill her, kill her now — but I press it all down and make my voice small. “Your Majesty, I’ll wear a veil during the performance. You won’t have to see my face.” She snorts. “Well. You’re certainly no threat to anyone looking like that. If the King wants to send me a pet dancer, fine. I’ll take his little gift.” She flicks her wrist. The matron drags me out. I’m barely through the door when I nearly slam into Aldric. He glances at me — and I see the confusion flash across his face. This freckled, plain-looking girl is nothing like the moonlit beauty from last night. But the scent doesn’t lie. He knows exactly why I did it. He knows that if Seraphina had seen my real face, he’d be stepping over my corpse right now. Something dark crosses his expression. His jaw tightens. And for the first time — just barely — I see anger toward his queen flicker behind his eyes. I let the corner of my mouth lift. Just a fraction. That’s all it takes. One tiny seed of doubt. One hairline crack. It’ll sit in the back of his mind and fester — grow roots, spread, until it’s something he can’t dig out no matter how hard he tries. And when that day comes? All of Seraphina’s power, her family, her precious position — it’ll just mean she’s got further to fall. I go back to my room. Wash the fake freckles off. Seraphina. You wanted supernatural beauty? Eternal youth? I’m going to make sure everything you stole turns to dust in your hands. Fang slides up my wrist. I stroke his tiny head. “Soon,” I whisper. “She goes first. Straight to hell. To apologize to my sister in person.” The day of Seraphina’s birthday, the castle goes all out. Water lilies have bloomed overnight across the entire surface of Sunset Lake — which everyone takes as some kind of divine blessing. Lucky omen. Great sign. Aldric stands at the shore with Seraphina on his arm. She’s beaming. “So — my gift. When do I get it?” He nods. The music starts. I step onto the lily pads. Each step barely touches the water — light as breathing, precise as a blade. That scent rolls off me again, and the fireflies come pouring out of the darkness, hundreds of them, spiraling around my body like a living constellation. Every single person watching has gone slack-jawed. Frozen. Like they forgot how to blink. Every single person except Seraphina, who’s digging her nails into her own palms hard enough to draw blood. Mid-spin, my veil slips. And there it is. My real face. No freckles. No disguise. Just — me. I turn toward Seraphina and smile. The hatred in her eyes is so raw it’s almost a living thing. The dance ends. Nobody moves. Nobody makes a sound. Until I kneel in front of Aldric. “For the Queen’s birthday, this humble dancer offers her best. May your reign with the King be long, and may your joy never fade.” “Long live the Aurelia Empire!” I don’t know when Aldric let go of Seraphina’s hand. But it’s gone now. He reaches down toward me. His voice is soft. “Rise. You didn’t disappoint.” Seraphina’s jaw is clenched so tight I’m shocked her teeth don’t shatter. She forces a smile. “What a charming gift, my lord. I love it.” “Good,” Aldric says, barely looking at her. The Mindworm’s been doing its job — pulling his attention, stirring his emotions. But it’s too risky to leave in much longer. I curl my finger, ready to call it back — And that’s when a voice slices through the crowd. “Your Majesty — how about you give this beauty to me? Consider it a peace offering between our kingdoms.”

Aldric’s head snaps toward the voice. “Who said that?” “The Crown Prince of Valdris, Your Majesty,” Cedric murmurs from his side. A man steps forward — tall, broad, dressed head to toe in foreign finery. He moves like someone who’s never been told no. “King Aldric. I’m Prince Kaelen of Valdris.” “Hand her over, and I’ll guarantee a hundred years of peace. Not one drop of blood spilled between our nations.” Dead silence. Then gasps. Because this is insane — in the best possible way for everyone except me. One dancer for a century of peace? Any king with half a brain would take that deal in a heartbeat. Seraphina jumps in immediately. “My lord, surely this would be a wonderful opportunity for the girl. A prince’s consort — what more could she want?” Aldric hesitates. And I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. Logic says do it. Strategy says do it. Every political instinct he has is screaming take the deal. So why can’t he? I lift my face and look at him. Just look. Today I’ve painted shimmering marks near my eyes — they catch the light and make everything about my face more intense, more devastating. But right now, those devastating eyes are filling with tears. Something cracks inside him. I see it happen. “You’re too late,” he says. “She’s already mine.” Seraphina chokes. “My lord?!” Kaelen bows — disappointed but graceful — and backs away. My back is drenched in cold sweat. Thank god. Thank god I didn’t pull that Mindworm out in time. Without it nudging his emotions, he would’ve handed me over without blinking. No king in history turns down free peace for a girl he met two days ago. That afternoon, he declared me his in front of the entire court. That evening, the royal decree shows up at my door. I am now the Lady of the Moon. I leave the dancers’ quarters and look out over the castle grounds. In my chest, a vow settles like iron. Everything they did to you, Caelia — to our people — I will repay it. Every last drop. When I reach Moonstone Hall — my new chambers — Seraphina is already there. Waiting. She looks at my face and smiles. Poison dripping from every syllable. “You lied to me.” “If I hadn’t — would I have lived long enough to dance today?” She laughs, stroking the cat in her lap. “Fair point. You do know me well.” The smile vanishes. “But let me make something very clear. Title or no title. King’s bed or not. I will kill you whenever I feel like it.” I hold her gaze. Steady. Calm as still water. “So you’ve already picked how I die?” “A fire. A tragic accident. The Lady of the Moon, burned alive in her own chambers.” She leans forward. “Aldric and I go way back — childhood sweethearts. My father and brother fight his wars. You think he’ll shed a single tear over one dead mistress?” Her men grab me. Bind my hands. Bind my feet. Throw me to the floor. Oil splashes across the walls. The floor. My dress. The first spark drops and Seraphina laughs — loud, wild, free. “He’s drunk tonight. Dead drunk. No one’s coming for you, sweetheart.” I watch her walk away through the growing flames. My face doesn’t move. The fire erupts. The guards at my door grab their throats — blood gushing from their eyes, nose, mouth, ears — and crumple. Dead before they hit the ground. I step through the fire with Fang curled around my arm. My little insects have already laid a trail. I follow it — running, running — until I crash headfirst into someone’s chest. I look up. Wide eyes. Trembling lip. The terror on my face is flawless. Aldric crushes me against him, staring at the blaze over my shoulder. “Who the hell did this? Find them. NOW.” I bury my face in his chest and say nothing. He knows who did it. We both know he knows. But he’ll pretend — because Seraphina is his childhood bride, and her family has an army. He’s not going to punish her. Not for me. Not for a girl he barely knows. “I’m scared,” I whisper, pressing closer. Making myself as small and soft as possible. He’s really drunk. Flushed. I can smell the wine on every breath. And I’m a siren. Every part of me is designed to make men lose their minds. Add the Mindworm stoking his desire, and the look in his eyes shifts from concern to something much, much darker. He scoops me up and carries me straight to his chambers. It won’t take long for Seraphina to hear about this. And she will absolutely lose it. Right on schedule — I’ve barely settled in when her steward drops to his knees outside the door. “Your Majesty — the Queen is feeling terribly unwell. She’s begging to see you.”

I’m draped in nothing but a silk slip, looking up at Aldric through heavy lashes. My voice comes out low and sweet. “Are you going to go to her?” His eyes are glazed over. He stares at me like the rest of the world just… stopped existing. “With you right here… I can’t even remember her name.” I press my hand to my mouth and laugh — quiet, teasing. It’s just us in this room. Just candlelight and him looking at me like I’m the only real thing left. His breath is hot against my neck. His fingers trace my collarbone. And then — just like that — he’s out cold. On his forehead, a pale pink Mindworm is still wriggling its way deeper. I roll him onto the bed. Pull the blankets up to his chin. “Sweet dreams, Your Majesty. I made this one special.” Then I slide the pin from my hair and prick my fingertip. A few drops of blood onto a silk cloth — the rest goes straight into his mouth. Can’t waste the good stuff. This amount won’t kill him. Not yet. But give it time — night after night, drop after drop — and it’ll eat him from the inside like rust on iron. And here’s the beautiful part: no healer in this world can cure it. Only me. The moon’s directly overhead now, pouring silver through the window. I sit on the edge of his bed, counting minutes. A scratch at the windowsill. A spider — no bigger than my thumbnail. One of the thousand tiny spies I’ve seeded throughout this castle. She’s coming. I stand. Smooth my clothes. Walk outside. Seraphina is standing at the foot of the steps with what looks like half the castle’s staff behind her. Servants, stewards, guards — a whole damn army. This isn’t a jealous wife checking on her husband. This is a siege. I stand above her on the steps. Slowly — deliberately — I sweep my hair to one side, baring the fresh red mark on my neck. Moonlight on my skin. A smile on my lips. Sweet as sugar. “The King’s asleep. Maybe try again tomorrow?” Her face twists into something barely human. “You filthy — I will kill you with my bare hands!” I point — lazy, casual — at her belly. “Careful, Your Majesty. You don’t want to upset the baby.” She freezes. Mid-scream. Like someone hit pause. Here’s the thing about Seraphina. Aldric once promised her — give me a son, and I’ll make you the most powerful woman in the kingdom. Official. Permanent. Five years of marriage. Nothing. Not even a scare. She’s tried everything. Every healer, every remedy, every folk cure in every corner of the continent. Nothing works. And if she can’t produce an heir soon, that promise dies. “Guards! Drag this whore out of my sight and BEAT HER TO DEATH!” Yeah. I hit a nerve. I shake off the hands grabbing at me. “Your Majesty — take a breath. Maybe call a healer? Have them check?” I pause. Let the silence build. “Because this baby? I’m the only one who can keep it alive.”

Seraphina’s lying on a chaise in her private chamber. Half a dozen healers are on their knees in front of her. She’s propped up on one elbow, exhaustion carved into every line of her face, patience clearly gone. “Well? Am I pregnant or not?” “Without question, Your Majesty. Every sign points to a healthy pregnancy.” They say it in unison. Like a chorus. Seraphina shoots upright. Her eyes go glassy. “Really?” Her voice is shaking. Tiny. Careful — like she’s holding something so fragile that breathing wrong would break it. And I think — huh. So even someone like her can look this small. She turns to me, remembering my words. “And? Is it stable?” “Strong and steady, Your Majesty. Nothing to worry about.” She smiles. For one second, it’s genuine. Then she looks at me and the smile turns to murder. “Now that I’m carrying the King’s heir, I really shouldn’t have blood on my hands.” Pause. “But God, you make me want to.” She snaps her fingers. Her men lunge at me, fingers digging into my arms. I twitch one finger. Seraphina doubles over screaming, clutching her stomach. The healers rush in. Check her pulse. One by one, their faces drain white. They hit the floor. “Your Majesty — please — we’re losing the baby —” She goes dead pale. She just found out she’s pregnant. How can she already be losing it? She looks at me. All the venom’s gone. All the cruelty’s gone. What’s left is raw, naked terror. “Do something! Now!” “If you lose this baby — I’ll kill everyone you love.” My nails are buried in my palms. Everyone I’ve ever loved. That’s the funniest thing she’s ever said. They’re dead. All of them. She killed them. I’m the only one who crawled out of that grave. And I crawled out for her. I step forward. Dab a tincture on her wrists. Her color slowly comes back. The healer checks again. Stable. Crisis over. Here’s the truth: I don’t know the first thing about medicine. And Seraphina isn’t pregnant. The night she tried to burn me alive, I slipped a Mindworm inside her. A special one. It mimics every sign of pregnancy — fools every healer, even produces kicks in the later months. But it also feeds. Day and night. Draining the host from the inside out. And it answers to me. If I want her dead, she dies. One thought. That’s all it takes. But just Seraphina? That’s not enough. The men who actually butchered my people — they were her father and brother. Her brother. Duke Seraph. Those thick, greasy hands of his running up and down my sister’s tail. Ripping off scales like he was shucking corn. Scales and blood raining down while Caelia’s face twisted in silent agony. She never screamed. Not once. She clenched her jaw so hard she cracked her own teeth. By the time she died, they were shattered. I look at Seraphina’s happy, hopeful face and feel something cold settle in my chest. Every second of pain my sister felt — you’re going to pay back a hundred times over.

I get back to Aldric’s chambers. He’s still out cold. I slip off my outer gown, slide in beside him, and stare at the ceiling. I wonder what his face is going to look like when he finds out Seraphina’s pregnant. Because here’s the thing — he’s the one who had her poisoned. Years ago. Secretly. Made sure she could never conceive. The Ashfords are too powerful. Too much military muscle. If Seraphina produced a male heir, her father could use that kid as a puppet — stage a coup, take the throne from the inside. Does Aldric care about Seraphina? Sure. A little. Childhood sweethearts and all that. But the crown comes first. Always. He wakes up and stares at me for a long, dazed moment. That dreamy look — still swimming in last night’s visions. My Mindworm dreams are very good. I flutter my eyes open under his gaze. Shy smile. Little stretch. I’m reaching for his robe when Cedric’s voice comes through the curtain. “Your Majesty — the Queen’s sent word. The healers confirmed it this morning. She’s with child.” The smile dies on Aldric’s face. Just — gone. Like someone blew out a candle. “Has the news gotten out?” “She’s already sent a rider to Lord Commander Ashford.” I start to get up — give him space, play the considerate mistress — but he catches my hand. “Stay. You’re exhausted from last night. Rest here.” His thumb traces circles on my wrist. “I’ll find you somewhere better to live.” I thank him. Lie back down in his bed. Watch him walk out the door. Seraphina’s pregnant. The Ashfords are circling. Aldric’s buried in politics. Nobody’s paying attention to the dancer with no last name. Perfect. Prince Kaelen of Valdris — that’s my blade. I don’t just want a handful of deaths. You wiped out my entire species. I’m going to tear your kingdom apart from the inside. I write a note, let Fang carry it in his mouth, and send him to find Kaelen. Days pass. I move into nicer chambers. Things are quiet. Then Seraphina’s steward shows up at my door. “The Queen’s in terrible pain. She needs the Lady of the Moon. Immediately.” I run my fingers over Fang where he’s coiled on my desk. Tuck him into my sleeve. Head to the Gilded Hall. Inside, the incense is so thick it burns my eyes — but underneath it, I can smell the blood. So. Aldric made his move. Too bad. There’s nothing real in her belly. He can poison her all he wants — all it does is make her hurt. Nobody knows I saved her “pregnancy” that night. Aldric has no idea. I stand over Seraphina’s bed, watching her face crumple with pain, and pull out my silver needles with a calm, practiced hand.

The Mindworm doesn’t care about Aldric’s poison. Inside Seraphina’s belly, it keeps growing. Multiplying. Getting fat. “My baby — is it going to be okay?” The words barely come out.” She can barely get the words out. I make a show of checking her pulse. “Yeah. But it’s going to hurt.” Even half-dead, she can’t help herself. “If you’re lying, my father and brother will make you beg for death.” I slide the first needle in. Slow. Inch by inch. All the way in until it disappears under her skin. The pain must be unreal — I can see it eating her alive — but she can’t scream. Can’t move. All she can do is stare at me with those bloodshot eyes, shaking with rage. Her father and brother. Right. I’d love to see them try — considering they can barely keep themselves alive right now. I gave Kaelen a handful of Mindworms weeks ago. Told him to get them into the Ashfords’ food. Father and son both command the border army. Once the worms take hold, they get reckless. Aggressive. Stupid. They’ll overplay their hand, and when they do, their soldiers will lose faith. An army that doesn’t trust its generals is just a mob with swords. Ten whispers. One for each finger. I stop. Seraphina passed out three whispers ago. I wave toward the door. “Send the healers in.” But it’s not just healers who walk through that door. Aldric’s right behind them. The healer checks Seraphina through the curtain. Aldric and I stand side by side. His eyes are ice. “I didn’t realize you had hidden talents.” “A village remedy, Your Majesty. Nothing grand.” He doesn’t smile back. Just stares at the curtain. I wrecked his plan and he’s pissed. I’m still trying to figure out how to spin this when the healer speaks. “The Queen’s pregnancy is stable, Your Majesty.” Aldric’s face goes dark. But he walks over to Seraphina, takes her hand, and plays the loving husband. “You’ve been through so much, my love.” She gives him a weak, grateful smile. “For you and our child — it’s nothing.” I stand off to the side, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He doesn’t look happy. He looks like someone forced him to swallow glass. “I should thank Lyra,” Seraphina says sweetly — so syrupy I nearly laugh. She knows she’s falling apart. Every healer in the kingdom couldn’t keep her pregnancy stable. Only I can. Aldric turns to me. The cold in his voice could freeze the lake solid. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

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Nine years after Jesse Marlow’s mother had me raped and destroyed my family, I limp into the clinic to abort the rapist’s baby — and the half-blood Alpha-heir who let it all happen walks in wearing a doctor’s coat. I freeze for half a second. Then I keep walking. My left sleeve is empty. It’s been empty for nine years. I pin it up every morning like other women pin up their hair. Jesse looks up from the chart. His face does something — a flinch, a crack, gone before I can name it. “Wendy.” I don’t answer. I drop my appointment slip on his desk. “I’m here for an abortion. Today, please.” He doesn’t pick up the slip. He just stares at it like the paper might bite him. “Your body’s not strong,” he says quietly. “An abortion will hurt you. Are you sure?” His voice is the same. Soft. Careful. The same voice that told me I was a slut in front of our whole class. The same voice that walked away while his mother burned my life down. I look at him. Really look. He’s tall now. The half-blood thing they used to whisper about — it shows. His shoulders are too wide for the coat. His eyes are too gold for a human’s. So Crimson Fang Pack didn’t kill him after all. They just polished him up. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure. The sooner the better.” He picks up the slip. His hand is shaking. He’s trying to hide it and failing. “Why are you doing this?” he asks. “Your husband — he’s not good to you?” My husband. I almost laugh. He thinks I have a husband. He thinks some man somewhere wakes up next to me and calls me his. I don’t correct him. He’s nobody. After today he goes back to being nobody. “Just book the surgery, Dr. Marlow.” He flinches at his own name in my mouth. He examines me in silence. Cold stethoscope. Cold hands. Hands that used to be warm when I was seventeen and stupid and thought he hung the moon. “Today,” he finally says. “We’ll do it today.” They wheel me into prep. A needle slides into my vein. The room starts swimming. A nurse pokes her head in and whispers something to Jesse. He doesn’t even hesitate. He drops everything and walks out. Through the fog I hear the nurses talking like I can’t hear them. “Dr. Marlow’s so sweet to his girlfriend. She’s got a little cold and he runs.” “Yeah. Not like this one. Comes in alone for an abortion. No man. You can tell what kind she is.” My eyelids twitch. I can’t open them. I want to tell them. I want to say it. I’m not a slut. I used to be Jesse Marlow’s whole world. —

Three hours before I limped into that clinic, I was scrolling Facebook on a break at work. A post was going viral. Already thousands of shares. I scrolled because I was bored. I scrolled because my feet hurt and I had twenty minutes before the lunch rush. Then I saw it. “My son dated a normal little girl back in high school. I didn’t stop them. I just used a few small tricks and ruined the girl. My son watched his own girlfriend rot in front of him. He got disgusted. He broke up with her. Now he’s safe at home, doing big things. This is what every great mother does for her son.” Marlene. After nine years, she’s still bragging. The comments were a war zone. Thousands of strangers calling her a monster. Thousands more cheering her on. *Smart mom. Saved her son from a gold digger.* I read it twice. I waited for something to happen in my chest. Nothing happened. I turned off my phone. I went back to wiping tables. It used to take everything in me not to scream when I thought about her. Now I can read a public confession of what she did to me and feel — nothing. Just tired. That’s what nine years of pills and broken sleep does. It hollows you out. It takes the rage and the love and the fear and grinds them into the same gray dust. My boss looked at me funny. “Wendy. You okay?” “Fine.” “You still going to the clinic after shift?” “Yeah.” She nodded. She didn’t ask whose baby. She knew better than to ask. I finished my shift. I caught the bus to the clinic across town. The smaller one. The one nobody I know goes to. The one I used to come to all the time as a kid. I limped up the steps. I signed in. I sat down with the slip in my hand. A nurse called my name. I followed her down the hall to the exam room. I pushed the door open. The doctor had his back to me. White coat. Tall. Shoulders too wide. He turned around. And nine years of gray dust caught fire all at once. Jesse Marlow. Back in the same little human clinic he used to work at, before his father’s pack came in their black SUVs and took him away. He’d come back. Of course he had. The universe had one more joke to play on me. —

I was sixteen the first time I saw him. He was sitting on the curb outside the empty house next to ours. Skinny. Pale. A backpack with one broken strap. A bruise on his jaw that nobody had asked about. My mom watched him from the kitchen window for a week. Then she put extra food in my lunch tin and shoved it into my hands. “Take this to the boy next door, Wendy. Nobody’s feeding him.” That’s how it started. His name was Jesse. He was seventeen. He told me his father had “sent him out here for the summer.” He didn’t say why. The neighbors said why. “He’s the bastard. The Alpha’s bastard from over in Crimson Fang. The pack didn’t want him so they dumped him on the human side with his mother.” I didn’t know what an Alpha was. I didn’t care. He had a bruise on his jaw and my mom had made him dumplings. I brought him food every day for a month. By the end of that month he smiled when he saw me coming. Kids at school whispered. “His mom’s a mistress. He’s half-blood wolf. He’s dirty. Don’t sit next to him, Wendy.” I turned around in my seat. I said it loud enough for the whole row to hear. “Don’t talk about him like that. Jesse’s the best person I know.” I made it up a little. I had to. Somebody had to make it up for him. A girl elbowed me. I looked up. Jesse was standing in the doorway. His eyes were red. He’d heard every word. I got embarrassed and bolted. That night he caught up to me outside the school gate. He didn’t say anything for a whole block. Then his fingers found mine. “Wendy. Thank you. You’re the best person I know too.” I didn’t pull my hand away. We walked home like that. His palm hot against mine. My face hot against the cold air. My heart doing something it had never done before. We were a couple by Halloween. He told me he’d love me forever. He told me we’d go to the same college. Buy a tiny house. Get two cats. One orange, one black. I believed him. I was sixteen and his hand was warm and nobody had ever looked at me the way he looked at me, like I was the only safe thing in the world. On my eighteenth birthday I waited for him on the porch with a cake. He was late. When he finally came home, he wasn’t alone. A woman stepped out of the car behind him. Pretty. Soft voice. Smiling at me like she’d known me for years. “You must be Wendy. I’m Jesse’s mom.” —

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For eighteen years, I used the Moonlight Blessing bestowed upon me by the Moon Goddess to lift my Alpha husband, Basil, to the pinnacle of power. Until I discovered he had stolen my child—replacing her with the bastard son he’d fathered with my adopted sister, making that boy his heir. While my true daughter was exiled to a bottom-rung settlement, beaten and broken. And my parents had known all along, keeping silent to protect their interests. I didn’t weep. I didn’t beg. I simply reached out through the mindlink to the Alpha of the Northern Pack—Ronan Nightveil. “I’m willing to transfer my Moonlight Blessing to the Nightveil Pack,” I said. “I have only one condition—I want Delphinium Pack destroyed. Completely.” Basil once thought controlling an Omega was like keeping a pet on a leash. He was wrong. When he loses the Blessing, when his allies abandon him, when he’s on his knees begging for my forgiveness— I’ll make sure he knows exactly what it feels like to be ripped out by the roots. … … The night before my son Caspian’s eighteenth birthday, my husband Basil informed me that I would not be attending the Shift ceremony. “An Omega’s scent interferes with the first Shift,” he said without looking up, his tone laced with contempt and impatience. “Just stay home.” Eighteen years. I had never missed a single milestone in Caspian’s life—and now, on the most important night of his existence, my husband was telling me to stay away. “Basil, I’m his mother.” “Precisely because you’re his mother, you should be thinking of what’s best for him.” He finally raised his eyes, his gaze calm but utterly non-negotiable. “Serena, don’t be difficult.” Don’t be difficult. The words slid into my chest like a thin needle. As if insisting on attending my own child’s coming-of-age ceremony was somehow an unreasonable demand. I said nothing more. But at midnight, when the full moon climbed to its zenith, I slipped out of our home anyway. I followed the glow of the ritual bonfire through the silver fir forest until I reached the outer perimeter of the clan’s sacred grounds. At the center of the stone platform, Caspian knelt beneath the moonlight. His muscles were undergoing their first reshaping—shoulder blades rising, spine curving, knuckles beginning to distort. Basil stood behind him, his black-gold eyes blazing like lanterns. And then I saw someone who shouldn’t have been there. Breenda. She stood in the inner circle—the position reserved only for immediate blood kin. I, Caspian’s mother, had been barred from attending. Yet she—my adopted sister, exiled years ago—stood brazenly in the closest position, hands clasped together, lips moving as though praying for Caspian. My heart seized violently. In the next moment, Caspian completed his Shift. A young wolf rose in the firelight, lifted his head, and let out his first long howl. His coat was clearly visible in the flames—a base of black-gold interwoven with silver-grey, like storm clouds split open by lightning in a dark sky. Black-gold. Basil’s color. Silver-grey. Breenda’s color. And my wolf was moon-white—the color that should have flowed through my own flesh and blood—not a single trace of it existed. My legs began to buckle. I stumbled back a step. My spine hit a tree trunk, and the pain brought me partially back to my senses. I don’t remember how I made it home. I only know that when Basil pushed open the door at dawn, I was sitting in the dark, waiting. “His color is wrong.” My voice came out far calmer than I expected. Basil’s footsteps halted. “Serena—” “Black-gold and silver-grey. Your colors and Breenda’s.” I looked up at him. “Caspian isn’t my child, is he?” His reaction wasn’t denial. It wasn’t confusion. It was rage. “Have you lost your mind?” He snarled like a beast on the verge of losing control. “You carried him for ten months! You’re going to doubt your own son over fur color?” “Then let’s do a blood lineage test.” He grabbed my wrist with crushing force, enough to grind bone. “No.” “Basil—” “I said no!” His pheromones exploded outward in an instant, Alpha dominance slamming into me like a wall. My body trembled instinctively—an Omega has almost no capacity to resist that kind of pressure. Then he released me, turned, and stormed out of the room. A moment later, I heard the front door lock from the outside. I had been locked inside my own home. I opened my palms and stared at the four crescent-shaped blood marks on each one. I started to laugh. And somewhere in the laughing, the tears came. Eighteen years. For eighteen years, I had poured the Moon Goddess’s Moonlight Blessing into the Delphinium Pack without reservation. Their warriors were formidable because of my blood, unkillable because of my protection, united because of my bond. Basil had risen from the young leader of a third-rate clan to the most feared Alpha on the continent. And me? I wasn’t even allowed to attend my own “son’s” Shift ceremony. In the darkness, I activated my mindlink and reached out to someone I had never contacted of my own volition before. The Alpha of the Nightveil Pack—Ronan Nightveil. “Serena?” The voice on the other end carried obvious surprise. “Ronan,” I said. “About the Moonlight Blessing transfer—I agree.” A beat of silence. Then a low, measured response: “I’ll send someone to collect you tomorrow.” “No. It’s not time yet.” I severed the link and erased all traces. After dawn, Basil came back. He stood in the kitchen, clumsily frying a cut of venison. “Serena,” he turned to look at me, his voice softened by three degrees. “Last night—I was too impulsive.” On the table sat warm wine and slightly charred venison chops. He sat across from me, and neither of us mentioned the night before. “Caspian comes home next week.” “Mm.” His voice dropped lower. “Serena, stop overthinking this, all right? When he gets back, we’ll have a proper family dinner.” Family. The word suddenly sounded obscene. “What about the blood test?” The tenderness on his face froze for an instant, then slowly drained away. “Why do you insist on fixating on this?” His knife and fork clattered against the plate, the sound sharp and piercing. He stood up and left for the second time. I stood by the window, watching his figure disappear into the morning mist, then walked into the study. On the desk lay a mate-bond dissolution contract and a territory division agreement. Just then, a voice appeared in my mindlink. My mother, Gwendolyn. “Serena, how have you been feeling? Oh, by the way—Breenda is officially returning to the pack next week. Basil arranged a Warrior Elder seat for her. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together. We should have a family gathering.” I stared at those words, my fingertips ice-cold. Breenda. She was coming back.

Breenda Whitmore. The name made my eyelid twitch involuntarily. She was coming back. Basil had arranged it. I was a born Luna, blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, having poured eighteen years of Moonlight Blessing into this pack—yet because I was an Omega, I had never been granted a single formal position within the clan. And she—an adopted daughter who had been exiled for poisoning my food—was being handed the title of Warrior Elder the moment she returned. I would never forget the day Breenda was taken away. The hatred in her eyes—cold as a viper’s. “I hate her! I just hate her!” “Why? I’m a warrior’s descendant! I’m an Alpha! She’s nothing but a pathetic little Omega—why does she get everything?” For a long time afterward, she still appeared in my nightmares. But I had never stopped to think carefully about why Breenda—who had only survived because my family took her in—despised me so deeply. Or when exactly she and Basil had become so close. I swallowed the chill rising in my chest, kept my voice steady, and replied to my mother: “All right. When? I’ll get things ready.” “Don’t worry about it—we’ll handle everything. You just rest.” Mother paused, then added, “Serena, listen to me. Be gentler with Basil tonight. You know how Alphas are—pride matters more to them than anything.” I didn’t reply. That same day, I reached out through a secret channel outside the pack and contacted an independent blood lineage specialist. I paid the rush fee and sent a sample of fur Caspian had shed at the ritual site after his Shift. Then, through a separate line, I hired a roaming intelligence operative who moved between packs, tasking him with a full investigation into Basil’s secret resource flows over the years. Twelve hours later, the results came back. I sat in the study for a long time before I opened the document. I turned directly to the last line. “Based on comparative blood lineage analysis, no parental relationship exists between Serena Whitmore and Caspian Delphinium.” Even though I’d already suspected, seeing it in black and white made my hands tremble uncontrollably. Eighteen years. I pressed down on the shaking in my hands and looked out the window. In the distance, the surface of Moon Lake lay still as a mirror, reflecting everything I once thought I would protect for a lifetime. But now, nothing was what it had been. The operative’s preliminary report arrived shortly after. From Basil’s private vault, large shipments of moon coins, rare herbs, and forging materials had been sent to the border on a regular monthly basis. It had been going on for over twelve years. The recipient was registered as a shell trading company—but the actual beneficiary was one person: Breenda. The amounts were substantial. More than enough for someone in exile to live in extreme comfort. The final note made my stomach clench. [Breenda Whitmore owns a private estate in the exile territory, purchased nineteen years ago with full payment in moon coins.] Nineteen years ago—the same year I was diagnosed as pregnant. The same year Breenda was sent away. A horrifying theory began to form in my mind. … The weekend family dinner arrived on schedule. Mother brought a full basket of ingredients. Father Harold helped unload at the door. Breenda entered last. She wore a silver-grey evening gown, her hair loosely pinned behind her ears, her gait unhurried—as though she were returning to a place that had always been hers. “Serena.” She smiled and walked toward me, arms open for an embrace. I stepped aside. Her smile stiffened for a flash, then recovered seamlessly. “It’s been so long. I brought you a gift.” The dining table was laden with dishes. Mother bustled in the kitchen; Father Harold and Basil discussed pack affairs in the living room. Breenda naturally took the seat beside Basil. I frowned but said nothing. Halfway through the meal, Breenda raised her glass to drink, and a necklace slipped from beneath her collar, catching the candlelight with a cold blue-white radiance. My gaze locked onto it. Moonstone. —One of fewer than three such pieces on the entire continent. I had seen it two years ago at a cross-pack auction. Sealed within the moonstone was a thread of true lunar essence. I had loved it desperately, but given the price, I ultimately never bid. At the time, Basil had said: “If you can’t bring yourself to spend it, then let it go. I’ll find you something better later.” He never did. Now it hung around Breenda’s neck. “Serena, are you looking at this?” Breenda noticed my gaze. She smiled faintly, fingertips brushing the pendant. “Basil said it was a welcome-home gift to celebrate my return to the pack. He really does have excellent taste—the color complements my hair perfectly.” Basil’s hand tightened around his glass, but he said nothing. Mother laughed and smoothed things over: “It’s perfectly normal for family to exchange little gifts. Serena, don’t be so petty.” I said nothing. I only fixed my gaze on Basil’s face. He looked away. Breenda smiled again, her voice soft and seemingly harmless. “Don’t misunderstand, Serena. It’s just that some things only shine when they’re on the right person. This necklace, for instance—doesn’t it look better on me?” As she said it, her eyes bored directly into mine. —Triumph. Disdain. After dinner, Breenda volunteered to clear the dishes. Basil followed her to help. I sat in the living room, listening to the sound of running water and fragmented murmurs. I couldn’t make out the words, but Breenda’s occasional laugh cut through with particular sharpness. Mother sat down beside me. “Serena, Breenda really did come back to help with pack duties. Look how much she’s matured—volunteering to help and everything. You’re the older sister. Don’t be so stiff with her.” Father chimed in. “Basil carries a heavy burden. It’s good to have family pitching in. You need to be more open-minded. Stop holding grudges over old matters.” I turned to look at my father. “Dad, Basil is your son-in-law. Breenda is your adopted daughter. Don’t you think they’re a little too close?” Father’s expression darkened. “What nonsense. We raised Breenda—she’s the same as you. What’s wrong with helping her brother-in-law?” “The same as me?” I echoed softly. “You were both at Caspian’s Shift that night, weren’t you?” Both parents froze. “Black-gold and silver-grey. Nothing to do with my moon-white. And you truly had no questions at all?” Father’s face hardened. “Serena, what exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m asking you—is Caspian my biological child or not?” Mother shot to her feet. “Serena! You can’t just say things like that! How could Caspian not be your child? Are you having delusions again?” Father slammed his palm on the armrest. “Enough! You really have gone mad! Basil is right—you need to see the healer!” Their reaction extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart.

That night, I returned to the small lakeside house where I had lived before my marriage. My parents had moved to their new residence years ago, and the hallways were thick with dust. I had come for one thing. In the attic, inside a leather trunk, were things Breenda hadn’t had time to take when she left. Some photographs, a few gifts I’d given her, and three journals. I opened the first page and saw a line written in familiar handwriting. —”Dear Basil.” Unmistakably Breenda’s script. I kept reading. “Basil, you came to the house to see Serena again today. Your voice is so gentle when you talk to her. The way you smiled at her made my heart ache. I was in the kitchen washing fruit, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.” And below that, another entry. “I know he doesn’t belong to me. But I can’t stop myself from thinking—if he’d met me first, would everything be different?” “The bonding ceremony invitation arrived. I locked myself in my room and cried all night.” My hands began to shake. I kept turning pages. Several pages after that had been torn out. I opened the second journal. The dates had jumped to just before and after her exile. “He came to see me. He said he was sorry, said he couldn’t go public, but that he would always take care of me.” There was also a photograph. Breenda and Basil standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the old silver fir in Moonlight Grove. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, one hand placed on her swollen belly. Both of them smiling. On the back of the photo, a line scrawled in hasty handwriting: Even if the whole world refuses to acknowledge it, you’re mine. I held the photograph, my fingertips frozen. So it had started that long ago. And I had been kept in the dark all these years. Then where was my real child? I drew a deep breath and sent a message to the operative. [Investigate the birth records at Delphinium Pack Hospital from eighteen years ago. Full moon day, afternoon to dusk.] [Also check Breenda’s reproductive records in the exile territory. Confirm whether she has any documented delivery.] The mindlink was about to disconnect when it was pinged again. An emotional surge from Basil’s end bled through. What followed was a barrage of ragged breathing and distorted images flooding my mind— That was my bedroom. Breenda sat facing him, straddling Basil’s lap. She wore a gown thin as cicada wings, her fingers threaded through his hair. Basil tilted his head back, both hands gripping her waist, his breathing rough and heavy. Moonlight fell across them both, their bodies intertwined beyond separation. I stared at the images, my stomach dropping like a block of ice, nausea surging from the base of my throat. “Basil…” Her voice dripped, soft as honey. “Did you see Caspian’s fur color? It’s the perfect blend of both of us.” “Breenda, not here.” “I just want to say…” She leaned down, her lips nearly brushing his— “You know how much it hurts every time Caspian calls me ‘Auntie’? He should be calling me—” “Breenda!” Basil cut her off, turning his face away. But the hand gripping her waist never let go. In that moment, something inside me shattered completely. What followed was too revolting to watch. I shut down the link and rushed to the bathroom to vomit. Again and again I retched, bringing up nothing, only a searing pain that radiated from my chest through every inch of my body. It was a long time before I could compose myself enough to receive the operative’s message. [Ms. Whitmore, I have results.] [Breenda Whitmore arrived at the border exile territory eighteen years ago in July. In August, she gave birth to a full-term male infant at a private den. Blood type classified as Alpha.] [Your delivery-day records at the hospital show two female infants born during the afternoon-to-dusk window. One was classified Beta. The birthing ward was later decommissioned, and most files were lost.] [However, in November of that same year, when Breenda next traveled to the border, she was accompanied by a female infant approximately five months old.] [That girl currently performs hard labor at the lowest-tier slag mines on the border. Her physical condition is extremely poor—multiple old injuries, severe malnutrition, near-total social withdrawal. Breenda collects the majority of her wages each month through a middleman.] Attached at the end were several photographs. A skeletal girl hauling broken stone at the edge of a mine pit. Her forearms covered in bruises and old scars. Another image: she was curled up on a broken stool in some corner, expressionless, gnawing on cold scraps. In that instant, a hatred so vast it blotted out the sky swallowed me whole. I wept for a long time, until my tears ran dry and nothing remained in my chest but a searing, blunt ache. Then I stood up. I gathered every piece of evidence—the journals, the photographs, the recorded link images, the intelligence files—and transmitted the entire package to the pack’s judicial arbiter. After that, I contacted Ronan Nightveil again. “Tomorrow I’ll formally sign the transfer contract. But I have one condition—Delphinium Pack must be completely destroyed.” A low chuckle came through the link, followed by Ronan’s calm, unwavering voice. “Done.” Basil, I lifted you to every height you ever reached. And I will make sure the fall is just as far.

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