Author: Momo Chan

The night of our graduation party—the one for turning eighteen—Ryder marked me.Out of nowhere. We were both drunk.I’d gone downstairs to get some air.Found him leaning against the garage door.He crooked his finger at me.Just that.One little gesture.And I followed him upstairs. It hurt. I bit down and stayed quiet,fingers twisting into the back of his shirt.When he pulled away,my head was still buzzing.He was already standing up straight,fixing his collar. I’d had a crush on him for six years. I thought I finally had my answer. First thing, the next morning, I opened my laptop and pulled up the college application portal. Ryder’s school was out east.Massachusetts.Long winters. I hate the cold. I was willing to deal with it. I wanted to tell him in person. The hallway was loud. I walked up to his classroom and reached for the door handle—then stopped. Someone inside was talking.Loudly. “You marked Luna Hale? The one who bolts every time she sees you——” “How long has she had a thing for him?” “Who knows.She’s so easy.Throw her a little attention and she’s hooked.” Laughter. A lot of it. I stood there outside the door,waiting.Waiting for Ryder to say something.To deny it.To tell them to shut up. “Alright,relax,”Ryder said.”It was just a temporary mark.It’ll fade in a few days.Not a big deal.” More laughter. “Right.Didn’t Ryder say he wanted to practice with someone before going after Chloe?” “Classic.She’s been chasing you forever and you give her a temporary mark?” “She was into it. I didn’t make her do anything,”Ryder said. “She’s totally going to think it meant something.” “That’s her problem,”Ryder said.”Either way, I’m making things official with Chloe before school starts.” The tears came fast. I pressed my hand over my mouth and walked away. I stood in the bathroom for a long time.Staring at myself in the mirror.At the red mark on my neck. It was fresh.The edges were still sharp.In a few days it would be gone.Like none of it ever happened. He never meant to choose me. I was just practicing. My phone buzzed.Mia. “You coming to the graduation dance tonight?” Then another.”Oh,and I just saw Chloe posted—she’s gonna be there too.And Ryder.Don’t tell me they’re actually a thing now?” I started typing.Deleted it.Tried again. I’ll be there. I slid my phone back into my pocket and took one last look in the mirror. I needed to talk to him face to face.

I changed into a different dress and let my hair down to cover my neck. The temporary mark was still warm. I dug a concealer out of my drawer and dabbed it on.In the mirror, there was nothing to see. Mia was waiting for me at the door.One look and she was already suspicious. “You look off.Something happened?”She looked me up and down. “Let’s just go.” I spotted Ryder the second I walked in.He was on the couch in the corner.Chloe was next to him. Not next to him.On his lap. She had on a crop top and shorts.His hand was resting on her waist. When she turned to say something to him, he leaned in naturally to listen.Their arms were linked together. Ryder never leaned down for me. I’m shorter than him.Six years of conversations,and every single one of them, I was the one on my tiptoes,stretching my neck,tilting my head up just to catch his eye. They started playing a game.Someone held up a phone to keep time.Everyone around them was egging them on. Simple rules.Chloe lay back on the couch.Ryder planted both hands on either side of her and did push-ups without touching her. Chloe laughed and sank into the cushions.Ryder lowered himself down with each rep,chest meeting chest before pushing back up.The crowd was screaming. On the tenth one, he didn’t hold himself up.He dropped down and stayed there. Chloe’s face went red.She shoved at him.”You did that on purpose.” Then he kissed her.Full on the mouth.She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Three whole minutes.Okay,I’ve seen enough,”Mia said. When Ryder pulled back from Chloe,his eyes swept across the room. He saw me.His hand was still on the back of Chloe’s head,but for half a second his expression went blank. Then he looked away.Chloe said something in his ear.He bent down to listen.Then he smiled. The crowd closed around them. Mia grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door.”Stop looking.” She pulled me outside. “What’s that on your neck?”she said. I reached up to touch it.The concealer had sweated off.The bite mark from the temporary mark was showing.

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The pack has a rule. Every ten years, the pack will give birth to twin she-wolves. One will take a mate. The other must stay behind and become the Lunar Seer to guard the pack. The Lunar Seer never takes a mate, and she is never permitted to leave the pack territory. When we were kids, my older sister said she would become the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. So under my efforts I was chosen by the Citadel, which meant I could make a living in the capital, far from this isolated pack. And I made a promise with my love, Soren. When I turned twenty-two, he would claim me as his mate. We will live in the capital. The day arrived, I prepared myself and waited, my heart pounding with nervous excitement. Soren came and stopped at my family’s lodge. Pushing down the wild joy in my chest, I heard him lean against the carriage, speaking to someone. “I came here to claim Elodie as my mate. We will move to the capital.” “You do not understand. Their parents favor the older daughter. If I do not take Elodie, she will be forced to become the Luna Seer.” “Tamsin at least earned her place at the Citadel. She can leave and make her own life. Their parents definitely will not force her into anything.” I silently wiped the makeup off my face. Tomorrow is the day of the consecration ceremony, for the Luna Seer. I sat on the edge of my bed. My chest felt tight with bitterness. Because of my sister’s promise, I had to yield everything to Elodie. Our parents favored her, too. But compared to all of that, freedom was too important. All these years, I carried guilt and shame, pushing myself to the breaking point with barely any rest. Just for a position in the Citadel. But now she used my mate to play the victim. She did this on purpose. She never truly wanted to spend her life confined to the pack, just wanted to reap the benefits without sacrifice. I sat on the bed, wiping off the foundation layer by layer. The woman in the mirror slowly revealed her true face. Nothing special about it. Just an ordinary face, ordinary eyes, an ordinary nose. Identical to my sister Elodie’s face. But since childhood, everyone said she was beautiful, said she was gentle, said she looked like the Lunar Seer. They said I was wild, said I was rough, said I was improper. Outside the window came the sound of the carriage door closing, then footsteps approaching. Soren was coming but I did not move. I gripped the cloth in my hand, staring at that face in the mirror, forcing myself to see it as a stranger’s face. He knocked on the door. “Tamsin, I am here.” I said, “Come in.” He pushed open the door and froze for a moment. He probably had not expected me to have removed my makeup and not be wearing the ceremonial dress I had prepared, just an old tunic as I sat on the bed. “You…” He walked in. “Why have you not changed clothes?” I looked at him. “What are you here for?” He paused, then forced a smile onto his face and walked closer. “To claim you, of course. We made a promise, did we not? Twenty-two years old, I come to take you as my mate.” “Whose mate?” He stopped. I continued watching him. “Soren, I am asking you. Whose mate did you come to claim?” His smile slowly faded. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. “Tamsin, let me explain—” “No need to explain.” I stood up and placed the cloth on the table. “What you said just now, I heard everything.” His expression shifted. “You said Elodie did not earn a place at the Citadel and cannot leave, so you came to take her as your mate.” I said. “You said I earned my place and can make my own life, so it does not matter for me.” “Tamsin—” “You are saying you weighed both of us,” my voice remained even, “and decided I was less deserving of your protection, so you came here to take her away instead?” He opened his mouth but could not form words. I knew it. He could not deny it because that was the truth. Soren and I have known each other for five years, been bonded for three. He has seen Elodie fewer than five times. But he still weighed us. On both sides of the scale, one side held me, the other held her. And he decided I could carry my own weight, so he did not need to help me. “Soren,” I took a step back. “Go off.” He frowned. “Calm down. I have my reasons for this—” “I am calm,” I said. “Much calmer than you think.” He looked at me, hesitating to speak. Footsteps sounded outside, then came Elodie’s voice, soft and sweet with a hint of tears. “Tamsin, I know you are angry, but you do not know, I actually…” She pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed with tears clinging to her lashes. She looked beautiful when she cried. It had always been this way since childhood. One tear, and everyone felt sorry for her. Even I used to feel sorry for her. But now I only looked at her and said, “Elodie, you do not need to explain to me.” She froze. “Tamsin…” “I have no right to blame you,” I said. “I was too foolish to think the promises between us meant anything.” I was speaking to both Soren and Elodie. Silence fell for a moment. Then I said, “I am going to the Sacred Cavern. You two can wait here.” “Wait,” Soren followed. “What are you going to the Sacred Cavern for?” I did not turn around. “To tell Elder Torin,” I said, “that I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.”

The Sacred Cavern lies in the deepest part of the pack territory. Moonstone torches lined both sides of the stone path, their flames casting dancing shadows on the ground when the wind blew. I walked slowly. Not because I was reluctant. My mind was just chaotic, and I needed to sort through everything before moving forward. I was thinking about what happened five years ago. That year I was seventeen, Soren came to our valley as an emissary from the Citadel. He sat on the stone steps reading, the setting sun painting his profile in gold. I had never seen anyone like him before. Clean, graceful, like he came from another world entirely. Later he asked me where the road outside the pack territory led. I said it led down the mountain to a town, and beyond the town was a city, and beyond that city were even greater cities. He asked what I wanted to see in the future. I said I wanted to see everything. He smiled and said, then see it all. I believed him right then. After he left, we began mind link, and it went on for five years. He said when I turned twenty-two, he would come to claim me as his mate and take me away. I asked him how he knew I would be willing to accept him by then. He said I would be willing, because I cared for him. I called him shameless at the time. But I truly did care for him. Five years, and I never fall in love for anyone else. When I reached the entrance to the Sacred Cavern, Elder Torin sat on the steps smoking his pipe. When he saw me, he narrowed his eyes. “You came,” he said. “I thought you would not come tonight.” I crouched down across from him. “Elder, I want to ask you something.” “Please.” “The Lunar Seer’s duty, does she truly have to remain within pack territory?” Elder Torin drew on his pipe. “The ancient law states the Lunar Seer guards the pack and protects the wolves. She never leaves pack territory, never takes a mate, devoted until death.” I nodded. “If the Lunar Seer left the territory, what would happen?” He paused and turned his head to look at me. “Which Lunar Seer would dare leave?” “I am just asking.” He drew on his pipe again, exhaling slowly. The smoke dispersed in the torchlight. “Have you decided?” he said. “Will you accept the consecration?” “I have not decided yet,” I said. “I just want to understand the rules clearly.” He watched me for a long time, then said something that surprised me. “Tamsin, do you know that your generation is the first time I have ever misjudged?” I froze. “What do you mean?” “You two sisters,” he paused. “I always thought the one who would stay would be your older sister.” “But that child, I watched her grow up. Her eyes have never truly fallen on this pack territory.” The wind blew past, and the torch flames flickered. “But you,” he said, “every time you come down from the mountain, you always look back.” I said nothing. “Truly look, not out of reluctance, but to remember,” he said. “Remember the paths, the mountains, every blade of grass and tree here.” “People who love a place and people who want to escape a place have different eyes.” I lowered my head. Something caught in my throat. “But I am not someone who should stay here,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. “I have my own path to walk.” “You walk your path,” Elder Torin tapped out his pipe and stood. “But Elodie cannot walk that path. You need to understand that.” With that, he pushed open the door to the Sacred Cavern and walked inside. I remained crouched on the steps, watching his back disappear into the candlelight. Of course I understood. Elodie could never become the Lunar Seer. Not because she was inadequate, but because she could not hide that restless heart that wanted to leave. And according to the ancient law, the Lunar Seer must guard not only the pack, but also her own heart. If she could not guard her own heart, she could not guard the pack. I stood up and brushed the dust off my knees. The night wind lifted my hair. Footsteps sounded behind me. I did not turn around, but I knew who it was. “Are you really going through with the consecration?” Soren’s voice. I said, “I have not decided yet.” “Then why did you come to the Sacred Cavern?” “To understand the rules clearly.” He walked up and stood beside me. After a moment of silence, he said, “Tamsin, if you accept consecration as the Lunar Seer, you will never be able to leave for the rest of your life.” “I know.” “You earned your place at the Citadel. You have so many paths you could take—” “Soren,” I interrupted him and turned to look at him. “Did you come here today to claim me as your mate, or to claim her?” He didn’t say a word. I said, “Then there is nothing more to discuss.”

When I returned home, Elodie still sat in the main hall. Our parents were there too. When they saw me, Mother spoke first. “Tamsin, where did you go?” “The Sacred Cavern.” Mother froze. “You…” “I went to ask Elder Torin about the rules for the Lunar Seer consecration.” I sat down in a chair and looked at them. “Tomorrow is the ceremony. I wanted to understand clearly.” Father drew on his pipe and said nothing. Elodie lifted her head, her eyes still red. “Tamsin…” “Sister,” I called to her. “You said in the beginning that you would volunteer to stay behind as the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. Those were your words, correct?” Elodie’s fingers tightened. “Yes, but…” “There is no but,” I said. “You said it, and I remembered. Because of those words, I yielded everything to you. Mother and Father yielded to you. Whatever you wanted, the family found a way to give it to you.” My voice remained even. “You said you would give me the way out. I was afraid of failing you.” The hall fell silent for a moment. “But Sister,” I said, “what are you trading that promise for now? Trading it so Soren would come take you away?” Elodie’s eyes reddened and tears fell. “That was not my intention. I did not scheme against you. Soren and I just…” “Just what?” She choked out, “We just got along well, and he also thought I was pitiable…” Mother wiped her eyes beside us. “Tamsin, your sister has suffered too. She has known since childhood that she might have to stay here. You should understand her situation…” I looked at Mother. “What about me?” Mother froze. “I have known since childhood that if I was the one who stayed, I would never get out,” I said. “I understand her. Who understands me?” No one spoke. Father snuffed out his pipe and spoke, his voice muffled. “Tamsin, this matter is your mother’s and my fault, not your sister’s fault.” “We were the ones who contacted Soren.” I froze. “What?” Father sighed. “Your sister’s health is weak. These past two years it has gotten worse. We were afraid if she stayed in the pack territory…” He could not continue and paused. “We contacted Soren and begged him to come take your sister away.” “If we were going to beg him to come, we had to give him a reason.” “So we told him Elodie was pitiable and asked him to claim her as his mate.” Mother lowered her head. “You had been bonded with him for three years. He is someone who values bonds, so it was difficult to ask him directly. We told him you earned your place at the Citadel, that you could make your own way out, and only your sister had no way to leave…” I sat there and went through these words from beginning to end in my mind. Then I laughed once. “So,” I said, “the three of you schemed against me alone.” Father raised his head. “Tamsin—” “It was not scheming,” Mother rushed to explain. “We truly had no other choice. If your sister stayed here, she…” “What if I stayed here instead?” Mother stopped. “Mother,” I said. “If I were the one staying behind, would you work so hard to find a way out for me?” When I asked that question, the hall became as silent as stagnant water. No one answered me. I did not need an answer anymore. Some things, the moment you ask them aloud, you already know the answer. I stood up. “I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.” Mother shot to her feet. “You cannot go! You earned your place at the Citadel. You have your future—” “My future is not something you need to worry about,” I said. “I fulfilled the promise with my sister. Now that she has taken back that promise, I should give her this way out.” “Tamsin!” I said nothing more and turned toward my room. Behind me, Elodie suddenly said, “Tamsin, I am sorry.” My steps paused. I did not turn around. “You are not sorry to me,” I said. “You just regret that this plan did not stay hidden from me.” I pushed open my door and closed it behind me, leaned my back against the door, and tilted my head to look at the ceiling in the darkness. My mind was chaotic yet clear. Chaotic with all the emotions accumulated over these years that had nowhere to go. Clear that starting today, some things could finally be let go.

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Three years of marriage, and all I’d ever wanted was a honeymoon with Mason Hale. After Whitney Cole booked my flight as hers for the tenth time, I stopped asking for a rebooking. She blinked up at me, all wide eyes and fumbling apologies. “Mrs. Hale, I’m so sorry — I did it again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “I could rebook right now, but — the thing is — all the other flights today are full. If we change it, Mr. Hale’s schedule gets pushed back by three days.” She bit her lip. Her eyes drifted to Mason. Mason didn’t look up. His voice was flat, like he was scheduling a conference call. “Don’t bother rebooking. Serena, cover Whitney’s Paris trip. The Maldives can wait.” I didn’t say anything. I picked up the ticket — my ticket, the one to Paris — and walked away. Mason. Once I see what thirty thousand feet looks like without you, I will never look back. — The check-in line was long. I stood in it with my suitcase, passport in one hand, boarding pass in the other. Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around. Whitney. Blinking at me, sweet as ever. “Mrs. Hale, could I have your Maldives itinerary? Since you can’t go anyway — you might as well let me and Mr. Hale use it.” She reached for my bag as she said it. I stepped back. Her hand froze in the air. I looked at her and said, quietly: “No.” Her smile flickered. She pulled her hand back, fingers twisting together. “I just thought I’d borrow it — it’s fine if you’d rather not. I know you’re still upset with me.” Mason, who hadn’t said a word, spoke up. Impatient. “It’s just a travel guide, Serena. No point letting it sit there. Give it to her.” I looked at him. “I made that for us.” He frowned. “You’re not going anymore. Whitney just wants to look at it — you can always make another one.” “Make another one?” I repeated it softly. “Exactly.” Whitney stepped closer, her voice going syrupy. “I’m sure yours is amazing, Mrs. Hale. We’ll follow it and give you all the feedback — next time you go, you’ll have even more to work with!” I stood there looking at Whitney’s smile and at Mason nodding along like this was completely reasonable, and something inside me went very quiet. I reached into my bag and pulled out the binder. Laminated cover. Color-coded tabs. Sticky notes on every page — notes, warnings, hand-drawn maps. Restaurant reservation numbers written in the margins, one by one. “You want to use my itinerary. Stay in the hotel I booked. Follow the plans I made. Tell me — were you going to take my place in his bed too?” Her hand went still. The smile died on her face. “Serena.” Mason’s voice cracked like a whip. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I threw the binder at him. My voice was shaking. “Am I wrong? She books my seat as hers ten times and you say nothing. She asks for my itinerary and you hand her mine. She wants the Maldives and you take her. So tell me — Mason — am I your wife, or is she?” Mason grabbed my wrist. Hard. Hard enough to bruise. “You’re losing your mind. Whitney works herself to the bone every single day and you can’t share a travel guide? What do you even do all day?” I pulled against his grip. It was useless. “You can’t see that she does it on purpose? You can’t see her asking for it right in front of you? You can’t see the way she looks at you?” “Enough.” He shoved my hand away. I stumbled back into my suitcase, the corner catching me in the side, sharp enough that my eyes stung. Whitney gasped and rushed toward me, eyes already red. “Mrs. Hale, are you okay? This is my fault — I never should have asked for it — please don’t blame Mr. Hale, he just has a short temper—” Then she swayed. Her whole body pitched sideways, straight into Mason’s arms. “Ah — Mrs. Hale, what are you doing?” Mason caught her. He looked up at me, and his eyes were full of something I didn’t recognize anymore — anger, and disappointment, and not a single trace of doubt. “Why did you push her? Are you insane?” I looked at his hands, wrapped tight around her waist. Protecting her. Standing between us. I felt the last of my fight go out of me. “I didn’t push her.” “I watched you. Don’t stand there and deny it in front of everyone.” My voice went calm. “What exactly did you watch?” He stopped. Whitney lifted her head from his chest, tears streaked down her face. “Mr. Hale — I’m so dizzy. I think I’ve been overworking myself.” Mason didn’t look at me again. He bent down and lifted her. “I’ll take you somewhere to rest.” Whitney looped her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder. Over his shoulder, she looked at me. I called his name. “Mason.” He stopped walking. He didn’t turn around. “If you walk out with her right now, we’re done.” He stood still for three seconds. Then he kept walking. I stood in the check-in line and watched his back get smaller. Watched him carry her through the crowd. Watched him round the corner and disappear. The binder was on the floor. Pages scattered. Sticky notes face-down, footprints pressed into my handwriting. The elderly woman behind me touched my arm gently. “Honey. It’s your turn.” I looked up. The agent at the counter was watching me, expression carefully neutral. I pulled together a smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I crouched down and gathered the pages, one by one. Walked to the trash can. Dropped them in. On the jet bridge, I thought: Sincerity. What a worthless thing to give someone.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, the plane dropped. I grabbed the armrest. Knuckles white. The cabin lurched again, harder this time. Around me, passengers sucked in sharp, strangled breaths. Almost without thinking, I picked up my phone and texted Mason. Turbulence is bad. I’m scared. He didn’t reply. The plane bucked again — worse than before. The overhead bins rattled. My hands were shaking. I sent another message. Still nothing. I thought about something Mason said, a long time ago. “If you’re ever scared on a flight, text me. I’ll always have my phone on. I’ll answer right away.” We hadn’t been together long. He was traveling for work, and I was flying home alone. We hit a rough patch over the mountains and I’d gripped the seat until my palms were damp. When I landed, there were dozens of texts from him. The last one was a voice note. I pressed play and heard his voice, low and close: “Next time, I’ll fly with you.” The plane steadied. I exhaled and picked up my phone. Maybe instinct. I opened Instagram and went to Whitney’s profile. New story. Nine photos. Caption: “business trip with the boss but make it fun!! he’s actually SO good at Mario Kart! In the photo, she was grinning, controller raised like a trophy. Beside her, Mason — in profile, head bowed, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on the screen. The timestamp read 3 minutes ago. The plane dipped. My stomach dropped with it. Mario Kart. The two words pierced my heart like a needle. Mason and I had tried to play once, early on. Before we were married. I’d pulled out the Switch and begged him to play with me. He’d looked at the screen like I’d handed him something embarrassing. “What’s the point? It’s childish.” I’d tugged at his arm. “Just one round, please.” He’d pulled away, voice flat. “Serena, if it gets out that I’m sitting at home playing video games, how am I supposed to command any respect at work?” I’d laughed it off. Put the controller down. Never asked again. And now he was playing Mario Kart with Whitney Cole. Not childish anymore. Not beneath him. The plane jolted again. The man in the next seat muttered something under his breath. I sat perfectly still, phone face-down on my lap, eyes closed. My eyes were hot. But I couldn’t cry. — The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle just as Paris was turning grey-blue with early light. I was dragging my suitcase out of the terminal when my phone rang. Honey. I stared at the word for three full seconds before I answered. “You land okay?” “Yeah. Just landed.” “Just saw your messages. You alright?” “Fine.” I kept walking, suitcase wheels loud on the pavement, trying to decide whether to say anything else — when I heard it. A voice drifted through from his end — soft, almost honeyed, the kind of voice that knew exactly what it was doing even over a phone line. “Mr. Hale, come help me — I don’t know how to do this part—” Whitney. His voice shifted away from the phone, muffled but still clear enough. “Coming.” Then, back to me: “Go ahead and get settled. Talk later.” He hung up before I could answer. I lowered the phone and looked at the screen. Call ended. Talk later. About what? That I was scared on the plane and he didn’t answer? That I’d been waiting for a text that never came? That I watched him smile at a video game controller the way he used to smile at me? I didn’t want to say any of it anymore. — For the next few days, I learned about my husband through Whitney’s Instagram. She and Mason went to the Michelin-starred restaurant I’d marked in the binder. She and Mason rode the Ferris wheel. Her caption: he’s afraid of heights??? too cute!! Every photo, she was laughing. Every photo, he was there. I sat in a café and scrolled through them slowly. When Mason and I first got married, I’d told him about that restaurant. He’d said we might as well eat at home. I’d mentioned the Ferris wheel once. He said the lines were a waste of time. — That night, a new post. One photo. A hotel room — floor-to-ceiling windows, sheer curtains, a wide bed made up in white. My finger stopped. That was the hotel I’d booked. The couples suite. The room I had meant for us. I zoomed in on the edge of the frame. On the far side of the bed, just barely in the shot — a hand. And on the wrist, a watch. The one I gave him for our third anniversary. I set the phone down. Finished the last of my coffee. Then I opened my messages and texted my lawyer. Draft the divorce petition. Then I opened my email and wrote to HR. I’m resigning, effective immediately. Please process the paperwork. When it was done, I sat there thinking about the cover page of the binder I’d thrown away. Paris with Mason. The Maldives. Everywhere we always said we’d go. I meant every word of it when I wrote it. But it’s fine. I can go alone.

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“Mom, Dad. She’s the transfer student who spread those lies about me. The one who gave me anxiety so bad I had to see a therapist.” “So please don’t ask me to call her my sister.” I walked through the front door of the Montgomery estate to find Victoria already sobbing in my parents’ arms. The girl who had been living my life for the past year. I was the real daughter. The one they had finally tracked down after eighteen years. Mom had her arms wrapped tight around Victoria, whispering that everything was okay. Dad stood with his jaw locked, staring at me like I’d already ruined everything. “I can’t believe we raised you with every advantage in the world, and this is what you do with it.” “Henderson. Escort her out. No daughter of mine bullies someone in their own home.” I stood there stunned, my hands already moving. Fingers flying like I was casting a spell. Me? Spread rumors? I’m mute. …… I hadn’t even made it past the entryway. The cold from outside still clung to my fingertips. Victoria was buried in Mom’s neck, shoulders heaving. When she finally looked up, her eyes were red and swollen. “You don’t know what she did.” Her voice dropped. “After midterms, when I ranked second in our grade, she went around telling everyone I cheated. That Dad paid off the teachers. That I slept with the guidance counselor to get into the honors program.” With every word, Mom’s hand on Victoria’s back pressed harder. Dad’s frown deepened. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Just a thin rush of air. It had always been that way. Congenital vocal cord damage. I had used ASL and written notes my whole life. I raised my hands. Fingers just starting to shape the sign for no when Xavier pushed up from the couch. My brother. Three long strides and he was in my face, looking down at me. “Ella. How long are you going to keep this up? You’ve pushed Victoria to the point of a breakdown. And you’re going to stand there and play innocent?” I froze. Hands hanging in the air. Xavier had been glued to Victoria’s side since I arrived. He looked at her like she hung the moon. He looked at me like I was the reason it fell. “Xavier, don’t.” Victoria tugged his sleeve, her voice honeyed. “Maybe she just wanted attention. She doesn’t know how to fit in yet. I don’t blame her. Really.” “You are too good for her.” Mom pulled Victoria closer and turned on me, eyes cold as January. “We brought you home to give you a real family, Ella. Not so you could make this girl’s life hell. Whatever you learned out there, leave it at the door.” Dad’s knuckles hit the coffee table. Low. Final. “A daughter of Robert Ashworth does not behave this way. I don’t care where you’ve been. You have embarrassed this family. Henderson, get her out of my house.” The housekeeper and the staff clustered near the hallway, whispering. “Apparently she was running wild before they found her.” “Sweet Victoria would never. I don’t know how anyone could go after her like that.” “Look at her doing that hand thing. Probably faking it for sympathy.” Each word landed like a pin in my eardrum. I reached for my backpack. I always kept a notepad in the side pocket. I could write out everything that had actually happened. My hand barely touched the zipper when Xavier’s fingers snapped around my wrist. “What are you trying to pull out?” I yanked free and dug in with my other hand. Got the notepad. Started to open it. Xavier snatched it. Two clean rips. Paper rained down over my shoes. I stared at the scraps on the floor. The last warmth I had for this house went cold. Victoria let out a soft sob and buried herself deeper in Mom’s shoulder. “Xavier, please,” she breathed. “She’s just trying to…” “She pushed you to the edge and you’re still defending her.” He was practically shaking. “Someone like that doesn’t belong under this roof.” Dad gave Henderson one nod. “Get her out.”

I slept in the school dorms that night, curled on a narrow mattress. By 7 AM, my homeroom teacher was calling me into her office. Victoria was already there when I pushed the door open. Crumpled tissue in her hand. Eyes swollen to slits. She shrank back the moment she saw me. That perfect, practiced flinch. “Ella.” Ms. Hartley’s voice was flat. “Tell me what you did to Victoria yesterday.” Victoria sucked in a trembling breath. “Ma’am, please don’t. Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway. She called me a cuckoo in someone else’s nest. Said she’d make sure I couldn’t stay at this school.” Ms. Hartley picked up her phone. “I’ve already called your parents. They’re on their way.” The office door opened minutes later. Dad walked in iron-faced. Mom came in right behind him, already reaching for Victoria’s hand. “Is she at it again?” Dad’s voice was a grinding wheel. Ms. Hartley folded her hands. “Based on Victoria’s account, Ella has repeatedly targeted her with verbal abuse and threats, including threatening to get her expelled. This school has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying.” Dad turned on me. The disappointment in his eyes had weight. “Are you trying to destroy everything? Is that your goal?” I opened my mouth. Air. No sound. My hands came up, fingers starting to sign *no*, when his palm cracked across my face. The slap rang through the room. My head snapped sideways. My ear rang for three full seconds. I turned back slowly. Tears were already falling. “You want to cry? After what you did?” His voice dripped contempt. “You’re performing. Always performing. Trying to make everyone feel sorry for you.” Victoria tucked herself against Mom’s side and made a small, wounded sound. Mom looked at me like something spoiled. “Born rotten. Can’t stop going after my girl.” The office door had drifted open. A few classmates pressed into the gap, necks craning. “So she actually did all that.” “Seemed so shy and harmless. Funny how that works.” “No wonder her foster families kept sending her back.” I breathed in. Counted. Raised my hands again and signed: I didn’t do it. Ms. Hartley cut me off. “Ella. I need you to stop doing that. If you have something to say, say it out loud. Don’t perform for the room.” My hands dropped. So even my silence was a performance. Then, from the doorway, small and unsteady: “She’s not performing. That’s ASL.” Everyone turned. A girl stood at the threshold, fingers twisted in her jacket hem, chin barely up. “My little brother is Deaf. I grew up with sign language. She just signed I didn’t do it. And I think…” She swallowed. “I think she might be mute.”

The room froze. The girl in the doorway didn’t back down. Her cheeks were red but her voice stayed level. “I’m not guessing. ASL signs are standardized. What she signed was I didn’t do it. And she hasn’t spoken once since she started here. Everyone’s noticed.” Ms. Hartley’s skepticism cracked just slightly. “You’re certain?” “I’d stake it on it.” Silence pressed down over the office. Mom’s face shifted. Something small and reluctant moved behind her eyes. Something close to guilt. Then Victoria straightened. “Oh, Ella.” Her sigh was heartbroken. “Even if you don’t want to admit it, you didn’t have to rope someone else into covering for you. Pretending to be mute is not…” And just like that, whatever guilt had flickered in Mom’s expression vanished. Dad pivoted to me, white-hot. “You coached her. You planned this whole thing. You’re beyond help.” I reached into my jacket pocket. Unfolded the paper I always kept there. My medical documentation. Congenital vocal cord dysplasia. Official letterhead. My name in the diagnosis field. Dad ripped it out of my hand before I could show anyone. He didn’t read it. Tore it in half. Then quarters. Let the pieces fall. “Keep faking. I’ll have you sent somewhere they don’t reward it.” Mom’s voice dropped to something uglier. “We thought you were just damaged. Turns out you’re manipulative. I’m done.” Victoria’s face, half-hidden in Mom’s shoulder. The corner of her mouth curved up. So small. So fast. Gone before anyone could catch it. Ms. Hartley looked at the torn papers on the floor. She looked at me. Looked at the parents. Sighed. She waved toward the girl in the doorway. “Go back to class. We’ll handle it from here.” The girl looked at me. Eyes full of something helpless and sorry. Then she turned and walked away. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces of my documentation. The edges were sharp. My fingertip started bleeding. I barely felt it.

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The Moon Goddess said I carried the spirit of the White Wolf, so the Lycan King chose me as his heir’s mate. But on the day of my mating ceremony, my father’s bastard daughter stole my place and my mate. I found and exposed her scheme. My father fell to his knees before the king, and she was exiled to the slave quarters. So I thought I had won. And I mated with the Lycan King heir, Darius, and carried his pup. Until the day I went into labor. The healers said the birth had gone wrong, and I might not survive. When I was at death’s door, Darius walked into my chamber with that bastard, Sienna, on his arm. “Aria,” he said, “did you really think you could be my Luna? If you hadn’t tricked my father with that White Wolf nonsense, I would never have touched you.” “Your mother screamed for three days before she died. The rogues took turns with her until there was nothing left to bury.” Sienna leaned close to my ear, smiling. “The prophecy, the mate bond, the Luna’s throne. It was always meant to be mine.” Finally, I died with my unborn pup. When I woke up, I was back on the day of the mating ceremony. I sat up and found my hands were smooth. My belly was flat and the mating mark on my neck was gone. I was eighteen again, and the Mating Ceremony was still hours away. This life, I’ll let them have each other. But I still will be the Luna, and the next Alpha King’s throne will change hands. “Aria, once you enter the Royal Pack, you must control your temper. Never defy the Alpha Heir.” My mother was crying outside the ceremonial carriage. “Mom. I will. Don’t worry about me.” I decided to sit quietly in the carriage and wait for the ceremony to begin. Then the carriage lurched to a stop and I heard a voice I knew too well. “STOP!” It’s Darius. In my past life, I never saw him until the mating ceremony started. He had stayed in the Citadel, waiting for his mate. But now he was here and charging straight toward the servant’s carriage behind me. “This whole ceremony is a fraud!” he announced to the crowd. “Aria used a fake prophecy to steal what belongs to my true mate. Sienna is the real one chosen by the Moon Goddess!”

Hearing his words, I understood that he remembered what happened in the last life, too. He had been reborn, just like me. And he thought switching mates early would fix everything that went wrong in our past life. My mother was alarmed and lunged at him. “What are you doing now? Where was Aria?” He shoved her to the ground without looking and pulled Sienna out with his own hands. She wasn’t wearing the servant’s clothes. My jewelry was on her neck, and my ceremonial furs were put on. They had already made the switch before. Darius held her like she was something precious. “The Luna’s position belongs to Sienna. I’ve already informed the King. A liar like Aria will never set foot in my pack.” After he finished speaking I stepped out of the carriage. Sienna hid behind him, playing the victim. “Sister, I don’t know how we got switched. But since this is what the Alpha Heir wants… I can’t refuse him.” Every word dripped with false sweetness. The same act and the same lies. My mother could not control herself, her face went white with rage. “You ungrateful bitch! Your father pitied you enough to let you serve as Aria’s handmaiden, and you repay us by stealing her Luna place?” “This match was blessed by the Moon Goddess and decreed by the Lycan King! You’ll get our whole pack killed!” Darius stepped forward, eyes cold. “Shut your mouth. Sienna is my true mate. If Aria hadn’t lied her way into the King’s favor, I would never have looked at her twice.” He walked toward me then. Stopped inches from my face. Leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Aria. I killed you once. I can kill you again.” In my past life, those words would have made me beg and scream, even fight. Now I just smiled. “Then I wish the future Lycan King gets exactly what he wants.” He stared at me. He had expected tears and rage, but didn’t know what to do with calm now. I watched him leave with Sienna. She turned to smirk at me one last time. Let her smirk. Let her take the carriage, the jewels, the Luna’s throne. She had no idea what she was stealing. Darius thought he could change his fate by changing his mate. He seemed to have forgotten that even if I’m not his mate, I am still me. I carried the spirit of the White Wolf, which was the key to the next Alpha King’s success.

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The night before my engagement, I scrolled into a post. “Fell for my carpool buddy—what do I do?” The poster wrote: “He drives a Maybach. Same commute, same route every morning.” “Last week someone rear-ended me at a red light. I fell. He got out and helped me up…” Top comment with thousands of likes: 【If you don’t tell him, how will he know you like him?】 【What if he likes you back?】 I scrolled down. The post included a photo from the accident. A hand reaching out. On the wrist—a watch. Patek Philippe. Limited edition. I zoomed in on that image. Stared at the watch for a long time. I picked it out myself. His engagement gift. Engraved with our initials. Mine and Lucas’s. … The post was old, but trending harder than ever. I clicked on the poster’s profile. A girl’s heartbreaking chronicle of secret love. Until six months ago. She thanked everyone who told her to shoot her shot. Said they were together now. After that, sweet couple updates. He bought her flowers. Took her out on weekends. Last month, he gave her a ring. She posted it. Fingers intertwined. “He put it on me himself. Said when the time’s right, he’ll propose.” I zoomed in. Stared at it. For so long my eyes stung. I designed that ring. Nine revisions. Countless all-nighters. Every time I couldn’t go on, Lucas would wrap his arms around me from behind. Kiss me softly on the lips. I’d lean into him. “Almost done. One more draft.” He’d say, “I’ll stay with you.” Then he’d sit beside me. Working on his laptop. Waiting. Now, the design files are still on my computer. One-of-a-kind. But later, Lucas told me the jeweler lost the ring. I believed him. Cried my eyes out. Lucas kissed the tears from my eyes that day. Said he’d find an even better ring. Told me not to cry. Turns out it wasn’t lost. It’s on her finger. Two days ago, she posted again: “He’s so busy lately, barely has time for his girlfriend.” I scrolled past. Didn’t like. Didn’t comment. Just set my phone face-down on the table. Watched the drizzle outside. Busy planning our engagement gala, probably. My phone buzzed again. A new post from her. With location tagged. A restaurant. “He told me to meet him here at 8. Said he’s introducing me to his friends.” Ironclad evidence. The watch I chose. The ring I designed. But I still couldn’t believe it. That man was Lucas. Like I was possessed, I changed clothes. Called the family driver. Told him to take me to the restaurant. 7:20 PM. I arrived early. The hostess smiled, asked who I was meeting. I gave her Lucas’s number. She checked. Led me to a private room. The hallway stretched long, carpeted in deep red. My heels made no sound. At the door of the private room— Not fully closed. Voices drifted out. “Bro, you’re really rolling out the red carpet for your girl, huh? 8 o’clock dinner, but we’re all here at 7:30.” “She’s shy. Wanted you guys here early so you don’t say stupid shit when she shows up.” “Relax, man. We got you.” Laughter. The clink of glasses. Through the chatter, someone brought me up. “What about the one at home, bro? I mean, we all grew up together.” “Clara? Come on. She’s the daughter of Lucas’s lifesaver, if we’re being nice.” “But let’s be real—she’s just a charity case. The stowaway her mom left behind when she kicked it.” “At best, she’s a childhood playmate.” I stood frozen. Waiting for Lucas to say something. He’d shut them down. He had to. Like back in high school, when someone called me an orphan. He didn’t say a word—just grabbed the guy and beat him into the ground. Afterward he looked at me, eyes red with anger and hurt. “Anyone says that again, I’ll wreck them.” He would. He’d tell them to stop. He’d say I wasn’t a charity case.

“Facts are facts.” Lucas’s voice floated through the crack in the door. Light. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather. “But.” He paused. “Don’t say that stuff to her face.” “She’s sensitive.” Someone laughed. “Ooh, protective much?” “Protective of what?” His voice was lazy now. “My mom’s dying wish. I’m supposed to take care of her.” “She lives at the house. I provide. It’s the least I can do.” “Think of it like keeping a pet.” “Not that much work.” More laughter. I stood frozen at the door. Tears streaming down my face. My whole body shaking. A pet. I didn’t care how I looked. I shoved the door open. Everyone stared. Lucas sat at the head of the table, casually swirling a glass of wine. The second he saw me, his face changed. “Clara.” He stood. “What are you doing here? I told you to rest.” The others didn’t dare breathe. I smiled. My face was wet with tears. Must’ve looked pathetic. “Lucas, did you just call me a pet?” He opened his mouth. “Let me explain—” “Explain what?” “That I’m just an extra mouth to feed?” “That keeping me isn’t that much work?” “Or—” Emotion choked my throat. I stopped. Tears surged again. “That my mom who saved your life was just a housekeeper to you?” His expression shifted. Not panic. Something else. I’d seen it before. The way he looked at beggars when we were kids. That exact look. Annoyed. Disgusted. Why are you here again? He frowned. Looked away from me. Said nothing. But that look said more than words ever could. Someone in the room glanced at their watch. “Bro, it’s almost eight.” He hummed. Didn’t move. Didn’t look at me either. A few minutes later, he finally spoke. Dismissive as hell. “Clara, go home.” “Tomorrow’s engagement party is still on.” “You’ll get what you want.” “Stop making a scene.” What I want… I opened my mouth. Tried to say something. He raised his hand. Cut me off. Eyes fell on my hands. Red from the cold. Still trembling. Lucas frowned, grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “It’s freezing.” He draped it over my shoulders. Quick. Like he was afraid he’d change his mind. The jacket still held his warmth. I froze. Looked up at him. He looked back. Something flickered in his eyes. Too fast. Too fast for me to tell if it was pity or just habit. “Go home.” His voice softened slightly. “Focus on the engagement.” Security stepped forward. I didn’t move. Wearing his jacket. Standing there. Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for that look to come back. But it didn’t. All I got was security urging me to leave. They escorted me out. At the elevator, the doors opened. Inside stood a girl. Phone in her hand. Screen lit up. A photo of her kissing Lucas. As we passed each other, she glanced at me. Just once.

“Babe!” She ran past me, threw herself into his arms. He caught her. Looked down at her and smiled. A smile I hadn’t seen in so long. The elevator doors closed. I couldn’t see them anymore. Just my own reflection in the elevator walls. Face covered in tears. Ugly. The jacket draped over my shoulders. Warm. But I couldn’t stop shaking. When I walked out of the restaurant, security handed me an umbrella. I didn’t take it. Rain pounded down on me. Bone-chilling cold. I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to wake up. Wanted to wash away these twenty years. By the time I got back to the villa, I was soaked through. His jacket still on my shoulders. I took it off. Fell onto the bed. Cold. My head felt numb. Don’t know how long passed. My eyelids got heavier. When I woke up, my whole body was burning. Head splitting like it was cracking open. I touched my forehead. Scalding. I had a fever. Images started flooding in, chaotic and blurred. The first time he held my hand. I was seven. Mom was gone. They brought me to the Ashford house. He was three years older. Stood at the door, watched me for a long time. Like a prince from a fairy tale. Held out his hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” When I had cramps, he’d get me some ibuprofen. And tuck a heating pad around me. On my eighteenth birthday, he snuck in a cake. Just the two of us. He lit the candles. “Make a wish.” I asked, “What should I wish for?” He looked at me. Word by word: “Wish that we’ll always be together.” But then, the scene shifted. Mom lying in a pool of blood. When that car came at them, she pushed Lucas out of the way. She couldn’t dodge it. He knelt on the ground. Hands covered in blood. I ran to her. Held her. She looked at me one last time. “Clara, take care of yourself.” I kept crying. Tears so hot they felt like they’d evaporate. I wanted Lucas. I needed him. Wanted to hear him say “I’m here” one more time. My phone on the nightstand rang. I fumbled for it, half-conscious. A voice came through. Not his. A woman’s. Moaning. Over and over. I gripped the phone. Tears sliding down my face. Onto the pillow. Soaking it. The other end went quiet. Then his voice. Amused. Breathless. “Sorry. Butt dial.” He hung up. I stared at the ceiling. The room spinning. My stomach lurched. I tried to get out of bed. Too late. I threw up on the floor. Nothing in my stomach. Just water. Sour. Bitter. Mixed with tears. I slumped over the edge of the bed. The world was shaking. The fever hadn’t broken. The images kept looping in my head. Mom’s last words. The woman’s moans. Back and forth. I threw up again. Nothing came out this time. Just dry heaving. Convulsing. I collapsed back onto the bed. Closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was morning. I was in a hospital. The fever had broken. My body ached. Lucas sat by the bed. Don’t know when he got here. Leaning against the wall. Eyes closed. Like he’d been keeping watch all morning. I moved slightly. He woke up. Opened his eyes. Looked at me. For a second, there was confusion in his gaze. Like he’d forgotten everything that happened between us. Then he stood. Reached out. Touched my forehead. His palm was cool. “Fever’s gone.” His voice was hoarse. I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. He looked into my eyes. “Why didn’t you call a doctor?” “……” “Why didn’t you call me?” “……” “Clara, do you even realize you had a fever?” When I didn’t answer, he said one more thing. “The engagement’s off.” “Happy now?” I froze. “I—” “Enough.” He cut me off. Tucked the blanket around me. “Stop tormenting me.”

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Everyone in New York knows Victor Roccanti is a bloodthirsty killer who never touches women. Julian was terrified his adopted sister Mia would suffer if she married him. so he forced me to impersonate her. “Just act like a slut. He’ll be disgusted enough to call off the engagement. Then I’ll come get you.” One reckless night. I walked out of the Roccanti estate barely able to stand. Julian rushed over to check my body. My collarbone and chest were covered in hickeys.He lost it, screaming: “I told you to act! Who said you could actually fuck him?” “You that desperate for dick? Even the goddamn Grim Reaper?” I calmly fixed my collar. “You’re wrong, Julian.” “Victor… he was gentle.” … Julian stared at the hickey on my neck. His hand shot out and grabbed my throat, squeezing like he wanted to crush my windpipe. “Gentle? That monster’s buried three fiancées and he wrecked you like this—you call that gentle?” “I sent you there to ruin the alliance, not to actually spread your legs for him!” “You’re mine. How dare you let him touch you?” My head tilted back from his grip, face turning red. But I didn’t fight back. I just looked down, watching his rage. “Julian… you promised me money…” Julian let go like I’d burned him. My legs gave out and I stumbled into the shelf behind me. He pulled out a handkerchief. Wiped his fingers clean, then threw it in the trash can nearby. Flames swallowed it instantly. Three years ago, my father’s embezzlement was exposed. He took a bullet for me and swore to protect me for life. Now he has personally pushed me into another man’s bed. He is even stingy with my brother’s medical bills to keep him alive. He stared at me, eyes full of pain: “If Mia weren’t terrified of Victor’s violent temper and refusing to marry him, I would never have sent you…” Seeing my numb expression, the guilt in his eyes instantly turned to anger. He pulled out his wallet, yanked out dozens of crumpled hundred-dollar bills, and threw them viciously in my face. He ripped the cash from his pocket and threw it at me. Hundred-dollar bills mixed with checks scattered on the floor, rolling into the dusty corners. “Take your money and go clean yourself up. ” “Victor’s paranoid as hell. ” “If he finds out you impersonated Mia, you and that half-dead brother of yours will be at the bottom of the Hudson feeding the fish!”” He turned to leave. I held onto the cabinet and slowly crouched down, fingers searching the cold floor. One. Two. I picked up each scattered bill. Blew off the dust and carefully tucked them away. Julian stopped at the door and looked back at me. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Born cheap. Even when it’s money from selling yourself, you think it smells sweet.” It does smell sweet. This money keeps my brother Leo alive. I just looked at him calmly. “Julian. Where’s the Plan B?” Julian stopped, turned back to look at me. Something complicated and painful flashed in his eyes. Like he remembered the socialite who once dazzled New York. Then my humiliation seemed to hurt him, turning into deeper disgust. “What? Scared you’ll get pregnant with Victor’s kid? ” “Relax. The private doctor said after your miscarriage hemorrhage, your uterus is ruined. ” “You can never get pregnant.” “Stop worrying about things that won’t happen!” The door slammed shut. Cold air rushed in. I gripped the money tightly. This money, plus what I’d saved before, was just enough for Leo’s medication for one month. I walked to the table. Poured a cup of cold water and swallowed the cheap painkillers from my pocket. Bitterness spread in my throat. I didn’t care what Julian thought of me. As long as Leo could live, even if it meant being Victor’s mistress forever, I’d do it.

Next morning before dawn, the maid dragged me out of bed. “Miss Vance, Boss says you need to dress up. There’s a gala tonight at the Plaza, you’re going as Miss Mia.” The maid’s grip was rough, hurting my arm. I forced myself up despite the soreness. Let them paint makeup on my face. Mia was Julian’s adopted sister, his precious darling. She was too delicate for these exhausting galas. Julian always made me go as her stand-in. We looked similar enough anyway. Just wear a veil, stay quiet, and nobody would notice. In the car, Julian kept his eyes closed. Didn’t even glance at me. Only when we reached the hotel ballroom did he finally speak. “Victor will be there tonight. Behave yourself.” “If he sees through this, you can start planning your father’s funeral.” My father. He’d been dead in prison for two weeks. Julian knew, but still used him to threaten me. I couldn’t expose the truth. Leo still needed money for treatment. I lowered my head. “Yes.” At the gala, champagne flowed. I sat beside Julian, eyes down, peeling grapes on my plate. A burning gaze stayed fixed on me. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Victor sat at the head table in a black suit, dark hair slicked back. The Don of New York’s largest crime family. The man every mobster in this room answered to. Even radiating violence, his face was devastatingly handsome. He played with his wine glass. But his eyes never stopped roaming over me. He raised his glass toward Julian, but his gaze licked across my collarbone as he smiled. “You’re a lucky man. Your sister may be fragile, but that body…” “I’d recognize it anywhere. Unforgettable.” Julian’s face went pale, but he could only force a smile and drain his glass. Under the table, he dug his fingers into my thigh. The pain made my hand shake. The grape I’d peeled rolled onto the floor. “Useless piece of shit.” Julian cursed under his breath. After three rounds of drinks, Victor stood to leave. As he passed our table, he paused. A lighter slipped from his pocket, landing right at my feet. Heavy platinum Zippo. Everyone around was talking, nobody noticed. I bent down instinctively to pick it up. The metal was warm, silky smooth against my fingers. Long and thick, with just enough heft. Victor didn’t walk away. Instead, he used one finger to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. Right in front of Julian. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Such skilled hands.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “You know exactly how to handle things.” He leaned closer, breath hot against my ear. “Keep it. Take it home and… practice with it.” “Get yourself familiar with the shape. The weight. How it feels.” His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “I want you well-trained.” Julian’s wine glass shattered in his grip, liquid spilling everywhere. I didn’t dare look up, just pressed my lips together. This lighter is worth a fortune, enough to cover three years of Leo’s treatments. In the car going back, I carefully hid the lighter in my sleeve. “Hand it over.” Julian’s voice suddenly cut through. I froze, didn’t dare disobey, and gave him the lighter. Julian held the lighter. Examined it by the car’s interior light, then let out a cold laugh. “Custom Zippo? Victor’s feeling generous.” He glanced at me dismissively. “Think this is some kind of love token? It’s just how he plays with women.” “Something like this, only someone as cheap and desperate as you would treasure it.” He casually flicked his wrist. The lighter arced through the air, out the window, falling into a gutter on the side of the road. “No… that was…” I cried out, trying to stop him, but Julian pulled me into his arms. “Shut up! It’s just a piece of junk, contaminating my car.” I didn’t care about dignity, threw myself at the window staring at that puddle of filth. Cold spread through me from my feet upward. That wasn’t just a lighter. That was Leo’s medicine. Leo’s last breath, the lifeline he was desperately clinging to at death’s door! Julian watched my agony and seemed pleased. “Remember this. You’re just a substitute.” “Victor wants Mia Moretti, not you, Clara Vance.”

We got back to the estate late at night. Before I even walked in, I heard suppressed coughing from inside. It was Leo. My heart tightened and I rushed through the door. Only one dim lamp lit the room. Leo was skeletal, curled up on the bed, his cheeks burning red. “Sis… I feel awful…” He called out in a daze. I touched his forehead. Burning hot. The medicine we bought before was gone. The doctor said if we didn’t get the serum in time, he wouldn’t make it through winter. I searched my entire body. Aside from the cash Julian threw at me last night, I had nothing. That money couldn’t even buy a single dose. I gritted my teeth and ran to the main house. Mia’s room was bright with lights. I knelt in the hallway, kowtowing toward the room. “Julian, please have mercy. Leo can’t hold on much longer…” “You promised before, as long as I did what you said and went to see Victor, you’d keep Leo safe.” “Please give me one dose of serum to save his life!” “As long as Leo lives, I’ll do whatever you want, I swear!” Laughter came from inside. After a long time, the door finally opened. Julian walked out with Mia in his arms. Mia wore thick furs, her face glowing, looking nothing like someone sick. “Clara Vance, what are you freaking out about now?” I crawled forward and grabbed Julian’s clothes. “Julian, my brother is dying. He needs serum to survive.” “Please, for all the times I stood in for Mia, save him!” Julian frowned. “The storage still has a few vials,” he said. Mia suddenly interrupted him, covering her chest and letting out a soft, fragile cough. “Jules, the doctor said I need regular medication too.” Julian immediately tensed and supported her. “Your health comes first. Those vials are for you.” He turned back to me, his tone cold. “Leo’s condition is a bottomless pit. Even with treatment, it’s just pouring money down the drain.” I stared at him in disbelief. Mia treated it as routine care. For Leo, it was life support. “Julian, Mia just needs maintenance. My brother needs this to survive…” Julian absently stroked Mia’s hair, not even looking at me. “How can your brother compare to Mia?” “Don’t even think about it—if Mia needs any vial in this house, she gets them first.” Mia leaned into his arms and gave me a smug smile. “Clara, it’s not that I won’t help.” “I’ll have them save the leftover doses for you. If there’s anything still worth using.” Humiliation. Pure humiliation. I stood up from the ground and wiped my tears. “No need.” If the estate wouldn’t give me a way to live, someone else would.

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The day Chicago got its first snow of the season, Ethan Mercer told me he was getting married. Seven years. I knew the rules of that world. A woman who made her living in front of cameras had no place at the threshold of a family like his. The night we ended things, we were strangely calm. “The apartment and the car are yours,” he said. “The projects I promised you still stand. And that check for three million — I added a zero.” “Anything else you want?” “No.” I took his settlement money like the sensible woman I was, and disappeared from his life. Until three months later, on a live celebrity panel show, when Bianca Holt told the entire internet I was pregnant. …… “Zara — oh my God, are you pregnant?!” The studio erupted. The live comment feed went insane. [ ??? ] [ Did Bianca actually just say that on live TV? What is WRONG with her ] [ That’s just Bianca being Bianca, she’s so real for this ] [ The only thing I care about: who’s the father ] [ Who else? Her billionaire, obviously ] [ Bianca is SO cooked. Zara’s guy will bury her ] [ … ] I was facing the screen. I read every single one. The host broke into a sweat and stepped in. “Bianca, are you sure you didn’t mix something up?” Bianca was already doubling down. “I’ve been watching her all week — she hasn’t touched a drink, she went pale during the afternoon break, and she’s been pressing her hand to her stomach when she thinks no one’s looking.” She smiled at me. “I know the signs. I’m right, aren’t I, Zara?” Three months. I did the math. It would have been the last night before Ethan and I ended things. Seven years together, and we’d always been careful. He was consistent; when things went further than planned, I took care of it after. That last night, maybe because we both knew it was the last night, we didn’t stop until morning. I went straight to set the next day. In the chaos of filming, I forgot. Across the table, Bianca was still waiting for my answer. I slid my wrist out of her reach and said nothing. At the level I was at now, she wasn’t worth the energy. The host laughed nervously and dragged the conversation somewhere else. By the time I got into the car after filming, my publicist had her phone in my face before I’d even buckled my seatbelt. Twitter trending, top three: #ZaraVossPregnant #WhoIsZaraVossBillionaire #MercerGroup Ethan had always kept a low profile. But when it came to making sure the industry knew I was protected — that I had someone behind me — he’d never been subtle about it. That someone was him. It started the year I broke into the industry, when a well-connected actor used a scene as cover to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was too green to know it wasn’t about my performance. I didn’t even think I deserved to be upset. Ethan was furious. He said I was an idiot. Gently. The next day, the actor was blacklisted. I’d asked quietly, “He has people behind him. Are you sure you want to do that?” “The people behind him should be worried about crossing me,” he said. For seven years, he poured every resource he had into my career. Oscar winners cast as my co-stars. The best directors offering me first pick of their projects. On the red carpet, industry veterans stepped aside. “My Zara should only ever be at the top,” he used to say. I hadn’t let him down. I’d made myself a household name. Which meant that with an influence like mine, a trending topic about a pregnancy was almost certainly going to reach Ethan Mercer. It did. His number lit up my screen the second I walked into my agency. I stared at those digits — ones I knew by heart — and let it ring out. When it went to voicemail, I sent three texts. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow for a proper test. If I am, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I won’t make this your problem.

It was already March, and the snow hadn’t stopped. Snow like this — thick and relentless — always brought me back to the night I first met Ethan. I was nineteen. A sophomore at NYU Tisch. He was the kind of investor that made school administrators straighten their spines and smile too hard. I was chosen to attend the fundraiser dinner. The reward was a supporting role in an upcoming production. A few glasses of whiskey in, the gentlemen in the room stopped pretending. They started pushing drinks on me. Ethan was at the head of the table. He tapped one finger against the side of his glass, unhurried. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.” Just that. No one pushed another drink on me for the rest of the night. I looked up, startled. He glanced over at the same moment. One second, in a room full of noise and flattery. Our eyes met. I thanked him and didn’t think much of it. A man like that had no reason to ever cross paths with someone like me again. But after that night, he kept appearing. Always the one rescuing me. A role stolen by the dean’s daughter — one word from him and it was returned. A blizzard night when I couldn’t get a cab — he drove me back to the dorms himself. My father’s surgery, the hospital out of O-negative blood — Ethan Mercer, in his tailored suit, donated four hundred cc’s without being asked. He was too good to me. Good enough to scare me. I was afraid it was just boredom. That I was a distraction for a man who had everything. I was the one who broke first. “What do you want?” I said. “Is it to sleep with me? Then let’s get it over with.” I reached for my buttons. “After that, we’re even.” He stilled my hands. Pulled my shirt closed. Let out a quiet breath. “Zara. What do you want?” My lashes trembled. I made myself hold his gaze. “I want to be loved like I’m enough,” I said. “Can you do that?” Ethan went still. Then, slowly, a smile. He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. His voice was soft enough to undo a person. “Yes.” He wasn’t lying. He loved me the way I’d asked to be loved. But love isn’t everything. It wasn’t strong enough to close the distance between where he came from and where I did. Class is a wall you can’t charm your way through. No matter how high I climbed, I couldn’t make it disappear. The day we ended things, Chicago was under its first snow of the year. The night before, we moved through every room of the apartment. He cooked dinner. When I finished eating, he said: “I’m getting married.” A few seconds of silence. Then I set down my chopsticks and said, “Okay.” We sat there for a long time. The food went cold. Eventually he spoke. “The apartment and the car are yours. The projects I promised, still yours. That check — I added a zero.” “Anything else?” “No.” Ethan nodded. He stood, turned, and walked out into the snow. I watched his back until it was gone. Somewhere in that moment, I felt the faint pull of something I couldn’t name. We’d been together seven years and I didn’t think I’d ever said it out loud. Those three words. Seven years. Snow after snow after snow. I’d let myself believe we might grow old in it. I let myself believe there would still be time. What a shame. The snow thickened. His silhouette dissolved into white. My vision blurred. I touched my face, slow and dull, only then registering the cold. Tears.

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The night I was thrown out, there was blood pooling beneath me, and I was rushed to the emergency room. The doctor said my ectopic pregnancy had ruptured. Surgery was immediate, or I would die. With trembling hands, I dialed my husband Ryan’s number. But what came through the other end was his mistress Kate’s cheerful laughter: “Ryan! Oliver’s so happy today!” Oliver was their two-year-old illegitimate son. Then I heard Ryan speak in a voice colder than anything I’d ever heard from him: “Ellie, stop with the theatrics. Besides—” “You think some half-formed embryo matters more than a living child?” The line went dead. Later, I signed the divorce papers, changed every piece of contact information I had, and disappeared completely. Until one year later, when I ran into him at an industry summit—this time as a partner at a top architectural firm. He was clutching my medical records, on his knees in front of me, weeping. … … The first year Ryan transferred to the New York headquarters, he video-called me every night until midnight. The second year, it became once a week. The third year, the calls stopped entirely. All that remained were texts so short they read like office memos. I kept telling myself that marriage required trust. Until that afternoon, when he sent me a single message. “Ellie, Mom wants you to come back home. She says she needs to talk to you.” I thought his mother Elaine was ill. I took time off work and booked the earliest flight I could find. But when I walked into Elaine’s old house, the person sitting in the living room wasn’t a doctor. It was a woman I’d never seen before. She was young, blonde, wearing a loose beige knit dress, both hands cradling her belly. “Who is she?” I forced my voice steady, though it still trembled at the edges. “Ellie, sweetie, you understand.” Elaine sat by the fireplace, her voice so gentle it made my blood run cold. “I’m not asking you to divorce Ryan. I just think you should be generous enough to give Kate a proper place in this family.” “She’s been with Ryan in New York all this time. You know how much pressure he’s been under these past few years. She’s helped him enormously.” For a moment, I felt as though I’d been struck over the head. My entire body went rigid, and I couldn’t form words. Kate. Ryan’s secretary. The woman Ryan had sworn he only ever saw at the office. I shifted my gaze to her. Kate’s eyes were red-rimmed. She kept her head down, her voice as soft as milk diluted with water: “Ellie, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” I looked at her belly. “So?” Her voice was light as a feather. “I’m pregnant. The baby needs a father.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Elaine was already barreling ahead, as though announcing some perfectly respectable arrangement. “Ryan is a responsible man. Ellie, you haven’t been able to conceive—no one’s blaming you entirely. We can find a doctor to help you along. But Kate’s baby can’t just go without recognition.” I sat on the sofa and suddenly found the room laughably unfamiliar. “Recognition?” Elaine nodded. “You’re still Ryan’s wife. No one’s going to take that away from you. It’s just that Kate and the baby deserve a respectable status too.” “Sounds like you’ve already made the decision for me.” I let out a short laugh. “Then you should be talking to the man who got her pregnant. Not me.” I stood, grabbed my coat, and walked toward the front door. Just as I reached it, I heard a car pulling up outside. A black Bentley stopped in front of the house. Ryan stepped out of the driver’s seat. The moment he saw me, the color drained from his face. The passenger door opened too. A little boy, maybe two years old, reached out his arms, calling in that high, milky voice: “Daddy! Up!” I stopped on the steps. Two years old. Ten months of pregnancy, plus two years. That lined up perfectly with Ryan’s first year in New York. The man who had video-called me every night until the small hours, who whispered “I miss you” over and over through the screen, who would order hot soup delivered to my door at midnight just because I mentioned my stomach felt off—during all of that, he had already fathered another woman’s child. Ryan stood frozen beside the car. He clearly hadn’t expected to find me walking out. “Ellie…” Then Kate rushed out of the house behind me and grabbed my arm. “Ellie, please don’t blame him. It was all my fault. That night—I’d had too much to drink, I threw myself at him. His heart has always been with you…” I shook her off. “Don’t touch me.” Ryan finally snapped out of it and strode toward me—but instinctively positioned himself in front of Kate. “Ellie, let me explain.” “Explain what?” I stared at him. “How you fucked her during the day and called me Honey on your phone at night?” Ryan’s face went sheet-white. He lowered his voice, a plea threading through it. “Don’t do this here. Mom’s right there.” I stared at him for two full seconds, then laughed. “What? You think this is embarrassing? Didn’t seem to bother you when you were cheating.” Elaine walked over too, the little boy in her arms, not a trace of guilt on her face. “Ellie, what’s done is done. Oliver is Ryan’s son, and Kate’s carrying another one. You can’t conceive—you can’t expect Ryan to have no heir.” I looked at Ryan. “You didn’t tell her?” Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes. I stepped closer. “The year you drank yourself into a stomach hemorrhage trying to close that deal—I quit my project. I stayed in that hospital with you for three months, days and nights blurring together, until my body completely broke down. When my hormones crashed and the doctor told me to stop pulling all-nighters, who kept calling me at two in the morning saying he couldn’t cope alone?” But Elaine only frowned. “Ellie, don’t pin everything on Ryan.” Ryan said quietly: “Ellie, enough.” “It’s not enough,” I said. Kate hid behind him, eyes glistening. “Ellie, I really don’t want to hurt you. If you’re willing—I don’t need a wedding, I don’t need a ring, I don’t need to be called Mrs. Blackwell. The children can call you Mom. I’ll just stay and take care of them. All I want is to be near Ryan.” How touching. Ryan’s gaze softened the moment he looked at her. When he turned back to me, his voice had already gone cold. “Kate has already compromised this much. What more do you want?” I looked at him and almost didn’t recognize the man. “Ellie, if it weren’t for Kate helping me in New York these past two years, I’d never have gotten a foothold there. You stayed in Chicago drawing your blueprints. You have no idea how hard things were for me.” I nodded. “You’re right. I don’t.” All I knew was that his first round of startup capital came from me selling the house my grandmother left me. All I knew was that I waited for his weekly text until three in the morning, and that made me a fool. I reached into my bag and pulled out a black voice recorder. He’d given it to me before he left for New York. He’d said: “When you miss me, just listen to this.” Ryan’s face changed instantly. “All I know is you said to wait three years, and then you’d bring me out to join you.” I pressed play. Ryan’s voice—young and tender—floated out of the speaker. “Ellie, give me three years. I’ll bring you to New York. I’ll give you the home we’ve always wanted.” “Ellie, I love you. Forever.” The air went dead silent. Ryan lunged for it. “Ellie, don’t—” I let go. The recorder clattered onto the stone steps. Then I lifted my foot and brought it down, hard. A clean, sharp crack. I looked at him. “Ryan, we’re done.” I turned and walked away. His voice came from behind me. “Ellie!” But the next second, his footsteps were cut short by Kate’s gasp— “Ryan, my stomach—it hurts so bad…” Ryan turned instinctively to catch her. I didn’t look back. I flagged down a cab waiting at the curb and pulled the door shut cleanly behind me. “Airport.”

I went to the airport and bought the next available ticket back to Chicago. That apartment had been one we’d picked out together. Open kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, our fifth anniversary photo hanging on the wall. In the picture, I was smiling like an idiot, leaning against his shoulder, as if I actually had a home. When I pushed open the door, the silence was deafening. Two pairs of slippers in the entryway. His razor still in the bathroom. A sticky note on the fridge in his handwriting. “Don’t skip dinner. Love, R.” I stared at those words for a few seconds, peeled the note off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash. I hauled out a suitcase. I didn’t touch a single thing of his. Of my own things, I took only my documents, a few changes of clothes, my laptop, and some design portfolios. I’d just zipped the suitcase shut when the electronic lock at the front door clicked open. Ryan stood in the doorway, windblown and haggard, his tie yanked loose, eyes bloodshot. He’d followed me here. When he saw the suitcase, he panicked. “Ellie, don’t do this.” I looked up. “Move.” He strode over and pressed his hand down on mine. “I admit I’m a bastard. I admit I was wrong. But I never once thought about divorcing you.” “Let go.” “No.” He pulled me into his arms, holding on so tight it was as though he thought I might vanish. “That time with Kate was genuinely an accident. The headquarters celebration—I blacked out. By the time I woke up, it had already happened.” I laughed coldly in his arms. “Then she got pregnant. The doctors said her body was fragile, that there was a high risk of miscarriage.” “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just stand there and watch her die—watch the baby die.” He’d offloaded every ounce of responsibility onto accident and circumstance. I shoved him off me with everything I had, then slapped him across the face. The crack echoed through the living room. Ryan’s head snapped to the side. The skin reddened almost instantly. I stared at him. “Fine. The first child was an accident. What about the second one she’s carrying now? Did you black out for that one too?” He said nothing. In that single second, I had every answer I needed. He wasn’t some universally soft-hearted man. He was simply soft—for her. And through her, that child had become his weakness. Ryan clenched his jaw. “Ellie, do you have to be this cruel about it?” “Cruel?” I laughed. “Was it pretty when you were cheating?” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I told you—you’re my only wife. Most of the assets will stay with you. Kate doesn’t want anything. She just wants to give the children a complete family.” His shamelessness actually made me laugh. But midway through the laughter, tears started falling. “And what about me?” I asked. He blinked. “What?” “What am I? Your legal roommate? A decorative piece now that your career’s taken off? A free stepmother for you and Kate’s kids?” “Don’t say that.” “Then what do you want me to say?” My voice shook. “Congratulations? Should I throw her a baby shower? Or maybe just find myself a spot next to your family portrait?” “Ryan Blackwell—do you think that because you’ve made it to the top, you’re entitled to have both a wife and a mistress?” “What is this marriage to you? What am I to you?” “Then what exactly do you want me to do?” he snarled. “Strangle the two-year-old? Push Kate off a building?” Ryan lowered his voice. “Ellie, you never used to be this vicious.” A chill ran through me. “So refusing to accept a mistress and a bastard child makes me vicious.” My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. I opened it. A photo. Kate lying in a hospital bed, face pale, an IV in the back of her hand. The caption read: “Ellie, I know Ryan went back to find you. I’m here alone in the hospital trying to save the baby. I’m really scared. But I don’t blame you. As long as you two are okay, I can endure anything.” A second message popped up immediately after. A photo of a share transfer agreement. Ryan had transferred thirty percent of Blackwell Group’s equity into the name of Oliver Blackwell. His two-year-old illegitimate son. I held the phone up to Ryan’s face. “This is what you meant by ‘most of the assets stay with me’?” Ryan saw the contents and his expression crumbled. “Listen to me—my mother forced me to sign that. She said the child needed security.” “The child needed security,” I repeated. “And what do my eight years count for?” “Ellie…” I didn’t want to hear another word. I grabbed the suitcase handle. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. City hall.” He froze. “What?” “We’re getting divorced.” I said it word by word. “If you don’t show, I’ll file. And while I’m at it, I’ll upload this agreement, Kate’s photo, and every wonderful thing you and your mother said today straight into the company’s internal system.” Ryan’s eyes reddened further. “Ellie, I can’t—” His phone rang. Kate’s name flashed on the screen. He didn’t answer. I looked back at him. “Pick up. Isn’t she all alone in the hospital, scared?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. The phone kept ringing. I dragged my suitcase toward the door. Ryan didn’t come after me. Because in the end, he answered the call. Kate’s weak sobbing drifted out from behind me. “Ryan, the doctor says the baby might not make it…”

The next day, Ryan didn’t show. At 9:07 a.m., he sent me a long message telling me not to be impulsive. “Kate had a bad night. I couldn’t leave.” “Ellie, I’m not signing any divorce papers. Let’s both cool down.” I didn’t reply. I contacted a lawyer directly and had litigation papers drafted. But I hadn’t expected Ryan to move faster than me. A week later, Blackwell Group held its annual gala. I was the lead designer at the Chicago division, responsible for the year’s most important commercial project. Attendance was mandatory. The venue was in Manhattan, where the New York headquarters was located. The moment I walked into the ballroom, I sensed the unusual stares. Someone whispered: “That’s her? Ryan’s wife?” “Heard they’ve been married for years and she still hasn’t had a kid.” “Kate’s already pregnant with the second one, and she’s still clinging to the Mrs. Blackwell title.” “If I were her, I’d take the money and go. How embarrassing.” I swept a cold glance across those gossiping faces and walked straight to my seat. Onstage, Ryan stood in a dark gray Tom Ford suit, delivering the annual summary. His gaze cut through the crowd and landed on me. A warning. I met it calmly. When the awards segment began, the host’s voice rang out. “This year’s Best Commercial Space Design Award goes to—Kate Miller!” My head snapped up. Kate wore a silver gown, her slightly rounded belly unmistakable under the lights. She glided onto the stage amid applause, accepted the trophy, eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, everyone.” She gazed at Ryan through glistening eyes. “Especially Ryan. Without his guidance, I never could have completed this project.” Thunderous applause. I sat in my corner, shaking. That project—from concept to execution—had been mine alone. I’d bled over it through countless sleepless nights. Kate couldn’t even read a construction drawing. Ryan took the microphone. “There’s one more announcement tonight.” He looked at me, his tone as formal as a board meeting memo. “Due to personal health reasons, Ellie Blackwell will be taking indefinite leave. The position of Design Director at the Chicago division will be temporarily filled by Kate Miller.” A beat of silence, then murmurs rippled through the room. Some looked sympathetic, some watched for the spectacle, most were waiting for me to break. I finally understood. Ryan wasn’t trying to save the marriage. He was trying to make me submit. He’d stolen my work, hollowed out my position, and publicly trampled my dignity—all to send one message: without him, I was nothing. I stood up. No hysterics. No panicked flight. I walked to the front of the stage, step by step, and looked up at Ryan towering above me. “Mr. Blackwell, plagiarizing someone’s intellectual work is a legal violation. You’re aware of that, yes?” Ryan’s expression darkened. He lowered his voice. “Ellie, tonight is not the place for you to have a meltdown. Putting Kate’s name on the project was my way of compensating her.” “I can give you double the money if you want. Just stop making a scene.” “Compensating.” I smiled. “You take my life’s work, hand it to your mistress to pave her career, and expect me to applaud?” “Ryan Blackwell, you never cease to amaze me.” Kate spoke up softly from beside him. “Ellie, don’t blame Ryan. I wanted to prove myself. I’ll give you all the prize money. I really didn’t mean to take what’s yours.” Her words drew a wave of sympathetic murmurs. “Kate’s so gracious.” Another woman chimed in: “Honestly, Ellie’s being way too aggressive.” I looked at Kate. “You wanted to prove yourself? Then explain—right now—why the atrium skylight uses triangular steel framing. Why the fire egress plan went through three revisions.” Kate went white. “I… those details were a team effort…” I cut her off. “You don’t even know where the drawing files are stored.” Ryan stepped forward. “Enough.” I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden, searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. Like a blade being driven in from the inside. I doubled over instinctively, pressing my hand to my stomach. Cold sweat broke across my forehead. Ryan looked at me coldly. “The same act twice isn’t interesting anymore.” I could barely form words through the pain. “I’m not—” He turned to security. “Please escort my wife out.” Two guards approached, flanking me on either side. I tried to struggle, but my body had gone limp with pain. “Let go of me…” I gritted my teeth. “I need a hospital…” No one listened. Kate stood onstage and murmured: “Ryan, don’t—Ellie might really be unwell.” Ryan didn’t even glance at me. “She’s just trying to ruin tonight.” I was dragged out of the ballroom and deposited on the steps outside the hotel. As the doors swung shut, I heard Kate’s honeyed voice from within. “Ryan, the baby just kicked.” Applause and laughter seeped through the closed doors. I sat on the freezing steps, doubled over in pain. Then I felt something warm and wet spreading along my inner thigh. I looked down. Blood.

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Eight years ago, my brother poured Moonshade into my wine so the Heir Alpha could mark my sister at the bonding ceremony instead of me. I woke up tied to a rogue, broke his nose, and ran. I’m a wreck ，mud on my cheek, eight feral pups tearing around my legs, jerky between my teeth. “Little Wren —” Rowan’s eyes go red. “You hated pups. You were going to be the first female Beta on the Lycan King’s Council. What happened to you?” I keep chewing. Bend down. Yank two muddy little cubs out of the puddle. I whistle for the rest. Inside, pups. “Wren — sweetie —” Serena steps in front of me, tears already brimming. “It was Rowan who talked Father and Mother into the Moonshade. It was Damien who switched us at the bonding ceremony.” Damien Blackthorn just stands there holding her hand. Calm. Waiting for me to scream. Rowan’s voice goes flat. “The rogue was ugly, sure. But he took Serena in when she was lost in the wild. Treated her decent. You only had it bad for a little while, Wren. Don’t make a scene.” Eight years ago, Serena padded back to Silvercrest claiming to be the real Beta-blood. I shut her out at the territory line. That was my crime. These eight years were the lesson. “The rogue’s dead now, Wren. We came to bring you home.” Serena’s eyes drop to the pups. Her nose wrinkles. “But these mongrels are filthy. Low-blood. We can’t bring them. If they’ve been such a burden, let’s just put them down.” My head snaps up. Put them down? The girl swinging from the rafter is the Grand Gamma’s daughter. The brunette baring tiny milk-fangs is Alpha Harlan’s pup. The two boys tossing bone dice are Lycan princes from the Ironvale Kingdom. … “You’ll finally be free of them, Wren — aren’t you happy?” She dabs her eyes and beams. Her warriors fan out in a tight ring. Steel hisses out of every sheath. I scoop the smallest pup against my chest. This one cannot get a scratch. Alpha Calder’s bloodline has whelped one heir every five generations. The whole Calder pack would burn this kingdom for her. “What — you don’t want them dead?” Damien’s voice drops, Alpha Aura rolling off him in waves. “Wren Ashford. You really planning to drag eight stray mutts back into Silvercrest with you, into my wing of the pack house?” I clamp a hand over Alpha Harlan’s daughter’s mouth fast. Tiny demon’s got the sharpest tongue in three packs. “Are you embarrassed, Wren? Don’t be. Damien doesn’t mind that you’ve been touched by a rogue. He’ll still take you into his wing when we get home.” Like she’s offering me a Luna’s crown. It’s a leash. “I’m not coming back.” They all freeze. Rowan’s lip curls. “Eight years and that’s how you snarl at her? Forget every rule the Ashford pack ever drilled into you?” I forgot more than the rules. I forgot the snowy night Rowan walked Serena home with his arm around her, leaving me bleeding in the courtyard. Forgot Serena grinding my mate token under her heel while Damien watched, unflinching. Eight years is enough to bury all of it. “Move, Wren. Don’t tell me you got so attached to that rogue mutt you’ve been mourning him these eight years like a widow.” Damien smiles — cruel. Eyes dragging over the pups like vermin. “They’re not mine. You can’t touch them. You can’t afford to touch them.” A Heir Alpha. So what. The pups don’t even glance at him. “You’d disown your own litter to protect them?” Damien sneers. Fangs drop, claws extend mid-shift — and he lunges, claws driving straight at the smallest pup. “I can’t afford to?” My heart stops. I throw my arm out to block — Rowan’s hand cracks across my face so hard my wolf yelps inside my skull. “I thought a rogue forced a litter into you! Now I see you rolled over for him willingly — you disgrace every wolf carrying the Ashford scent!” Every pup in the clearing freezes. Blood roars in my ears. One slow breath. My heart sinks like a stone. “Damien. Breathe him in. Just one breath.” Little Eight wasn’t fast enough. Blood drips down his arm into the dirt — and the second the iron tang hits the air, every wolf flinches at once. Pure Lycan blood. Royal. Ancient. He buries his face against my neck. I tug his collar back and bare his shoulder. “No, look. Take a good look.” The crescent-and-fang birthmark of the Lycan bloodline burns silver against his skin. The mark only the Lycan King’s direct kin carry. Serena’s eyes go round as moons. But Damien’s claws stay raised, fangs still bared. “The Lycan King has no nephew.” “You can’t even scent pure Lycan blood when it’s bleeding right in front of you?!” Harlan’s daughter wrenches free, untrained Alpha aura crackling around her in a furious silver halo. “My father is Alpha Harlan! Lay a paw on us and my dad’s whole pack will tear Silvercrest apart before sunrise!” This time, Serena slaps her clean across the face. The borderlands go silent. Even the wind dies. Striking the daughter of an Alpha is a declaration of war. Serena lifts her chin. Smiles. “Are these all the little props you’ve prepared, Wren?”

I rip a strip off my sleeve, press it hard against Little Eight’s bleeding arm. “Serena. You just spilled pure Lycan blood. That’s a death sentence.” Rowan barely glances at me. “Lycan blood? Little Wren — your acting’s getting sloppy.” Serena lifts her chin like she just won a war. Loops her arm through Damien’s. Smug. Triumphant. I lock eyes with him across the clearing. Look at me. Really look at me. For one long second, he doesn’t blink. Then his face goes blank. “Wren. You’ve learned to lie.” I almost had him. Serena bites her lip — the fake, wounded little pout she’s spent eight years perfecting. “If word reaches the Lycan King, every wolf carrying the Ashford scent gets put down. Every single one. And she’d still do it — that’s how much she hates me.” Rowan and Damien’s brows snap together at once. “I’m right here. Don’t be scared.” Damien’s arm wraps around her, lips brushing her forehead. Soft. Tender. Sickening. Rowan’s rage finally cracks. “Eight years and you still haven’t learned? What do you want from us, Wren? Serena’s the real Ashford blood — you’re not. You don’t get to fight her. You don’t even get the right to resent her.” The words land like blades. Straight through the ribs. A tiny warm hand wraps around my freezing fingers. “They were rotten to you. Every wolf in three packs knows it.” Alpha Harlan’s daughter. My tiny demon. My tiny mercy. I force a smile down at her, then pull my face cold again. “Fifteen more minutes. Then you’ll know if I’m lying.” Fifteen minutes. That’s when the pup-runners come — pack escorts collecting their precious little charges. The same hour I usually kick off my boots and head home empty-handed. “Are you done stalling?!” Rowan’s hackles are up, fury bleeding red into his eyes. Serena slides forward, sweet as ever. “The Ashford pack can feed eight more mouths. If Wren wants to keep these strays alive… fine. Keep them.” Damien’s face flickers — annoyed. But he sighs, looking down at her with all the tender Heir Alpha softness in the world. “Whatever you want, Serena. I’m with you.” That settles Rowan too. I crush Little Eight tighter against me until my knuckles go white. “We’ll call them orphan strays. Beggar pups.” Serena smiles, gentle as poisoned milk. “But Wren — sweetie — you’re going into Damien’s wing of the Silvercrest pack house. You can’t stay tangled up with mongrels. Not one paw out of line.” She drifts close. Slow. Lazy. Eyes glittering with something ugly. “So just so you remember — every little life you save, we carve one cut into you.” The pups close ranks around me before her words even finish. “You three — enough!” “Wren is brilliant! Even my royal Lycan father praises her! This is how Silvercrest treats her?! I’m telling my father the second I get home — she’s coming back with me! No one gets to bully her!” “My mama’s still waiting for Wren to teach her the harp! Don’t you dare hurt her!” “Got the guts to wait fifteen minutes?! You’re using us to threaten her?! Cowards! When my dad gets here, none of you will have a paw left to stand on!” In a heartbeat, every one of them is pinned. Mouths gagged. Knees forced into the dirt. And then — Fifteen minutes hits. “Lady Wren!” A pack warrior bursts out of the treeline still half-shifted, fur and fangs receding mid-stride, eyes blown wide with fury. “Stand down! Who are you people?!” I look past his shoulder. No one else. My stomach drops. “You came alone?” His voice goes rough. Guarded. “Rogues are causing chaos at the borders. Alpha Calder ran out with the rest of the pack. He’s not back yet.” Rogues at the borders. Which means the Ironvale escort coming for the two Lycan princes can’t get through either. “Stop pretending.” Damien’s eyes are dark — something ugly and complicated churning in them. His voice drops, scrapes raw at the edges. “Wren. The rogue’s whelps — you love them that much? You’d bleed out for them? Move heaven and earth?”

The smile freezes on Serena’s lips. Her nails dig into Damien’s hand. He doesn’t react. She shoots me a glare — then her free hand flies to her mouth and she gasps at Garrick. “Boyd?! You’re supposed to be dead! No wonder Wren wouldn’t come home with us!” Damien’s eyes go bottomless cold. “Don’t stay here,” I snap at Garrick. “Ride for Alpha Calder. Or the Grand Gamma. Now.” Both of them wear the Lycan King’s personal mark on their shoulder. Every wolf in three kingdoms knows their scent on sight. Damien cannot mistake them for rogues. Garrick blinks. Turns to bolt — already shifting mid-stride to run for backup. Then Damien snaps. Before any of us can move, his fangs drop, his hand half-shifted into claws — and he lunges, slamming Garrick down before the shift can finish, claws driving straight for his throat. “Damien — stop! He’s a borderlands warrior!” He doesn’t hear me. Garrick rolls, dodging the first strike. But he’s outnumbered. Serena’s warriors swarm him — and a dozen blades sink into him at once. Hot blood sprays across my face. My mouth falls open. My mind goes white. “Don’t hurt him! He doesn’t deserve this!” Nobody believes me. They rip their swords back out. Garrick drops to one knee in the dirt, gritting through it. A warrior stomps his boot down on the back of Garrick’s neck and grinds his forehead into the ground. Damien withdraws his claws like he’s touched filth. “What borderlands warrior, Wren? He raised fangs at the Heir Alpha. He’s an assassin.” Serena’s smile blooms wider. The blade beside me lifts. Catches the cold light. “Better think fast, sweetie. These eight pups — you saving them, or not?” “I save them.” Eight cuts won’t kill me. These pups’ parents kept me alive these eight years. I owe them. The first four blades come down. Iron-thick blood floods the air. Every wolf in the clearing flinches. Rowan rips a sword from a warrior’s hand, veins bulging at his temple. “Wren! You’re STILL going to save them?!” Somewhere behind me, a tiny pup chokes on a sob. I’m drenched in cold sweat. Twitching. “I save them. And I’m not coming back.” Rowan snaps. Four more blades carve down across me. His voice is cold as winter iron. “That’s not your call. You haven’t paid what you owe Serena. You haven’t paid what you owe the Ashford line.” I swallow the scream. Plant my hands in the dirt. Slowly — slowly — push myself upright. My wolf is whimpering somewhere far away. Drowned under the pain. Serena watches and glows. “Rowan — look at her. Gods, she’s bleeding everywhere. She’s… she’s carrying a litter, isn’t she? Bringing a pregnant belly back home? What would Mother say? Oh, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed her so hard.” I look down, dazed. It’s Little Eight’s blood. Pooled on my lap from where I’ve been clutching him. Damien’s head whips around. Two words grind out between his fangs. “Get rid of it.” The warriors seize my arms, wrench them behind me, drag me back — force my stomach exposed. A fist slams into me with the full weight of Heir Alpha strength. I choke on a muffled cry. Every organ inside me feels shifted out of place. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can’t even shift — my wolf is too weak under the blood loss. “Lies — all of it — Lady Wren’s never been marked! Her neck is clean — where would a litter even come from?!” Garrick spits the words through a mouthful of blood, still defending me. Still. Serena slowly lays a hand on the neck of the pup nearest her. Her fingers curl. “I’m lying?” She catches the panic flaring in Garrick’s eyes and lets out a soft, mournful sigh. “If they’re not Wren’s pups… then why do you care so much, hmm?”

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