Author: Momo Chan

Ten years after I died, they finally caught the bastard. Thirteen murders. One of them — me. The trial is livestreamed to millions. He sits there, rattling off crime after crime. Victim locations. Body dumps. Cold, mechanical, bored. Then he gets to number nine. Me. He stops. Looks straight into the camera. And smiles. “This one — oh, this one was the saddest little thing. And she deserved every second of it.” His grin stretches wider. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Bring me her family. Every last one. Or I take it all back — every confession, every location. Gone.” “Good luck finding the rest of those bodies without me.” The internet loses its mind. My name is everywhere — trending, screaming across the live chat. Strangers are already posting, trying to track down my family. And Lucas Crane — my Lucas — rips off his cap and grabs his phone like he wants to crush it. “Nora.” His voice is ice. “You’ve been partying overseas for ten goddamn years. What — you still can’t let it go? You hate them that much?” “Paying off a serial killer to put on a show? That’s a new low. Even for you.” … Ten years. The shy rookie I fell in love with is gone. Detective Captain Crane now. All sharp edges and authority. Even when he’s furious, it barely shows — just his voice going dangerously quiet. “Tomorrow is my wedding to Audrey. I put up with your bullshit for a decade, and you pull this? Now? Today?” “Nobody’s falling for it, Nora. Not anymore.” God. If I were still alive, I’d already be tripping over my own words to apologize. But I’m not alive. I haven’t been for ten years. I can’t answer him. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service—” He freezes. Pulls the phone away from his ear. Stares at it. Right. I’ve been “overseas” for ten years. The number’s been dead almost as long as I have. All that rage — nowhere to land. Like screaming into a void. He picks up his cap. Puts it back on. Sits down. Locks his jaw. Back to the mask. Someone in the chat finally connects the dots. “Wait — Nora Sinclair? THE Nora Sinclair? The architect prodigy? She vanished right after the bridge project launched!” “Holy shit. She didn’t vanish. She was KILLED.” “She was twenty-four years old.” The chat floods with grief. For me. And Lucas — unshakable, by-the-book Lucas — suddenly can’t sit still. He’s on his feet. Practically shouting at the camera. “Nora didn’t vanish. Her real identity got exposed. She was a fraud. She ditched everything and ran off to live her best life abroad.” “She nearly tanked the entire bridge project by walking away.” “If Audrey Sinclair hadn’t stepped up — poured ten years of her life into finishing it — that bridge would be rubble right now.” The second Audrey’s name leaves his mouth, something shifts in him. His whole face goes soft. He sounds like a kid bragging about his first crush. Breathless. Proud. Stupid with it. I’ve seen that face before. The first time he got his commendation — Medal of Valor, youngest officer in the precinct — he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. Pulled me forward like I was the real prize. “Everyone — this is Nora Sinclair. Ashford’s most brilliant architect. And my fiancée.” “Half this medal belongs to her.” He unclipped that bronze pin from his own chest and fastened it to mine. His hands were shaking. The whole room erupted. Wolf-whistles, cheers, someone banging on a table. And Lucas — face red as a fire truck — kissed me right there. In front of all of them. That was then. Same man. Different woman. Every medal since, every award, every proud moment — they all belong to her now. Audrey Sinclair. The real daughter. The one who replaced me in every way that mattered. That heart of his — the one so pure it made me cry — he gave it away. Whole. Unbroken. To her. And now, when someone says my name, all I see on his face is disgust. “Nora — even if you paid a murderer to say you’re dead, I won’t buy it.” “Show your face and end this. Or I’ll have you arrested.” He turns on the killer. Eyes like knives. “Where. Is. She.” Every cop in that room drops their gaze. Nobody dares meet his stare. But the killer? He just laughs. “Officer.” Slow. Amused. “I already told you. Thirty minutes. Bring me her family.” He lifts one finger toward the clock. Something cold and ancient in his eyes. “Ten minutes gone. I’d hurry if I were you.”

The chat goes dead silent — then erupts. Everyone’s rattled by the killer’s threat. Within minutes, the internet is plastered with posts trying to find my family. “Don’t let Nora fool you!” Lucas is on his feet. Voice calm. Controlled. Already building his case against me before anyone else can think. “Nora’s jealous. She’s trying to wreck my wedding to Audrey.” “I made Audrey a promise — swore it on that bridge. The day the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge opens, that’s the day I marry her.” “Nora timed this whole stunt to blow it all up.” He’s glaring at the screen like he wants to reach through it and shake me. I can practically hear what’s running through his head: Nora, you lived Audrey’s life for thirty years. What more do you want? “Lucas!” The courtroom doors slam open. Audrey staggers in, drenched head to toe from the storm. Lucas has his jacket off and around her shoulders before she takes two steps. “What are you doing here in this weather? I told you I’d come to you after work.” His voice is tight. Barely hiding the panic underneath. Like the thought of her suffering even a little bit is more than he can take. Then he turns to the camera. Hard. Cold. “Nora — you can see what you’ve done to Audrey. Are you satisfied now?” Audrey shakes her head, pale-faced, clutching his sleeve. “She has every right to resent me, Lucas. Please — don’t blame her.” She pulls out a folder, perfectly dry inside a rain cover, and holds it up to the camera. “Nora — if you’re upset about the bridge project, I’ll have the committee put your name back as lead architect at tomorrow’s ceremony.” “Just please stop making things harder for Lucas. He’s only doing his job to keep people safe.” Not a trace of anger in her voice. Not even close. Her eyes are actually glistening — on the edge of tears. Soaking wet. Trembling. The perfect picture of grace under fire. The chat flips instantly. “Nora is disgusting. Dragging the real daughter through this for her own ego.” “Must be nice living abroad. Rich enough to bribe a serial killer for attention.” But the bridge project? Audrey took it from me. The day she walked off with my blueprints, she didn’t even flinch. “Nora — you lived my life for over thirty years. Think of this as interest. Seems fair, don’t you think?” Just like that, the lead architect’s name on the internal system was changed to Audrey Sinclair. “Nora! Haven’t you done enough?” Lucas snaps the safety off his gun. Presses the barrel against the killer’s temple. His whole body is shaking with rage. “You like performing? Fine. Let’s keep the show going. Tell me — where is Nora’s body?” “Captain — stand down!” Officers scramble toward him, trying to wrestle the weapon away. The killer doesn’t even blink. He watches Lucas spiral — and laughs. “I’ve seen every face in that family photo of hers. Bring me all of them. Every single one. Or you get nothing.”

“What photo? What are you talking about?” Lucas looks completely lost. Obviously doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. He’s taken thousands of photos over the years — work events, award ceremonies, commendations. Why would he remember one unremarkable group shot? But that photo was my only family portrait. After Audrey was confirmed as the real Sinclair daughter, both families took one photo together. My adoptive parents and my birth parents — all smiles. All clustered around Audrey. Not one of them willing to stand within arm’s reach of me. But even that lopsided, heartbreaking picture — I kept it like treasure. Carried it with me for ten years. After I went back to my birth parents, they couldn’t even be bothered to smile at me. To be closer to Audrey, they gave up everything and moved to Ashford. Even when they came back to Bridgeport for the holidays — just one day a year — they’d sigh the entire drive, complaining about the three-hour detour. “If only there were a bridge connecting the two cities. Then we could see Audrey every day.” That one sentence. That’s all it took. I turned down an offer from a Fortune 500 firm overseas. Poured everything I had into getting the bridge project approved. The day it was greenlit, I walked out of the construction trailer I’d lived in for over two hundred days. Went home to tell my birth parents the good news — for the first time. I was so happy I didn’t notice the man following me. By the time I saw the knife in his hand — by the time I tried to run back inside — the front door had a new lock. A new code. My parents had changed it without telling me. I was locked out. I died on my own doorstep. That half-inch threshold felt like a mountain I couldn’t climb as I collapsed. “Oh, sweetheart — Mommy and Daddy are so sorry we’re late!” An elderly couple stumbles into the courtroom, wailing at the camera. “You’ve been overseas for ten years — do you really still resent us?” “Baby, just let it go.” I’ve heard that line a thousand times. Haven’t I let go enough? I let go of being the Sinclair heiress. Went home without a fight. I let go of my dream job overseas — threw myself into building that bridge. I let go of the blueprints I’d slaved over for months — handed the credit to Audrey without a word. And for Lucas, I let go of my life. What else is there left to let go of? Lucas slaps the table impatiently, glaring at the killer. “Talk. Now.” The killer glances at him with open contempt — then pounds the table so hard it shakes. “You’re trying to fool me with actors? Those aren’t her parents!” I freeze. Then laugh at myself. Ten years. I’ve forgotten what my own parents look like. I can’t even tell these are imposters. A vein pulses at Lucas’s temple. “Her birth parents are in Bridgeport! Her adoptive parents are in Ashford! The bridge doesn’t open until tomorrow and there’s a goddamn hurricane out there — how am I supposed to get them here?” The killer grins to himself. “Then thank you, Officer, for giving me a reason to recant.” “You’ve got six minutes.” The chat is furious on my behalf — calling Lucas heartless, cruel. Thousands of people across both cities start searching for my parents on their own. Lucas, terrified of the backlash spiraling further, has no choice. He calls in a police helicopter to fly both sets of parents in. “Thirty seconds left.” The killer props his feet up on the table, counting down with obvious pleasure. “Three…” “Two…” “One!” The courtroom doors burst open on the final second. Everyone exhales. But my birth parents and adoptive parents stroll in — unhurried, arm in arm. All four pairs of eyes go straight to Audrey. “Oh, baby girl — you came in the rain? Look at you, you’re soaked!” “Are you cold, sweetheart?” When someone mentions me, all they do is scoff. “Nora, dead? Please. She’s probably sunbathing on some beach abroad.” Lucas snaps. Grabs the killer by the collar. Roars in his face. “TALK!” The killer looks around the room — at all of them — and suddenly smiles. Quiet. Almost sad. “She really was pitiful…” The audience holds its breath. Then the killer lifts his head and finally says it: “Her body is inside the central pillar of the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge. Sealed in concrete.”

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I was reborn. Reborn to the day my whole pack got slaughtered. Same night. Same spot in the woods. I’m hiding behind the same rock. Killian finds me again. He’s standing over me, breathing hard, blood on his chest. Not his. “Anyone else from your pack make it out?” Last time, I said no. I didn’t know Vanessa was alive. I didn’t know she was three miles away, hiding in a hollow tree, waiting. The rogues found her before he did. They kept her three months. She came back pregnant. He blamed me for it. Took me as my mate anyway, because he owed my father. And then he punished me for ten years. His last words to me were, “Next time, I won’t pick you.” Funny. Here we are. I look up at him. “My sister. Vanessa. She’s in the old hollow tree by the creek.” The second the words leave my mouth, a figure comes running out of the dark. She grabs my hands, tears all over her face. “Cara — Cara, are you hurt — I thought I’d never see you again —” Her hands are warm. “I’m okay,” I say. Killian steps closer. His shadow falls over both of us. He takes off his cloak and puts it around Vanessa. “It’s cold. You’re shaking.” His voice is soft. His eyes never touch me. Not once. So that’s why he was fifteen minutes late this time. Vanessa wipes her face. “Cara, this is Alpha Killian. He visited our pack once when we were pups, do you remember?” She tries to say more. Her face crumbles. She can’t. Killian’s hand on her arm goes white. “Not here,” he says. “I’m taking you both home.” Killian walks with Vanessa. I follow behind. His eyes never come back to me. He’s keeping his promise. The one he made on his deathbed. Next time, I won’t pick you. Good. This life, I can finally breathe. Three days through the forest. We reach Killian’s territory. Vanessa and I get placed in the same wing of the pack house. Misty Pear House. The wing he banned me from, last life. It’s hers. White pear blossoms in the courtyard, just like our family home. Her incense burning. Her tea on the table. Except the painting is gone. Last life, I walked in here once. By accident. Killian was standing in front of a painting of a she-wolf. His eyes were soft — the kind of soft I never saw, would never see. Before I could see her face, he turned and caught me. “Who let you in?” “I told you. You don’t step foot in here. Not in this life.” I didn’t understand the regret in his eyes then. He punished me anyway. Three nights, no fire, dead of winter. My knees ached so bad I couldn’t sleep. I begged him to stay in his bed a little longer, just for the warmth. He laughed. “The Whitepine pack was supposed to raise respectable she-wolves. How did they end up with a slut like you?” That night he ripped me apart. I almost died. “Anything else you need? I’ll have it sent over.” His voice. Right behind me. Soft. Sweet. Talking to her. Vanessa laughs. “Alpha, you spoil me. I have everything.” She turns. “Cara? What about you?” His eyes land on me for the first time since the woods. Like a hand around my throat.

The pressure is suffocating. My legs ache again. I drop my head. “Thank you, Alpha. I don’t need anything.” A quiet laugh. I don’t have to look up. I heard that laugh ten thousand times last life. Cold, with mockery underneath. That life was too heavy. Whatever happens this time, I’m done with this male. But I can’t avoid him. Because of Vanessa, he’s here all the time. Honey cakes. Romance novels. Little gifts to make a she-wolf smile. She’s falling for him too. I can see it. Good. Without me in the way, they were always meant for each other. “Cara, do you think it’s pretty?” Vanessa holds something up. A wolf-tooth pendant, two wolves curled around each other, tied to a leather cord. I nod. “It’s beautiful. Your hands are the best in our pack. He’ll love it.” She lowers her head, smiling. “You always know what to say.” Then her smile thins. “There are so many high-ranked she-wolves here. I don’t know if Alpha Killian would even —” “He will.” I say it too fast. Because I remember. Last life, after Vanessa came back, after Killian and I were already mated, I was desperate. A she-wolf told me — males can’t resist a handmade token. Carve one. Put your scent on it. My hands are clumsy. The two wolves I carved looked like drowned rats. I kept cutting my own fingers. There was blood on the cord by the time I finished. That same week, I saw Killian walk out of Vanessa’s wing, smiling. A wolf-tooth pendant on his belt. Hers. Of course. The she-wolf wasn’t wrong. Males do melt for tokens. She forgot to add — only from the female they actually love. For a few days after that, Killian was almost kind. Even brought me cakes from the bakery on the east side. I never gave him my ugly pendant. It disappeared. Someone probably thought it was trash. A maid calls Vanessa out. She sets the pendant down and goes. I stare at it. If I could carve like that, would someone love me too? A shadow falls over the table. I think it’s Vanessa. I pick the pendant up to hand it back. I look up. Black eyes. Right in front of me. Killian’s mouth twists. “Cara. What are you trying now?” The disgust hits me before the words do. “You’re really that cheap? Crawling into my bed again?” “I told you. I will never take you as my mate. Get it through your head.” The old fear rolls through me. He smells like that winter — pine, frost, blood. My hands shake. It takes forever to find my voice. “Alpha. This isn’t mine. Vanessa carved it for you.” He freezes. Something twists across his face. Half a second. Gone. “Alpha?” Vanessa, in the doorway. He steps back. His face smooths out. Soft again. “Cara was showing me something. Said it was yours.” Vanessa goes red. But she stands tall. “Forgive me, Alpha. I don’t have much to offer. But my hands are decent. I made it for you.” I shove the pendant into her hand and run. My legs are still shaking outside. I wipe sweat off my forehead. Spring in this territory. Why is it still so cold.

By that afternoon, the whole pack house knows. Alpha Killian has claimed Vanessa as his Luna. The mating ceremony is set for the third of next month. It moves through the halls like fire. Maids, guards, everyone buzzing. Red banners going up by sundown. Alphas from neighboring packs sending gifts before nightfall. So this is what it looks like when an Alpha takes the female he actually wants. Last life, my mating ceremony took one day to plan. He looked at me with empty eyes. “My parents are dead. You’re a rogue’s daughter. We’re not making a fuss.” I nodded. He saved me and wanted to make me his Luna. I had no reason to say no. His parents had been Alphas. Guarded the northern border for two generations. Died there. That was the official story. My father was Beta of the Whitepine pack. Got dragged into a power struggle between two of the Lycan King’s heirs. Our whole pack got slaughtered. Thirty-five wolves. Dead in one night for nothing. Killian taking in the only orphan to clear his debt to my father — nobody questioned it. He just didn’t love me. That was all. I touch my face. Wet. I wipe it fast. Cried once. That’s enough. That night, Vanessa crawls into my bed like we’re little she-pups again. “Cara. Are you happy I’m getting mated?” I pick my words. “Of course. Alpha Killian is good to you. He’ll be a good mate.” She looks at me. “Yes. He will.” Her voice changes. “But I’m worried about you. We’re rogue’s daughters, Cara. The King hates our pack name. One day even an Alpha won’t be able to protect you.” I don’t fully get it. But ten years with Killian taught me how to read a face. Something cold in her eyes. Something pulling away. I make my voice small. “Sister — what should I do?” She strokes my hair. “Don’t be scared. I’ll find you a mate of your own.” Next day, she takes me out. Excuse: buying things for the ceremony. Real reason: she lines up four males for me. I turn down them all. Warriors remind me of Killian. The last one is Caleb. Beta of a smaller pack on the south side. Soft eyes. Quiet voice. Hands that have never held a blade. He gives me a small handmade rabbit toy at our first meeting. Little wood-carved thing with floppy ears. I want to give him something back. I sneak into the kitchen the second we’re home. I’m not good at much. But I can bake. Even Killian — who never said a kind word — used to eat what I made without complaining. Honey cakes. My mother’s recipe. I want Vanessa to taste one first. I head to her wing with the box. The first person I see in the courtyard is Killian. I drop my eyes. “Alpha.” He walks toward me. Slow. His eyes drop to the box. The mockery is so casual it burns. He reaches in. Takes a cake. Crushes it between his fingers. “Cara. You really aren’t afraid to die, are you.” Low and mean. My lips go white. You don’t owe him anything anymore. I step back. Keep my voice flat. “These are for my sister. And for Caleb. If the Alpha wants honey cakes, the kitchen can make some.” His hand stops. “Caleb. Who is Caleb.” The door opens. Vanessa walks in, light as anything. “Caleb is the Beta I picked for Cara.”

Something flickers across Killian’s face. Gone in a second. His voice goes flat. Cold. “She’s too young. No rush to find her a mate.” Vanessa laughs. “You don’t know how a she-wolf’s mind works. Caleb and Cara are alike — both gentle, both kind. His pack is a little small, sure, but that means no politics either.” She looks at me. “Besides, Cara likes him.” I nod fast. Anything to make Killian stop looking at me like that. “Caleb is great. He made me a rabbit toy on the first day.” Killian says nothing. His eyes are dark. Unreadable. But he’d never get mad at Vanessa. That stare is terrifying. I slip back to my room before he can say another word. Behind me, Vanessa’s voice floats through the door. “Are you upset with me?” A little pout in it. Playful. “It’s my fault. I should’ve told you first. Punish me if you want. I can take it.” I can’t help it. I glance back. Killian’s mouth curves, just barely. He leans down and says something low. Vanessa swats his arm, blushing. Last life, watching this would’ve torn me apart. Jealousy, bitterness, all of it crashing over me like a wave. This time — nothing. Good enough. The honey cakes never made it out. Killian sent word: giving gifts in private is what loose she-wolves do. It shames the pack. His pack doesn’t need that kind of embarrassment. Last life, after I became his mate, that’s the word he used most. Loose. Shameless. If it weren’t for my father, he’d never have taken me. He hated that I couldn’t read. Hated that I wasn’t smart enough. Three days after our mating ceremony, he brought in a tutor. History. Math. Everything, crammed into my skull until my head was splitting. Every night he tested me. Every wrong answer — his hand came down. Hard. The pain shot from my palm through my whole body. “Cara. Again.” His face like stone. I was so scared I passed out. When I woke up, the tutor was gone. Killian never brought it up again. “Cara, you’re the dumbest wolf I’ve ever met.” He stared at my bloody palms, mouth full of ugly words. “What the hell did your father teach you? How did you turn out like this?” But then he took my hands, one at a time, and dabbed medicine on them. Gentle. Careful. Light through the window on his lowered brow. That was Killian. Always like that. Hit you, then patch you up. Like training a dog. That night I couldn’t sleep. Killian’s face kept snarling through my dreams. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. But none of it happened. Not this time. The ceremony is getting close. The pack house is busier every day. Caleb keeps sending little things. He’s not a talker, but he makes you feel safe. I write him back every time. The dark cloud from the last few days starts to lift. Until a servant from Caleb’s pack delivers a message. “Beta Caleb says he’s been reassigned to a pack down south. Leaving today. He wants to know if you’d go with him. If you’re willing, he’ll meet you at the south gate.” I go quiet. Before I can answer, one of Vanessa’s maids rushes in. “Miss! The Luna-to-be broke out in a rash — her whole body — please come quick!” My stomach drops. I run. It’s an allergic reaction. Someone put hazelnut in the morning porridge. I tell the maids to boil herb water and wash her down. After one round, the rash fades. Vanessa falls asleep, exhausted. I pick up the basin and head out. A tall shadow blocks the doorway. “What’s wrong — your perfect little mate gets taken away, so now you’re walking around with a face like a corpse?”

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On our wedding night, my husband plotted to have me gang-raped by five men. At that wedding night, Felix Cruz was suddenly passionate. He was rough, wild, insatiable. I woke up sore and smiling, convinced that our new life together had begun. For ten years, I had loved him from a distance. Ten years of waiting, of hoping, of telling myself that one day he would see me. When he finally agreed to marry me, I thought it was because he had finally realized how much I loved him. I was wrong. Fifteen days later, I found out I was pregnant- its confirmed twins. I drove to the private club where he spent most of his evenings, my heart bursting with the news to share the joy. But at the door of the private room where he was laughing with his friends, I stopped. I heard Mina’s voice first — that syrupy, girlish lilt that made every man in his circle melt. “You guys are too much,” Mina Moore giggled. “I made a joke—whoever gets Zara pregnant on her wedding night gets a million dollars from Felix. And you actually went through with it? Five men, all night?” Laughter exploded around him. Male laughter. Five distinct voices. I couldn’t move. My blood turned to ice. Felix’s cold voice cut through: “Five of them took turns. If she still doesn’t get pregnant after that, I should ask for a refund.” “I heard virgins get pregnant easily,” one of them snickered. “That million is mine.” “The taste was amazing. We were so thorough that night. The baby is definitely mine.” “Please — I lasted the longest. If she’s carrying anyone’s, it’s mine.” Mina took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes flicking toward the door. Toward me. She knew I was there. “Stop fighting, boys. It’s not like any of you are short on cash.” One of Felix’s friends laughed. “Who needs the money? We just want to know who’s the best among us.” Mina turned her smile to Felix. “Would you be angry if she really got pregnant?” Felix shrugged. “Why would I be angry at a whore who spreads her legs for five men and moaned like she was enjoying it. She was disgusting that night. And she begged me for more.” They laughed again. “Besides —” he paused, “— you boys kept the HD footage, didn’t you? Something to revisit on a slow night.” The room erupted. “The princess of Kingsley, writhing underneath me— I’ll replay that till I’m old.” “She wouldn’t dare say anything. We were just following Felix’s orders.” Every word reached me through that gap in the door. My body was shaking. My lungs had forgotten how to expand. My vision tunneled to a single bright point — Mina’s face, watching me through the crack with the faintest curl of a smile. “Zara!” She waved me in, voice dripping with warmth. “When did you get here? You should have said something!” Felix glanced at me. No shame. No guilt. Just irritation. “We were just joking. Don’t take it seriously.” I looked around the room at the faces of the five men who had taken turns raping me on the night I thought I was becoming Felix’s wife. I gathered what was left of my voice. “What kind of joke involves *that*?” One of them walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. His eyes crawled over my body. His eyes traveled down my body with a familiarity that made my stomach lurch. “Don’t be mad, Zara. It was just a kidding.” Felix’s voice hardened. “That’s enough. Everyone’s watching.” Felix’s voice not at him. At me. I turned and walked out. The tears came before I reached the elevator. We were an arranged marriage — a business alliance between the Kingsley and Cruz families. But I had loved Felix Cruz since I was fifteen. Ten years of quiet, stubborn devotion before he finally agreed to the wedding. He hadn’t been moved by my love. He’d been moved by leverage. That night — our wedding night — the champagne had tasted slightly off. I’d drunk it without suspicion, because why would I suspect my own husband? I had been unconscious while they took turns. I had woken up with bruises and thought it was passion. I had tried so hard to please him. I had watched those stupid videos, learned those degrading positions, forced myself to be the woman I thought he wanted. And all of it—every humiliating second—was because Mina had made a bet with them. Back at the house, I found the camera first. High-definition. Hidden in the corner of the bedroom. I ripped it off the wall and smashed it. My tears wouldn’t stop. *I don’t deserve to be alive. I’m filthy. I’m disgusting.* Felix appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? I told you, it was just a joke.” My voice cracked. “Then why did you put a hidden camera in our bedroom?” He sat on the edge of the bed, looked at the shattered remains on the floor, and said without blinking: “That’s for your safety.” *My safety. Or your collection?* He took my cold hand. “You went to the hospital today. Where’s the test result? You’ve always wanted a baby. You should be happy.” My throat was scraped hollow. “You really want me to have your child? Felix — you haven’t touched me once since the wedding night.” He softened his voice. “I was worried you were too tired, Zara. You’re my wife. Do you think I would hurt you? And that night, I was so ‘hard’ that you couldn’t have been left unattended—how could you not be pregnant?” I pulled my hand back. But the ultrasound printout slipped from my bag and fluttered to the floor between us.

Felix picked up the ultrasound from the floor and glanced at it. A crease formed between his brows—then dissolved into something cold laugh. “Tomorrow I’m taking you to the hospital for a proper check. Twins in one go—impressive.” He locked me in the bedroom that night. I spent the night curled on the bed, my hand pressed to my still‑flat stomach, not sleeping. Just waiting. The next morning, before I’d even finished dressing, his driver was at the door. I was taken to the hospital like cargo. — There were five men were already waiting outside the entrance hospital. The moment I stepped out of the car, their eyes crawled over me—shameless, familiar, proprietary. Like men inspecting something they’d already used and were deciding whether to use again. Mina appeared at my side, looping her arm through mine with practiced sweetness. “Zara, you’re amazing. Twins! You’re amazing.” Felix pulled me behind him—not protectively. Possessively. “Enough. Let’s get this done.” We didn’t go to obstetrics. We went straight to the paternity testing center. Felix’s voice was clipped, commanding. “How soon can you run a paternity test?” A doctor in a white coat looked at the crowd of men trailing behind me and frowned, then back at Felix. His brow furrowed deeply. “She’s less than four weeks along. I strongly advise against any invasive procedure at this stage.” “And if I insist?” “Ten weeks minimum.” doctor’s tone was firm. “I won’t compromise patient safety.” Mina let out a theatrical sigh. “Three months? That’s so long. We came all this way for nothing.” I stood at the front of the group, surrounded by men who had violated me, and smiled with pale. “Do it,” Felix cut him off. His voice was flat, final. “I’m not leaving until I have results. And I want all five of my friends tested too.” The doctor stared at him. “Sir, this is a medical facility, not a drama place. I have ethical obligations I will not violate.” “I know what this is.” Felix pulled out his phone. “I’ll pay whatever it costs. Just run the tests.” Mina tilted her head, voice dripping with false concern. “But doctor, we need to find the real father. And with twins—isn’t there a chance they could have *different* fathers?” Behind me, the five men snickered. One of them spoke up, loud enough for the entire waiting room to hear. “Bro, the stakes just doubled. One thousand per kid—that’s two million now.” “Wedding night, five men and one bride. The groom was tired. We did all the work.” The waiting room had gone silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. I stood in front of them all, staring at the floor. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t let anyone see. A woman in the waiting area stared at me, then at the men, then at my stomach. Her face twisted with disgust. Then the crazy man appeared. He’d been sitting in the corner—unwashed, muttering to himself. Something about the commotion drew him up from his seat. He shuffled toward me, a Styrofoam container of soup clutched in one hand. Before I could react without warning, he threw a cup of hot chicken soup into my face. Hot broth soaked into my face and my collar and burned. “Dirty whore,” he spat. The words came out garbled, half-crazed. “You like being passed around? Disgusting bitch.” Pain seared across my skin. I gasped—and the tears came before I could stop them. Tears mixed with the soup. Felix flinched. For a moment, his hand reached toward me. Then Mina let out a cry and bolted for the exit, one hand pressed to her mouth as though *she* were the one who’d been hurt. He pulled his hand back. “I’ll explain later. Mina’s not stable right now.” He turned to the five men. “All of you, let’s go.” They left. All of them. Scrambling after Mina like loyal dogs, cooing reassurances at the woman who had orchestrated everything. I stood alone in the middle of the waiting room. Soup dripping from my hair. The skin beneath the broth was already blistering. No one helped. No one apologized. No one moved to help me. — I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and found the burn unit myself. The nurse on duty looked me up and down. Her lip curled. “Husband that handsome and you couldn’t keep your legs closed?” She dabbed antiseptic on my raw skin with unnecessary force. “Five men on your wedding night—honestly, they should’ve thrown holy water on you, not soup.” She pressied harder than necessary. I flinched. I asked for another nurse. “Can I have a different nurse?” “Different nurse?” She snorted. “Sweetheart, no one here wants to touch you.” I sat still. Let her finish. I didn’t cry again—because there was no point. Tears wouldn’t change anything. They never had. — By the time I walked out of the hospital, the sky was black. “Hey—how much for a night? I’ll pay. Come with me now.” I turned and saw the crazy man from earlier. He was following me—three steps behind, grinning with broken teeth. “Don’t run. You’re pregnant—I don’t mind. I’m not picky.” Ice flooded my veins. I turned and ran. I ran for my life, as if something savage were chasing me. My lungs burned. Behind me, his shuffling footsteps grew louder, then faded as I rounded a corner and threw myself into the back of a taxi. “Drive. Now.” The cab pulled away. I pressed myself against the door, shaking so violently my teeth clicked together. Even the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror felt wrong. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the floor until the car stopped. Back home, I leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, feeling like I had just escaped death. I was alive. I was home. For a moment, that felt like enough. Before I could catch my breath, I saw clothes scattered on the floor by the entryway—a jacket, underwear, torn stockings. And from behind the door, wave after wave of moaning, almost tearing me apart. The sounds of my husband fucking another woman in our bed.

I really broke down. Why was this happening to me? Through the crack in the door, I saw Mina give me a provocative look. They did it on purpose, just to disgust me. But I had no strength left to run. I don’t know how long it went on. The sounds. The moaning. Then Mina stood over me. She was covered in marks of intimacy, wearing my newest nightgown. “Zara, you want to compete with me? Take a look at yourself.” “You shamelessly threw yourself at Felix, and got gang-raped by five men on your own wedding night. Now you’re carrying their bastards. Are you happy? Next time, I’ll arrange ten for you.” Her face was a mask of jealousy, twisted and ugly. She bent down, seized my chin between her fingers. “Felix has never touched you. He married you only for the company. His body? His heart? They belong only to me.” Despair spread through my whole body. I looked at her and said sarcastically, “I stayed by him for ten years. You’re just a secretary who slept her way up.” Her expression snapped. That saccharine facade cracked wide open, replaced by something raw and venomous. “What are you so proud of? Tomorrow I’ll have Felix send you to a nightclub.” I slowly stood up and said calmly, “Mina, what do you really want? If you want my position, I’ll give it to you.” Mina was jealous to the point of madness. She grabbed my wrist. “Give? I will pull you down from that position myself.” She picked up a vase from nearby and smashed it on the floor, her eyes fierce. Then she picked up a piece of broken porcelain, cut her own cheek, and quickly shoved it into my hand. “Help! She’s trying to cut my face!” Mina shrieked, stumbling backward. “I just came to check on you, and you attacked me!” Then, louder: “We found a priest. He said your children will bring bad luck to Felix and kill him.” Felix appeared in the doorway within seconds. He took one look at Mina’s bleeding face, one look at the shard in my hand, and crossed the room in three strides. Mina sobbed against his chest. “I was only trying to help her. Why would she do this to me?” Felix stood in front of me, took the shard from my fingers, and dragged it across my cheek. One clean line. Just deep enough. “Now we’re even,” he said. It was always like this. Any scratch on Mina’s skin, and he’d carve the same wound into mine. “I didn’t do it—” Mina pressed closer to him, her voice trembling with calculated fragility. “Don’t be angry at her, Felix. I don’t mind being scarred. After all, she’s the Kingsley heiress…” He looked at me with eyes that could freeze marrow. Then he picked Mina up—bridal style—and turned to leave. As he passed me, he shoved me with his shoulder. Hard. I was already unsteady. My stomach hit the sharp corner of the coffee table. The teapot and cups crashed to the floor. I doubled over, arms wrapped around my abdomen, a scream trapped in my throat because the pain was too enormous for sound. “Zara, all these years—how did I never see what a hypocrite you are?” His voice came from above me, cold and final. “Mina is an innocent blank slate. Don’t hurt her.” I clutched my stomach. Sweat had soaked through my clothes. I forced words out through clenched teeth. “Felix—I didn’t do it. I would never—” “Enough! The priest told us your first pregnancy would kill me. Mina was looking out for me—for us. ” He carried Mina out of the room. As he passed, his heel came down on my foot—deliberately, grinding—before lifting away. “You’re quite the actress, Zara. Too bad there’s no audience tonight. Enjoy the solo performance.” Over Felix’s shoulder, Mina turned her head. And gave me a triumphant smile. — I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. *Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. If you lose consciousness now, no one is coming.* Blood was pooling beneath me. My legs had no strength left. I couldn’t stand. So hands and knees across the cold marble floor, dragging my body toward the couch where I’d left my bag. Every inch sent white-hot agony ripping through my abdomen. My fingers found the zipper. Found my phone. I dialed the only number that mattered. I gasped the address between ragged breaths. “This is my location… please hurry…”

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At the Crestfall City gala, my father—Victor Steele, the current Don of the Steele crime Family—wanted me to lead the opening dance as the face of the Steele Family. The three childhood friends and my fiancé, I’d already secured as my partners avoided my eyes—every single one of them—and walked straight toward the impostor, that fake heiress in the Steele Family. “Noelle’s position is delicate.” they murmured. “She’s the adopted one. If she has no partner at our Family’s event, it would be humiliating.” I stood alone in the center of the ballroom, watching the girl who had stolen my life take my place. I stood frozen as Ashton Shaw—heir apparent to the Shaw Syndicate, future Godfather of the most powerful arms operation on the eastern seaboard—finally approached. I thought he was about to make our engagement public. Instead, he leaned close and murmured an apology against my ear. “You’re the true Steele heiress. You’re clever and ruthless. You don’t need my protection.” My eyes stung. I tugged at his sleeve. He pulled away and walked toward Noelle without looking back. When Noelle blushed and placed her hand in his, the crowd began to whisper: *“So she was waiting for Shaw all along. No wonder she refused everyone else.”* *“The Steel heir and the Shaw heir—a perfect match.”* The whole room turned to congratulate my father. His face was black as a thundercloud. No one knew that in my family, everyone was waiting for me to fall in love—so they could hand my inheritance to the adopted daughter. The opening dance was the face of the Steele Family. I’d lived twenty-two years outside this house. I’d only been claimed back three years ago. This was the first gala the Family had thrown in my honor since then—the first formal acknowledgment that I was the real heiress. Ashton knew exactly what tonight meant to me. But he still walked away. The room shifted. I stayed where I was, throat tightening, watching him guide her into the center of the floor. I watched Ashton lead Noelle into the center of the dance floor. The lights followed them. And the whispers followed me: *“I heard the Shaw and Steele families had an engagement in mind… I guess we know who the real heiress is now.”* *“Looks like Shaw came to give his future wife a public show of support…”* The music began. Ashton tilted his head down to catch something Noelle was saying. His expression had gone soft—softer than I had ever seen it. So that was what he looked like, when he cared. People only ever softened like that for someone they truly wanted to protect. I had only ever seen his cold, ruthless side—the man whose name made grown men in the Crestfall City underworld flinch. Now the side he showed to someone he thought was a hardened survivor who didn’t need softness. Because to him, the daughter who’d come crawling back into the Steele name twenty-two years late was calculating. Even my grief came across as theater. My aunt came to stand beside me, her voice loud enough for half the room to hear: “Well, well. Our true Steele heiress, standing all alone. Some people just aren’t born with the right luck.” “The moment you came home, your grandfather handed you everything that mattered. But Noelle—Noelle has that natural shine. The kind you can’t squash, no matter how hard you try.” Her words slid under my skin like a thin blade. I tightened my grip on my champagne flute. Ashton had told me, before the gala, that his position as the Shaw heir was complicated. Every move he made was a signal—read by every Family in the city. He couldn’t make a public statement without his parents’ —the Don and his consigliere— explicit approval. Which was why I’d planned ahead. I’d quietly secured all three of my childhood friends as backup—each one promising to stand up with me on the floor. Every one of them had agreed without hesitation. And when the lights came up, every one of them had walked to Noelle instead. I had predicted the beginning. I never saw the ending coming. Ashton hadn’t refused to dance with the Steele heiress. He’d just chosen the wrong one—Deliberately. There were no Family signals to consider after all. He simply hadn’t bothered to protect my standing within the Family, and instead spent every drop of his public influence making sure she felt safe—signaling to every capo and underboss in the room that she had his backing. And that I did not.

The first dance ended with applause. Noelle leaned into Ashton’s shoulder, her cheeks prettily flushed. The three childhood friends who had originally promised to be *my* partners were now crowding around them, champagne flutes extended like offerings. Ashton cut through the guests and walked toward me. He bent close. “”Noelle’s position in this Family is fragile. You know what happens to people without protection in our world.The moment you came back, everything fell into your lap—the succession shortlist, the status. She fought for years, and because of blood alone, it’s all gone.” “It was one dance,” he added. “You’ve always been generous.” “If word of tonight gets out,” I cut him off, “what will people say? That the Steele heiress couldn’t even hold her own family’s event together?” His brow furrowed. “You overthink everything. Who would dare laugh at Vivian Steele?” When I didn’t answer, his voice softened. “Vivian, you’re strong. You can stand on your own. But Noelle is different.” “If I hadn’t chosen her tonight—if people thought I didn’t value her—she’d become the Family’s castoff.” I lowered my gaze. What he didn’t know was that the succession battle inside the Steele Family had reached a knife’s edge. My father had made his position clear: either I married into a family as powerful as the Shaws, so Grandfather would have an excuse to remove me from the succession, or he would “arrange” a marriage to some backwoods nouveau riche and end the problem forever. I’d hoped to buy time. Stay on the board a little longer. But this one dance shattered every inch of ground I had left. Noelle came trotting over, her gaze expectant as she looked up at Ashton. “Ashton, will you introduce me to the other families? I’m not like Vivian. I don’t know how to work a room.” “She always keeps a little notebook, you know—recording which family’s son is great, which uncle has the rarest connections…” She caught herself, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I—I’m not calling her calculating… she’s just… thorough.” The smiles of the nearby wives cooled. “Recording each family’s value? The Steele heiress certainly has *strategic*.” “No wonder she clawed her way onto the succession list within three years of coming home.” The whispers drifted over like smoke. My blood went cold, degree by degree. That notebook was Grandfather’s assignment. When I first returned to the Family, he’d told me to study each family’s strengths—their connections, their influence. Ashton had even helped me with it. Yet he said nothing in my defense. Let me become the eye of the storm. Noelle tugged at Ashton’s sleeve. “Did I say the wrong thing again? I just admire how capable my sister is. I’m too stupid…” He patted her head. “It’s fine. Your sister has a big heart—she won’t hold it against you.” Then he led Noelle away to greet the other guests. “Ash—” The whispers around me drowned out my voice. “I actually felt sorry for her getting upstaged… turns out she really is that calculating.” I stood rooted in place. Cold to the bone. I remembered the heavy rain three years ago, the day I was first brought back to the Steele mansion. I had grown up in an orphanage, then adopted into a family with decent means—but nothing compared to Crestfall City’s true elite. The day I was claimed, Crestfall City was drowning in rain. I stood alone outside the ancestral estate gates. Grandfather had wanted to test me—kept the doors shut for nearly an hour. That was where I met Ashton Shaw. He’d walked up with an umbrella, stopped beside me, and said: “New to the family? Don’t worry—I’ll look out for you from now on.” Now he held his umbrella over someone else. I set down my glass and turned toward the terrace. The night wind was cold on my face. The composure I had forced myself to maintain cracked, just a little. Grandfather would be back in seven days. If tonight’s story reached him, it would be a mark against me in his eyes—proof that the heiress he’d bet on couldn’t command a room. I stood there a long while before walking back inside. Callum appeared suddenly, walking fast toward me. “Viv—don’t go over there.” I followed his gaze. Ashton and Noelle were still spinning across the dance floor. So he thought I was going to make a scene. Fight for a man. Of the three childhood friends, Callum was the only one who’d shared those years with me before the adoption—those winters in the state orphanage on the south side of the city. Back then, every time they handed out apples, I’d charge to the front and grab the biggest, reddest one. Then hand it to him. Because he was slow at everything. I was afraid he’d starve. Later, when I was adopted, I used every penny of my allowance to persuade my adoptive parents to pay for his education at an expensive arts academy. I pushed him up, step by step, until he became a respected appraiser. But even that—all that effort, all that soil I gave to a weed that grew from the same mud—could never compete with an untouchable moonlight that floated just out of reach. I tried to walk past him. His hand closed around my wrist from behind. “Be smart. Ashton already made his choice—if you go up there now, you’ll only humiliate yourself more.” “Let go!” I tried to wrench free. He gripped tighter. In the struggle, my heel caught. I lost my balance backward— My back slammed against a pillar. My knees hit the marble with a dull, sickening crack. Pain exploded through me. Callum froze. “Why do you have to be like this? These three years you’ve had everything at the Steele estate—what does Noelle even have left?”

Rowan Yates—heir to the Yates mineral operation, a family that supplied raw materials to half the syndicates on the coast—and Sterling Chase, whose family ran the dirtiest private equity fund in four states, heard the noise and walked over. “Miss Steele, there’s no need to hurt yourself to win sympathy, is there? Weakness isn’t a bargaining chip in this world—it’s a death sentence. Sterling gave a lazy smile. “Is there anything our Vivian Steele wouldn’t do? We’re probably all in that little notebook of hers—stepping stones for the great heiress.” Rowan pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Vivian, you’ve already taken everything from Noelle. She was actually happy tonight—for once. Can’t you stop performing for five minutes?” “If you really want the spotlight so badly,” he said evenly, “I’ll dance with you. Would that be enough to satisfy your ego?” I staggered to my feet. “Move.” “Vivian!” Rowan lost patience. His hand shot out and seized my wrist. “If it weren’t for Sterling and me looking out for you back then, you’d still be nobody!” I tried to pull away. He twisted harder— *Crack.* A soft, sickening sound. Pain exploded from my wrist. I doubled over. Rowan froze. He stared at his own hand as if he hadn’t meant to do that. “You…” His voice went tight. “You pulled that hard just to run after a man?” I bit down on my lip, clutching my right wrist with my left hand. Cold sweat slid down my temple, dripping into my eyes. Sterling pulled a thin, cold smile. “It’s nothing. Our Vivian has weathered worse storms. A little injury like this is nothing compared to what Noelle has suffered.” The pain made the edges of my vision go dark. But I looked at him and laughed. “You’re right. It’s not enough.” I let go of my wrist. The joint hung at a wrong angle, swelling fast. My forearm looked like a broken branch. Sterling’s lazy smile finally faded. He looked away. Rowan’s voice was tight. “Stay here. I’ll call a doctor.” “No.” I pulled the corner of my mouth. “If word gets out, Grandfather won’t be pleased.” “You’re insane.” Rowan’s voice shook with anger. “You only ever care about that damn dignity. Even when Noelle had a fever so high she was seizing, you locked her in the attic and kept entertaining guests—all for your perfect heiress image.” His chest heaved. “Always calculating. Always putting your reputation and your plans above everything else.” He turned and walked away. Sterling shook his head. “Vivian, it’s one dance. Nobody asked you. Did you really have to do this to yourself?” His eyes flickered with mockery. “Or are you still playing the game, waiting to see who breaks first?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked toward the back corridor. The wind cut cold against my skin. I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. With my left hand, I touched my swollen wrist. The pain made me shudder. But this time, I didn’t let go. The bone still connected. The pain still connected. That was enough. At nine o’clock, I returned to the Steele estate—past the iron gates, past the armed guards who checked vehicles with mirrors on poles, past the dogs. My father was waiting in the study. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old leather—and beneath that, the metallic edge of something darker. “You saw what happened tonight,” he said. “Ashton Shaw doesn’t want to marry you.” I didn’t answer. “Your grandfather is old. Your marriage needs to happen soon.” “You also saw that I’ve just been humiliated,” I said. “I’m in no state to marry anyone right now.” He looked up. “Then what do you want?” “Give me the Crestfall City territory to run,” I said. “Three years. I’ll prove I can manage an operation.” After three years, I’ll marry whoever you choose.” He studied me. “Seven days. Your grandfather comes back in seven days. By then, I want to see you married to a ‘suitable’ match.”

The word “suitable” hung in the air. My father said it with a strange emphasis. The groom’s Family rank didn’t matter. Looks, talent, education—none of it. What mattered was that the man I married had to be someone Grandfather would never accept. Someone who would make him take away my inheritance for good. Either I married into a top‑tier family like the Shaws—powerful enough to rival the Steeles—or I married someone far from Crestfall City. Someone no one would approve of. But before Ashton Shaw gave his permission, which Crestfall family would dare take me? At ten‑thirty, I walked out of the Steele private clinic. My wrist had been set and wrapped in a white cast. The night air was cold. Two armored sedans—tinted windows, reinforced chassis, the kind that cost more than most houses—pulled up in sequence. Noelle Steele got out, leaning on Ashton Shaw’s arm. A small bandage wrapped her fingertip. She walked with a delicate limp, brow faintly creased—the picture of fragile suffering. Rowan Yates and Sterling Chase climbed out of the car behind them. “Vivian?” Noelle saw me, her lashes fluttering. Her eyes quickly dropped to my right arm, hanging in a sling. “What happened to you?” Ashton looked up at me. His gaze touched the white bandage. His brow twitched—barely. Rowan stood beside Noelle, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sterling leaned against his car door, hands in his pockets, watching like it was entertainment. “Dislocated wrist,” I said shortly. I started to walk past them. “Vivian.” Noelle’s voice was soft. “I heard from Father that your wedding is set for seven days from now.” The air went still. Ashton’s face stiffened. “Seven days?” His voice turned cold. “Vivian, what game are you playing? When did I ever agree to a wedding?” I stood in the shadows and said nothing. From the time I left my father’s study until now, barely an hour had passed. Noelle had not only learned the news—she had “accidentally” told exactly the person who most needed to hear it. “Ashton…” Noelle’s eyes reddened on cue, a single tear sliding with surgical precision down her cheek. “If you and my sister are really getting married, I’ll give you my blessing.” She lowered her head. “I just… didn’t expect it to be so soon…” Annoyance flickered across Ashton’s face. He looked at Rowan and Sterling. “Take Noelle inside. Don’t let her cut get infected.” Rowan nodded without a word and stepped forward. Sterling let out a lazy laugh. “We’ll make sure Miss Steele is well taken care of. As for you, Shaw—” he glanced at me, “you’d better be careful. Someone dislocated her wrist tonight and waited until now to see a doctor. Who knows what she’s plotting.” Ashton’s brow furrowed. He watched until the three of them disappeared through the clinic doors. Then he walked closer to me. His gaze landed on the white bandage—stark against my skin in the clinic’s fluorescent spill—and lingered for approximately two seconds. He didn’t ask how I’d been hurt. “Unconfirmed rumors don’t leak from your father’s study without purpose,” he said, ice in every syllable. “Vivian, don’t play these games with me.” I looked down at my arm, at least it made the contrast crystal clear. Some people get a paper cut—and three men mobilize like it’s a declaration of war. Others can have their bones snapped—and no one even asks what happened. I lifted my eyes to him. “Does it matter to you?” “Does it matter?” He almost laughed. He grabbed my chin and forced my head up. “You belong to me. Everyone in Crestfall City knows it—our Families have an understanding. A public betrothal signal. If you walk away now, you’re not just breaking a promise. You’re breaking a pact between crime families. That has consequences.  “His eyes burned with warning. “Cancel it.” “If necessary, hold a press conference. Publicly clarify it’s a rumor. I can pretend none of this ever happened.” “What if it’s not a rumor?” His fingers tightened on my jaw. “Vivian.” His voice dropped—dangerous, absolute. The voice of a future Don issuing a final warning. “Don’t test my patience. I am not a chess piece you can trap with a marriage. If you don’t want to end things between us—stop this.” “Then let’s break up,” I said. The air went dead. Ashton stared at me like I had lost my mind. He knew me too well. He knew the way I calculated every move, every word. Most of what I had learned—he had taught me himself. Over the past three years, he had shown me what lay behind the smiles of my so‑called relatives. He had taught me to be patient, to wait, to let go of unnecessary pride when the goal mattered more. “Vivian, in this world,” he used to say, “softness and naivety are the original sins.” I had learned well. So well that now he thought even my wedding date was just another move in a game to trap him. “Vivian, I taught you those skills to protect yourself. Now look at you. You’re no different from the people you wanted to escape.” I listened, and I almost laughed. Difference? The difference was that they calculated against others, and others calculated back. But at least they knew exactly what they were doing. And me? I had once really believed that he was teaching me so that one day I could stand beside him. The ache in my wrist pulsed. But the last wave inside my chest went still. “What I am now is no longer your concern.” I kept my voice level. “I’d advise you to keep your distance, Shaw.” “Vivian.” His voice came from behind me—cold, certain, the tone of a man who’d never once doubted his own authority. “You can walk away now. But the day you come crawling back to me—remember what I taught you. The prettiest surrender is pressing your own face into the dirt.” My stride didn’t falter. I got into the car. Darkness closed in around me. My phone screen lit up in the silence. A message from my father. Brief as a blade: *Wedding announcement sent to all families.* He was using public pressure and fait accompli to wall off every exit I had left. I turned off the screen and looked out the window toward the Steele estate, where the lights blazed in every window. The household staff was already working through the night—hanging decorations, preparing the ballroom. My groom still didn’t know who he was. But soon, everyone would.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé slapped me across the face. “Can you stop picking on Freya?” My cheek was burning. My ears were ringing. All I could see were Damon’s eyes, pupils blazing gold with rage. His hand was still hanging in the air. On his knuckle — our engagement ring. Platinum band. I designed it myself. Behind him stood Freya, eyes red, wearing my moonlight wedding gown. The one I’d spent eight months making by hand, stitch by stitch. I’d known Damon for fifteen years. Today was supposed to be our wedding. The open lawn of the family estate was filled with white roses and baby’s breath. A breeze rolled in off the lake, carrying the smell of water and fresh grass. Everything was perfect. Like something out of a dream. That is, if Damon hadn’t spent the entire time since he walked in looking for Freya. “Isn’t she your bridesmaid? Where is she?” That was the first thing he said to me. No you look beautiful. No I missed you. Not even a hug. I was standing in front of the mirror in my robe while the makeup artist filled in my brows. Damon stood in the doorway, suit immaculate, eyes wandering around the room. “It’s Freya’s first time at an event like this. Make sure she’s not nervous.” “She’s probably in the lounge. Did you want to see me in my dress?” “It’s fine. I still have guests to greet.” And then he left. I stared at my face in the mirror — blush not yet applied — and swallowed the words: I designed the dress myself. Freya had joined the pack three years ago. It was a blizzard that night. Damon brought her back himself. After that, she started showing up in our lives more and more. At first, I told myself it was just pity. But Damon remembered her favorite foods. He bought her gifts. After pack meetings, she was always the first person he went to find. He even left my birthday dinner early because Freya had a fever. I shouldn’t mind, I told myself. As future Alpha, Damon has a responsibility to take care of every member of the pack. There were a few maids standing outside the dressing room. The moment they saw me, their expressions shifted. “Miss Lyra…” “What is it?” No one answered. I pushed the door open. And then I stopped. Freya was standing in front of the mirror, wearing my wedding dress.

There she was — Freya, in front of the mirror, in my wedding dress. “So this is what it feels like to be the Alpha’s mate.” She tilted her head, admiring herself. “No wonder every woman wants to marry Damon.” The silver-white train pooled across the floor, the moonstone embroidery along the entire skirt catching the light. I had designed that dress for half a year. Revised the pattern twenty-seven times. Lost count of how many nights I stayed up, how many times the needle broke skin. “Take it off.” Freya didn’t react. She gathered the skirt in her hands and spun slowly in front of the mirror. “It fits me perfectly — isn’t that something. Even better than I expected. Are you really this thin? Will it even fit you?” “I said,” I repeated, “take it off. Right now.” Not a trace of panic on her face. “Don’t be so stingy. I’m just checking how it looks.” “You have no right to touch it.” “Really?” She smiled. “Because Damon was with me till midnight last night helping me pick out a necklace. He said white diamonds suit me better than blue.” Something tightened in my chest. Because Damon had told me last night he was busy with wedding preparations. “You know, Lyra,” Freya said, “I’ve always wondered. If it weren’t for the engagement contract — would Damon have chosen you at all?” “Freya.” My voice was flat. “I’m only going to say this once. Take it off. Now.” I walked up to her and reached for her arm. That’s when Damon’s voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” My hand hadn’t even touched her. But the second she heard his voice, Freya crumpled to the ground — as if I’d shoved her. Damon rushed in and caught her. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and leaned softly into his chest. “I just wanted to check the fit for Lyra,” she said quietly. “I was worried the dress wouldn’t be right for her. She got upset out of nowhere and said she was going to throw me out of the estate.” “Lyra.” Damon’s jaw tightened. “Apologize to Freya.” I stared at him. “On what grounds? She’s wearing my dress.” He frowned. “So what? It’s just a dress.” “It’s my fault,” Freya murmured. “I’m sorry. All of this is on me.” “What are you talking about?” I said. “You’re the one who—” I didn’t finish. Damon’s hand came up, and he slapped me across the face. “Enough. Can you stop picking on Freya?”

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From the ashes of the Phoenix Divine Bird, only one true bird was supposed to rise. But my parents were having sex all the time, trying to get pregnant. Then they birthed two daughters from the sacred ashes instead of one. The Phoenix Clan had never seen such a scandal in thousands of years. And Moros, the god of fate, broadcast his prophecy across all of Mount Olympus. The true god would be born from the ashes, and she was destined to be the wife of Ares. That was the prophecy. But the strangest thing happened. My sister was a brilliant red ball of fire, but she didn’t have any divine markings. I was a ragged, scruffy, and pathetic low-level bird, yet my forehead glowed with that powerful mark. My parents stared at me. They believed that I stole the power from my sister. They thought I was too ugly for such divine power. I didn’t get a chance to explain. My mother yanked the powerful mark right out of my forehead. Then she tossed me into the dead, mist-choked wasteland known as the Fields of Erebus. In the Phoenix Clan, bloodline was everything. Pure divine blood ruled everyone. But my people had muddied our bloodline with monsters and beasts for centuries. Our divine power faded. And we even got kicked out of Mount Olympus by Hera because we accidentally offended her. Now, with extinction breathing down our necks, everyone pinned their hopes on my mother. She was the last Phoenix Divine Bird with pure blood left. However, my mother fell for a freak. My father had a sparrow’s body and a human face. But he was also sharp and charming. And he knew how to talk sweet. My mother let him in despite the elders cursing their union. Their forbidden love only diluted her pure blood even more. The entire clan watched my mother’s belly and waited for a miracle. My dad spent his days squatting on those ashes. He talked to me, caught sunbeams, and told sappy love stories about him and my mother. If an elder got angry at his antics, he just pointed at the ashes and boasted about me. Then the day of our birth arrived. Every shaman, every elder, and Moros watched. Even Zeus and Hera watched from Mount Olympus, ready to judge us. My sister and I hatched together. She emerged bathed in holy crimson. Her feathers blazed like a piece of the sun. It was the proof of pure blood. But I was a disaster. I was grey and had bald patches. I was just an ugly chick who looked nothing like a Phoenix. I looked like a dirty little sparrow. All the elders lost their minds over my sister. “The true pure blood! She’s the chosen one!” they shouted. They practically wept onto her feathers because she was their last hope. No one cared about me. I shivered in the cold ashes and tried to speak up. I wanted to say that I was the true pure blood, but a rough hand yanked me up. Heads swiveled toward me. All eyes blasted through me and stared at the blood-red mark glowing on my forehead. My mother’s shriek could shatter worlds. “You damn useless thing! How dare you steal the True God’s mark? You filthy little thief!” My dad jumped beside her and shouted. “Such evil, already at birth! You’re a disgrace to our kind!” I spread my ugly, patchy wings. My eyes were wide as I tried to scream the truth. “Mom, Dad! Look at me! I’m Carson, your daughter! I’m the real Phoenix Divine Bird!” “Shut up! You hideous, ragged bird! You think you deserve to be my child?” my mother screamed. “You dared to steal my darling’s divine mark. I’ll tear you apart!” Then a firestorm of agony shattered my world. My mother clawed the mark from my forehead. She ripped out a bloody feather that burned with power. Gold-streaked blood ran down my face. I couldn’t even make a sound. I just thrashed silently in the cold ashes. Moros finally broke the silence. His voice was full of awe. “Her blood shines with gold. That’s the mark. That’s the blessing. Only a true Phoenix Divine Bird has that.” But my mother wouldn’t believe him. She was hysterical. “Impossible! That curse is no blood of mine. Only my beloved Carson is worthy. That thing is just a thief.” The elders agreed with her. “Exactly! Birds like that deserve to die. Let’s not waste our time.” Moros fell silent. My mother looked at me with hate and disgust. She raised her god-whip. I closed my eyes and braced for the pain. Before she could strike, Moros spoke once more. “She’s a Phoenix Divine Bird, no matter what. Her blood heals any wound. The War of the Giants left Ares in a coma. Could you let me have her and offer her to the God of War?” Phoenix Divine Bird blood was god-tier medicine. That was why the entire divine realm was panicking over Ares. My parents traded glances and finally gave in. “If it’s for Ares, fine,” they said. “But that freak is never welcome here. Let her die far away from Phoenix lands.”

I woke up blurred and broken in a pitch-dark ravine. Pain leaked out of my battered bird body. Moros looked at me with pity. He drew a blade and sliced my brow. Warm blood gushed into a gleaming obsidian bowl. The agony ripped through me. I shook and couldn’t scream. I fought to keep from passing out. I caught a glimpse of a towering shadow of a man lying on a stone bed. Before I could see more, blackness swallowed me whole. Moros ran his hand gently down my feathers. “Hold on, little one. Only your blood can save Ares now.” He carved open the man’s arm and merged my magic blood with his. Divine power hummed in the air. Once he was done, he brought a cold chalice to my beak. It was Olympian water. First he bled me dry, and now he tried to heal me? It felt like divine roulette. But my survival instinct took over, and I gulped it down. The chill burned hot. A rush of fire coursed through me and sealed every wound I had. I barely had time to catch my breath before Moros picked me up. He dragged my limp body to the edge of a forgotten abyss. The next time I woke up, I was nowhere near the golden skies of Olympus. I was in a wasteland blanketed with death and gray mist. It was the Fields of Erebus. This was the borderland between the Underworld and the mortal realm. It was the playground of the god Erebus. Here, the ground cracked and cursed magic steamed up. Monsters prowled and damned souls cried in the darkness. I staggered to my feet and flapped my crooked wings. I was desperate to fly, but I found a wild boar instead. It had yellow tusks and drool stringing from its lips. It slinked out of the fog and locked its hungry eyes on me. A wicked sneer crossed its face. “Well, well. Erebus delivers a real treat! I didn’t expect a snack today.” Terror ripped through me. I fought to get away. “Stay back! Get away! Don’t touch me!” My tiny voice chirped frantically. The beast’s snout twitched as it sniffed me. It drank in my scent. “So sweet. God-blood tastes different. If I eat you, I’ll level up!” Slobber splashed everywhere as it dove for me. Its razor tusks tore through my wing. I blacked out. I was sure I was dead. But then, I saw a light. A burning gold shield appeared and surrounded me. The boar slammed into it and snarled. It was catapulted through the mist. Its huge body spun mid-air and crashed into a tree. The impact snapped the tree clean in half. Blood spilled out of the boar’s mouth. “Damn it! What the hell?” the beast grunted. Before it could get up, a man dropped out of the sky. He was tall and broad. He slashed his sword, and silver flashed. The metal bit into the beast’s flesh. The brute squealed and shuddered in agony as blood poured from its jaws. It kicked twice and then died. The man scooped me up in his enormous hand and nestled me in his palm. He fastened a necklace around my throat. It was plain, but it glowed with divine gold. He didn’t say a word. He mounted his beast and carried me to a wooden hut deep in the Fields of Erebus. I was half-conscious, but I felt his warmth as he put me down. As I faded again, I saw the outline of his powerful back vanishing into the gloom.

When I woke up again, I was trapped inside a cold iron cage. Black roses curled up the bars. Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, had made me his pet. I remembered it clearly. A tall man had saved me. It definitely wasn’t that gloomy bastard Hades. He only fed me once a day. The food was cold, rotten scraps that pulsed with the tainted Underworld air. It wasn’t fit for a vulture, let alone a Phoenix-blood like me. But that wasn’t the worst part. He clamped iron chains around my claws. He locked me down as if I could sprout wings and vanish. It was laughable. Even if I broke free, I had this scrawny, ashen sparrow body. How far could I fly? I had no divine power. I only had feathers and grit. “Kraa!” A hoarse screech sliced through the suffocating silence. I jerked awake. Black flames charred my soul again. The pain seared every nerve. This was torture. This was murder. Hades’ calculating eyes drilled into me. They were cold, cruel, and unblinking. He summoned the black fire. He scorched my feathers until they turned to ash. “Pathetic. Useless. All these years and still not a single Phoenix feather. You are just as worthless as your ragged father.” The smell of burning flesh and despair filled the air. Every nerve in my body screamed. I bit down hard. There was no way I would whimper. I refused to let that monster see me break. I refused to let him bask in his twisted game. Anger flared inside me. He was testing me and torturing me just to see if I would shatter. I couldn’t stay here. If I did, I would die soon. I would just be another broken thing in his collection. When Hades’ maidservant came to feed me, I struck. My beak darted out and bit her finger hard. She howled, and I bolted from the cage. I was too careless. The chain was still locked tight on my leg. I crashed to the ground and my bones rattled. Pain exploded through me, but I refused to quit. I was bleeding and raw. I thrashed and tore at the chains with everything I had. Then, one moment changed everything. A tear, red with blood, slid from my brow. It splashed against the worthless trinket I wore on my neck. Golden light blazed. Somewhere deep inside my fragile bird chest, ancient power surged. The chains erupted. Fragments flew like shrapnel, and I broke free. My wings beat wild and frantic. I ran. I scrambled. I clawed my way out of Hades’ dark palace with every last drop of strength. Shouts echoed everywhere. “Hades’ pet bird has escaped!” If he caught me now, the next time would mean a hell so much worse. I would never leave that cage alive. I swore I would rather die than go back. I didn’t hesitate. I ran fast. I dodged his hellhounds. I dove into the twisted fog at the edge of the Fields of Erebus. It was the borderland, crawling with wild things and monsters. It was a dump, but right then, it was the only place where I had a chance. I stumbled onto a shack. It was rickety and half-collapsed in a pile of boulders. There were scratch marks on the door. They looked weirdly familiar, but my head was a foggy mess. That chain around my neck caught a bit of my god-blood and glowed with a freakish, golden shine. Since then, the scars from Hades’ dark flames had healed. Some lucky godly heir must have dropped it, and I had snagged it for free. I set up a shelter. Every day, I perched in the scraggly tree outside and sunned myself. Below me, mutant monsters with five heads tore each other apart. It was honestly way more entertaining than the backstabbing in Hades’ palace. Just as things got good, a black shape streaked above me. I tried to curse out whoever was tossing trash from the sky, but something slammed into the back of my skull. The world spun. Everything blacked out. I tumbled out of the tree, dazed. When I came to, there was something in my arms. It was small, scaly, and dark as midnight. It was a snake. It was barely breathing, sickly, and battered. It had a lone white mark on its tail. I circled it a few times. “Damn, bro, you look like hell. Nobody wants a mess like you. You fit perfectly with a lost cause like me.” I wiped dirt off my face and dragged it inside. “Lucky you crashed here instead of landing in Hades’ stew pot. He would have dropped you in soup for sure.” I dug through the cupboards and found some leftover god-herb roots. I chewed them into a bitter mash and shoved it at the little black snake. “Come on! I picked this up while the monsters brawled. If you weren’t as pitiful as me, I would never waste these scraps on you.” The stubborn thing wouldn’t open its mouth. It didn’t matter. I jammed the herb in my own beak. I broke his jaws open and force-fed him. Watching this little black wreck, something warmed in my chest. It felt like finding a shitty brother in this hellhole. For once, I wasn’t totally alone. “In a place like this, ugly fuckers like us? We stick together. It’s the only way to survive.”

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My name is Helen Silvermoon. Werewolf princess. Heir to the Silvermoon throne. Three days ago, my father was assassinated. His body wasn’t even in the ground yet when the Darkmoon family stirred up humans to deface his memorial portrait with stones. “The Coexistence Agreement is the biggest lie of the Silvermoon crown!” — a human council representative spits into the camera. “The Moonbridge Project is racial segregation! Humans will never be slaves!” #MoonbridgeProjectConspiracy #WerewolvesOppressingHumans Trending worldwide. My grandfather turns off the TV. He is the Silvermoon Alpha King. “The Darkmoon family is pushing to abolish the Coexistence Agreement. The Saint Moon Parliament votes in three weeks. Your crown heir’s trial is being accelerated.” He leans down. His voice scrapes like a rusted blade. “Helen. Go to Silvermoon Academy. As a human. Find proof that the Darkmoon family is sabotaging the peace. Otherwise—” Otherwise, Silvermoon falls. Darkmoon rises. The agreement collapses. Humans become slaves. I push the inhibitor into my vein. The liquid is silver — like liquid moonlight. Three seconds later, I can no longer smell werewolves. Three minutes later, I become a human. The gates of Silvermoon Academy open before me. I bend down to lock my bicycle. “Did you hear? Two transfer students today. New Moonbridge kids walking right into the trap—” A hand holding coffee. A high heel stepping exactly where I’m about to put my foot. Coffee pours all over me. A scream explodes.

“Are you freaking blind?” The blonde girl gets close to me. She sniffs the air around me. “Chelsea, look. Director Nielsen said one of the transfer students today is the daughter of a human cleaner.” She pokes at my T-shirt. “That’s you, right?” “No, it‘s not.” I get shoved hard. A passing girl catches me. Brakes screech. A black SUV stops. A girl steps out — sharp-dressed, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face. “Emily Nash. Transfer student.” She takes off her sunglasses. “My dad is the cousin of Council Chairman Nash.” The blonde girl laughs. “There are only two transfer students today. What about your father?” “He’s dead.” “Oh. So you ARE the cleaner’s daughter.” She steps closer. “Know your place, lower-class.” The laughter stings. “We have class.” The girl who caught me earlier lowers her head. “Mrs. Weimar’s class doesn’t allow tardiness —” The blonde girl shoves her. “Abigail. Human girl. No one asked you to speak.” Abigail stumbles. Her textbooks hit the ground. I crouch down to pick them up. “You’re helping her?” The blonde girl grabs my wrist. “First — I am not the cleaner’s daughter. Second — You know nothing about who I am. And third —” —SLAP— My face stings. I lift my head and look into her eyes. “You’ll regret messing with me.” She laughs out loud. “You’ll regret coming to Silvermoon Academy, Moonbridge freak.”

Abigail lowers her voice. “You shouldn’t have helped me. Chelsea is the werewolf princess of the Darkmoon family. Zoe is her sidekick. No one dares to go against them.” “I know.” “Then why —” “Does ‘no one dares’ makes it right?” The bell rings. Mrs. Pamela walks into the classroom. “Today we’re talking about the origin of the Moonbridge Project. Thirty years ago, the Silvermoon Alpha King founded the Moonbridge Project, admitting one hundred human students every year. This is a hand of friendship extended by werewolves to humankind.” Emily raises her hand. “What do you think about the negative rumors spreading online about the Moonbridge Project?” “The Moonbridge Project may have some —” “Some discrimination?” Emily finishes the sentence. “Some areas that need adjustment.” (Mrs. Pamela) “Like what?” (Emily) “Like — human students should not question the teaching methods of werewolf teachers.” Chelsea’s voice cuts through from the front row. In Ancient Werewolf Language. “What?” Emily looks completely lost. “Like — werewolf students should not deliberately use Ancient Werewolf Language to isolate human classmates.” Chelsea glares at me. Abigail whispers, “What did she say?” My grandfather’s voice echoes in my head: As a human. Find proof. This is your heir’s trial. I lower my eyes. “Ancient Werewolf Language. I don’t understand it.” Chelsea’s lips smile. Her eyes don’t. “Ms. Conner, if you can’t understand Ancient Werewolf Language, I suggest you transfer schools.” I lift my head. Calm. Steady. “I’ll learn.” But not the language. Your secrets and conspiracy. That‘s what I came for.

Dorm assignments. Werewolf students live in the main tower — floor-to-ceiling windows, private bathrooms. Human students live in the basement — water dripping from the ceiling, the smell of mold in the air. “Helen Conner.” The dorm manager reads my name. “A converted storage room.” “Wait.” Zoe leans against the wall. “Isn‘t Conner the cleaner’s daughter? She should live in the cleaner‘s dorm — with her own kind.” Laughter. The dorm manager’s eyelid twitches. “Miss Zoe is right. The cleaner’s dorm is outside campus, next to the Forbidden Forest. An extra twenty-minute walk.” I don’t argue. I grab my backpack and turn toward the east exit. Zoe‘s voice floats after me. “Let’s see how long she lasts.” My phone buzzes. Campus forum. Pinned post: 【Full Moon Festival Eve Alert: After moonrise tonight, werewolf students may roam the campus freely】 Top comment: “Full Moon Festival night = hunting season. Twelve humans got clawed last year.” Abigail catches up to me. The old scar on her arm turns pale in the setting sun. “Tonight is the eve of the Full Moon. Tomorrow night is the Moonlight Hunt. You have to hide —” The intercom crackles: “All human students must return to their dorms immediately.” The footsteps in the hallway grow heavier. Denser. Around the corner, Zoe leans against the wall. A baseball bat in her hand. Raised. Aimed at my knees. “Well, well. Two humans. Heading back to your dorm?” Her pupils turn gold. “I can walk you there.”

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I walked into Serena’s apartment with our wedding invitation in hand. Too hurried, so that I grabbed Damian’s phone by mistake on my way out. The second I stepped through the door, the screen lit up. Connected to Wi-Fi automatically. I froze for a moment. Damian had never been to her place. How the hell did his phone know her network? Serena glanced at the phone in my hand and smiled. “Stop guessing. Every time he told you he was on a business trip these past three years, he was sleeping here.” I stared at the invitation in my hand, ten years of my life suddenly feeling like a sick joke. She picked up an ultrasound scan from the coffee table and waved it at me. “Two months along. If you still want this wedding, perfect—you can be my free nanny.” The fingerprint lock beeped. Damian walked in carrying takeout soup. Our eyes met. His smile froze on his face. I folded the invitation and slipped it into my pocket. From this moment on, Serena Croft and Damian Sterling were dead to me. …………………………………. “Why the hell are you running around with my phone?” Damian kicked off his shoes and set the soup container on the entryway table. His eyes swept over the ultrasound in Serena’s hand, then landed on my face. After a brief pause, he loosened his tie and sat down next to her. “Since you already know, there’s no point hiding it.” He looked up at me. “The scan’s real. She’s pregnant with my kid. Almost two months.” The invitation crumpled in my pocket as my fingers tightened around it. “So?” I could barely hear my own voice. Damian frowned, clearly pissed at my reaction. “What’s with the attitude? I haven’t even called you out for snooping through my phone.” He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, his tone self-righteous. “You’ve had two miscarriages. The doctor said your uterine lining is too damaged to carry another pregnancy.” “I need an heir. Serena’s willing to have my child—she’s doing us a favor.” “The kid will call you Mom when it’s born. You’re getting a free baby. What’s the problem?” Ten years. I’d starved with him. Destroyed my stomach drinking for his business deals. Lost two unborn children for him. And now he was telling me that screwing my best friend was for my own good. Serena leaned against Damian’s shoulder, her hand resting on her flat stomach. “Sienna, I never had parents growing up. I’ve always thought of you as my sister.” “The three of us can live together. My baby will be your baby too.” She lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming with victory. “You’ve always wanted a complete family, right? Well, now you have one.” Damian stroked her hair. “See how understanding Serena is? Unlike you, walking around with that bitchy expression all the time.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This is a supplemental agreement. My lawyer drafted it.” “Next month’s wedding goes ahead as planned. You’ll still be Mrs. Sterling.” “But publicly, Serena will be my cousin. She’ll move into our penthouse for the pregnancy.” I stared at the document without reaching for it. “Serena moves into our home as your cousin?” “Yes.” Damian nodded. “I can’t leave her alone in this condition.” “And after the baby’s born?” I forced a bitter smile. “Registered under your name. Serena’s still young—she can’t let a kid hold her back.” Damian pulled out a pen and held it toward me. “I’ll add an extra ten grand to your monthly allowance, specifically for taking care of Serena and the baby.” “Sienna, don’t be greedy. I’ve given you the best of everything. What more do you want?” He looked into my eyes with terrifying sincerity. He genuinely believed he’d done nothing wrong. To him, I was nothing but an accessory with no income of my own, completely dependent on him. As long as he tossed me a few scraps, I should be grateful. Serena grabbed the pen and shoved it into my hand. “Just sign it, Sienna. If you don’t, those ten years will have been for nothing.” “You don’t even have a job. What are you going to do without Damian?” The pen dug painfully into my fingers. I watched them play their synchronized game, and suddenly the whole farce felt absurd. Ten years of my youth, traded for a contract to be the mistress’s free nanny. I set the pen down on the table. “I’m not signing.” Damian’s expression darkened. “Don’t push your luck, Sienna. I’ve felt guilty about those two miscarriages.” “Think of this baby as compensation. What the hell else do you want?” He stood up, looking down at me. “Last chance. Sign it.” I stood, pulled the invitation from my pocket, and threw it in the trash. “I’ll think about it.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Damian sat back down and picked up the soup container, blowing on it. “I knew you’d come around. Remember to pick out engagement rings tomorrow.” “Serena said she likes pink diamonds. Get her one too while you’re at it.”

That evening, I returned to the penthouse I shared with Damian. I entered the code. The lock beeped an error. I stood there frozen and tried again. “Incorrect password.” The robotic voice echoed through the hallway. I stared at the door I’d walked through for five years, suddenly feeling like a complete stranger. Two hours later, the elevator doors opened. Damian stepped out, helping Serena walk beside him. Seeing me still standing at the door, he frowned. “Why haven’t you gone in? Standing out here like a damn statue?” I looked at him. “The password’s wrong.” Damian slapped his forehead. “Serena said the old code had unlucky numbers, bad for the baby. I changed it.” He walked up and entered Serena’s birthday. The door opened. I followed them inside and saw my slippers were gone from the entryway. In their place sat a pair of non-slip pregnancy slippers. “Your slippers had hard soles. I was worried Serena might slip, so I had the housekeeper throw them out.” Damian tossed off the explanation casually as he helped Serena toward the master bedroom. I walked to the bedroom doorway and froze completely. All my skincare products had been swept from the vanity into the trash. The closet doors hung open, half my clothes cleared out, replaced with racks of Serena’s maternity wear. “Damian, what the hell is this?” I pointed at the empty closet space. Damian was pouring warm water for Serena, not even looking back. “Serena’s pregnant. She can’t handle the smell of your perfumes.” “I had the housekeeper move your stuff to the guest room. You’ll sleep there for the next few months.” Serena leaned against the headboard, her hand on her stomach as she sighed. “Sienna, you’re not mad at me, are you? The doctor said my pregnancy is high-risk, I need complete rest.” “The master bedroom has better light, better for the baby’s development. You care about me so much, you wouldn’t mind giving it up, right?” I stared at her sickeningly fake face with no desire to argue. The next morning, I sat at the dining table eating oatmeal. Damian walked out of the bedroom with his phone in hand. Right in front of me, he pressed the speaker button. “Hello, is this the wedding planner? Yes, this is Damian Sterling.” “Change the bride’s name on the welcome sign. Put Serena Croft instead.” My hand clenched around the spoon. The voice on the other end hesitated. “Mr. Sterling, but what about Ms. Hayes…” Damian pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at me. “Ms. Hayes? She’ll be the maid of honor.” He hung up and took a sip of his milk. “Serena said she’s dreamed of wearing a wedding dress since she was a kid. She’s pregnant now, we can’t upset her.” “We’re practically an old married couple anyway, it’s just a formality. Let her have the bride’s spot, think of it as fulfilling her dream.” His tone was casual, like he was discussing something completely trivial. Serena came out of the bedroom wearing my nightgown and wrapped her arms around Damian’s neck. “You’re so sweet, Damian.” She turned to look at me, her smile innocent. “Sienna, will you be my maid of honor? I want you to witness my happiness with your own eyes.” Damian tapped the table, prompting me. “Serena asked you a question. Don’t be petty, it’s just a dress.” I looked down at the oatmeal in my bowl. Ten years of devotion couldn’t compete with one casual request from her, and now even my place as the bride was stolen. I set down the spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Fine.” Damian smiled with satisfaction. “That’s more like it. We’re a family, we should get along.”

“There’s a business gala tonight. Wear something plain, don’t steal Serena’s spotlight.” On the couch lay a cheap, dated dress he’d tossed at me. Behind him stood Serena in a designer maternity gown, wearing my pink diamond necklace. “Damian, do I look good in this?” Serena lifted her skirt and spun in a circle. Damian walked over and put his arm around her waist. “Beautiful. You’ll be the most stunning woman there tonight.” He turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What are you standing there for? Go change. Don’t waste time.” I picked up the gray dress and walked into the guest bedroom. By the time I came out dressed, Damian had already left with Serena. I had to take a cab to the hotel myself. When I pushed open the ballroom doors, Damian was holding a champagne flute, laughing and chatting with several business partners. Serena clung to his arm, the picture of elegance. I walked over, about to take my place behind Damian. “Mr. Sterling, who is this?” A partner gestured toward Serena. Damian raised his glass, all smiles. “Let me introduce you. This is my fiancée, Serena Croft.” A chorus of flattery rose around them. “Ms. Croft is absolutely radiant. You two make such a perfect couple.” Another partner recognized me. “Wait, then who’s Ms. Hayes over there?” The ballroom went quiet for a moment. Everyone’s eyes turned to me with curiosity and mockery. Damian paused briefly, not even turning around. “Her? My sister.” Ten years together, and I’d become his sister. He couldn’t even give me a decent explanation, casually erasing every trace of me. I stood in the corner, watching Serena accept everyone’s congratulations. Halfway through the gala, Serena walked toward me carrying a glass of red wine. “Oh no!” She suddenly stumbled, half the wine splashing across my gray dress. The red liquid dripped down the fabric, making me look pathetic. “Sienna, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Serena covered her mouth, putting on a performance of panic. Damian rushed over and shoved me aside, pulling Serena into his arms. “Are you okay? Did you hurt the baby?” He turned to glare at me, his tone harsh. “Why were you standing so close? You know she’s pregnant and you’re still crowding her!” “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass yourself here.” I didn’t argue, just turned and walked toward the restroom. After the gala ended, we waited in the parking garage for the driver. Serena suddenly cried out. “Damian, I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Without a word, Damian crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” Serena climbed onto his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Over Damian’s shoulder, she looked back at me following behind. Her lips moved silently. “Your ten years don’t measure up to my three months.” I stopped walking, staring at their overlapping silhouettes. Damian turned his head, impatient. “Sienna Hayes, can you walk faster? The car keys are in your bag, stop dragging your feet!” I stood still, not moving. “Hand them over!” Damian raised his voice. I unzipped my purse, pulled out the car keys, and threw them on the ground with a sharp clatter. Damian froze. I didn’t look at him. I turned and walked to the curb, flagging down a taxi. Back at the penthouse, I opened my phone. The photo album held over three thousand pictures, all of Damian and me through the years. I selected batch delete and removed them one by one until every single one was gone. I cleared our pinned chat history too. One final message popped up, from Damian. “Remember to try on the maid of honor dress tomorrow. Serena wants pink.” I didn’t reply. In the corner of the living room, three packed suitcases sat quietly against the wall.

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On the third anniversary of our bond, my mate showed up—with a pregnant woman. He said she was chosen by the Moon Goddess. That night, under the full moon, I knelt at the altar, one hand on my stomach. There was a faint pulse. I’d checked twice.Test results. And my healer instincts. Same answer.I was pregnant. I left my pack for him. Stayed three years. Tried to belong. Healed anyone who needed me. And now… the Moon Goddess gave me this child. Damon would be happy. Right? Maybe he’d look at me the way he did the first time—eyes glowing gold. I was about to stand—The moonstone exploded in silver light. A voice cut through my mind. “The one destined to lead the pack has arrived. They will guide you to glory.” My heart slammed. I looked down at my stomach. The prophecy. It matched. This child… wasn’t just ours. This was the future Alpha. Chosen. I grabbed my dress and ran. I had to tell Damon. I saw him in the hall.Tall. Impossible to miss. I opened my mouth—Then froze. His arm was around a woman. Close. Careful. Gentle. Too gentle. She leaned into him, her belly big—seven, maybe eight months. Damon: “Vanessa, slow down. The steps are steep.” Vanessa: “I’m not that fragile.” He never spoke to me like that. Not once. Not even the night we bonded. Back then, his voice was cold. Like he was finishing a task. My chest tightened. I didn’t move. He saw me. Damon: “Eva. Good. You’re here. This is Vanessa. She needs a prenatal check.” Vanessa: “Hi, Eva. Damon said you’re the pack healer.” He didn’t tell her I was his mate. My hand slipped into my pocket. I held the test. Two pink lines. Maybe he forgot. Maybe she’s just someone new. I forced a smile.“Hi. Follow me.” I reached for her. Then I saw their hands. Fingers locked. Tight. Not letting go. The ring on his finger caught the light. Our bond ring. The one that matched mine. The one he wore—while holding another woman.

I worked in silence. Their hands were still linked together. Damon reached over and smoothed Vanessa’s skirt. Casual. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Vanessa looked me over. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. When did you join?” “You’ve been gone three years,” Damon said. “Lots of new faces.” Three years. My hands kept moving. My mind didn’t. Three years ago — the same year Vanessa left — Damon showed up at my pack. Out of nowhere. Said fate brought him there. Said he fell for me the second he saw me. Said he’d break every rule for me. I believed every word. I bonded with him. I left my whole life behind. I never doubted it. Not once. I thought it was love. Then I found his wallet. There was a photo inside, folded small. A woman with honey-blonde hair, smiling at the camera. The edges had gone white from being touched so many times. I asked him about her. He said it was the past. That woman was standing right in front of me now. Vanessa. She left — and he came looking for me. Stop. Just do the checkup. I helped Vanessa onto the exam table and placed both hands on her belly. My healing energy moved through her. The moonstone glowed. I felt the baby’s heartbeat — strong, steady, healthy. Then I felt something else. A faint golden membrane around her womb. The mark of Alpha bloodline. Genetic. Unmistakable. Damon’s bloodline. He’d had a child with her. Before I ever existed to him. My hands shook. Just slightly. I couldn’t help it. Damon put his hand over Vanessa’s belly right away. “Easy. She doesn’t like pain.” I paused. Adjusted. Said nothing. He had no idea what I was scared of. The night we bonded, I was in real pain. The moment it was over, he was gone. Pack business, he said. Every time after that — rushed. He never really looked at me. He didn’t know I was afraid of pain. But he knew she was. I took a slow breath and finished the exam. The baby inside me moved. A tiny flutter. Like it was telling me it’s okay. My eyes burned. I held it together. “Baby’s healthy. About eight months. Everything looks normal.” “Thank goodness.” Vanessa exhaled. “I was so worried the trip might’ve affected her.” “Moon Goddess is watching over her,” Damon said. He helped Vanessa up, arm around her waist. Protective. Possessive. Like she was the only person in the room. “Eva. File the results.” “Wait, Damon.” My voice stayed steady. “I need to talk to you.”

Damon didn’t turn around. “Tell me later. Vanessa needs to rest.” He didn’t ask what I wanted to say. He just walked out with her, and they were gone. That night, I made our anniversary dinner. White tablecloth. Silver candlesticks. Everything by hand — roasted lamb, mushroom bisque, all his favorites. A bottle of red wine. The candles were lit. The room smelled warm. When Damon came in, I went to him like I always did. Took his jacket. “I made dinner. I have something good to tell you —” “I still have pack business.” “Just eat a little —” “I’m busy. Don’t wait up.” He swapped jackets, didn’t look at the table once, and walked back out. The door clicked shut. The candles kept burning. I sat down in front of all that food and watched the wax drip onto the white tablecloth. Slow and quiet. I poured myself a glass of wine. Didn’t drink it. Ten o’clock. Eleven. The food went cold. At midnight, my phone lit up. I thought it was Damon. It wasn’t. A friend request from an account I didn’t know. The profile photo — Vanessa, smiling. I opened her page. Her latest post was from thirty minutes ago. Dinner at a restaurant. Warm amber light. Wine and roasted meat on the table. And at the edge of the frame — a man’s hand on the back of a chair. I knew that hand. Damon’s. The bonding ring was gone. Just a pale mark where it used to be. The caption: Home. A blue heart. Blue. Like Vanessa’s eyes. Not mine. My eyes are gray. Like the sky during a lunar eclipse. Damon said that the first time he saw me — that they were the most special color he’d ever seen. Special doesn’t mean loved. I know that now. Three years. Over a thousand nights. And the whole time, her photo was folded up inside his wallet. The candle in front of me flickered once — and went out. The room went dark. I turned my phone face-down. Closed my eyes. My hand found my stomach. Still there. Still quiet. Still beating. The Moon Goddess’s words were still in my head. The future leader of the pack. Whose child would that be? I will protect you, little one. I will fight for everything you deserve.

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They called Seraphina was the most shameless, most scandalous princess the lycan capital had ever seen — and one jug of spiked wine had finished off nineteen years of the Luna Temple’s priest’s sacred vows of purity. Rumors spread like wildfire: surely she would use the scandal to force a royal decree, demanding the priest leave his post and marry her. After all, she and the current Lycan King were twins. She was his most cherished person in the world. At ten years old, she’d marched into the royal court and yanked three white hairs clean from the Royal Tutor’s beard. At twelve, she’d snapped the General’s ceremonial sword in half before an entire assembly. At sixteen, she’d moved out of the palace and set herself up in her own estate — with ninety-nine lovers on retainer. The common folk dared only mutter behind closed doors about what a shameless creature she was, and they all wagered on when the King would finally issue the decree forcing the priest to marry her. But half a month passed. The palace and the Princess’s estate were both deathly silent. The Princess who had always been so brash and loud — she stopped making her daily pilgrimages up Frostpeak Mountain, stopped using “prayer” as a flimsy excuse to chase after the priest. She stopped throwing jealous tantrums every time the priest lit a candle blessing for one of her handmaidens. This time, Seraphina simply knelt in the palace, her spine straight as a blade. “Brother,” her voice was eerily calm, “grant me a decree to ride to the borderlands as a marriage alliance, mating with Ironrust Pack’s alpha.” … The Lycan King shot to his feet and reached for her hands himself. “The border may be restless, but I will never send my sister away as a peace bride! Besides, you’ve been in love with the priest since we were children! You took lovers the moment you left the palace — ruined your own reputation on purpose — just so no matchmaker could ever pair you with someone else.” The King tightened his grip on her hands. “And now — Caden has already petitioned me. He plans to release his sacred flame at the next full moon ceremony and leave the Temple. After the ceremony, he intends to take you as his mate. Sera, why are you—” Seraphina blinked, just once. He was going to leave the Temple? He wanted to marry her? But she straightened up quickly, lowered her lashes, and spoke in a voice rough as gravel: “Brother. I no longer wish to marry him.” “Why?” Because the person who had shared that shameful night with him was never her to begin with. The wine had been her birthday gift to him — she’d poured it herself with her own hands. But he’d taken only one sip before collapsing into unconsciousness. Panicked, she’d run down the mountain in a blizzard to fetch a healer. When she returned, she learned he had spent the night with Roselyn. Roselyn was her most trusted handmaiden. That was when she discovered the wine had been laced with a desire-inducing drug. Furious, she demanded answers — and all she got in return was his ice-cold stare. “Princess. Let this end here. If you dig further, the truth about Roselyn and me will come out — and with her low station, she’ll have no way to defend herself.” But the story leaked anyway. Only it twisted into something else entirely: that Seraphina had drugged the priest and forced him into a scandalous night. The ministers who had long despised her seized the chance to file petitions against her. She tried to clear her name — and he stopped her again. “Roselyn is innocent. She shouldn’t suffer for this. But you’re different. Your reputation is already notorious, and your rank protects you. People will forget soon enough.” He said it like it was obvious. Like she deserved everything raining down on her. But he knew, better than anyone, that every outrageous thing she’d ever done had been because she loved him. The entire capital cursed her name. Fanatical devotees of the Luna Temple knelt at the palace gates daily, demanding she die in penance. And she never said a single word in her own defense — because when she was ten years old, he had saved her life. Consider us even, she thought. From here, we owe each other nothing. The King stared at her for a long time. This was the sister who had always looked out for him since they were small. This was the fearless, reckless Seraphina who was afraid of nothing under the sky. But the person kneeling before him now looked like someone whose heart had already died. At last, he let out a long, heavy breath. “I… grant it.” Seraphina was about to rise when hurried footsteps echoed from outside the hall. The head chamberlain entered with a deep bow. “Your Majesty. A joint petition — signed by the entire court—” The King took the scroll and his expression darkened with fury. “They want the Princess to crawl on her knees up all nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps of Frostpeak Mountain — one kowtow per step — as a public apology to the priest? To appease public outrage?” Seraphina lowered her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. The ninth-generation priest of Frostpeak Mountain — Caden Vale — was the most extraordinary one the Temple had ever produced. Skin pale as first snow. Eyes sharp and cool. An air about him like a solitary peak above the clouds — utterly untouched by the world below. His divinations never failed. When he prayed for rain, rain came. He was revered by all — second only to the Lycan King himself, first in the hearts of the people. She had ruined him. The court wanted her to grovel. It made sense. “Absurd! Go tell them — she’s already agreed to the marriage alliance.” “Brother.” Seraphina stopped him, her expression unreadable. “If we announce the marriage alliance now, the Ironrust Pack will think my intentions aren’t sincere. It’s better to reveal it at the same time as the Keeper’s succession ceremony. It will prevent too much unrest.” She paused. “As for the steps — I’ll kneel them. To keep the peace.” … At the base of Frostpeak Mountain, nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps rose straight up into the clouds. The stairs were buried in thick snow. Ice hung from the pines on either side. The wind cut like a blade. Seraphina stood at the foot of the steps. She was about to lift her foot when voices drifted down from above. It was Caden and his head acolyte. “Why would the priest want to marry the Princess?” The acolyte couldn’t hide his confusion. “She wronged you. Your name is in ruins because of her. Why would you take her?” Seraphina’s foot froze mid-step. That was a fair question. Why had Caden petitioned to marry her? He could have stayed on the mountain even after leaving the Temple. He didn’t have to take anyone. Was it out of guilt? To compensate her? She needed to set him straight — she didn’t want his charity. But then that cool, snow-like voice answered: “Roselyn and I have understood each other since childhood. We were always… bound, by something. But our stations made it impossible.” Caden’s voice was detached. “If I marry the Princess, I can see Roselyn every single day.” Seraphina stood at the bottom of the steps. She heard every word. Her eyes burned, her nose stung — and yet, she laughed. Of course. He wanted to marry her for Roselyn. He said he and Roselyn had understood each other since they were young. That they were kindred spirits. Then what was she? When she was a child, she had fought to protect Caden time and again after he saved her. Her father’s fury eventually locked her inside the palace walls. So she had Roselyn carry letters to him — one after another, year after year — until the day her brother took the throne and she was finally free. She thought Roselyn was her messenger. She never imagined she’d been the one who had let those two fall in love. No wonder he protected Roselyn so fiercely. Seraphina tipped her head back and gazed up at those endless, endless steps. The corner of her mouth curved. Fine. After mated with Ironrust Pack’s alpha, they would never have anything to do with each other again.

She was just about to kneel when a commotion erupted behind her. Seraphina turned. Roselyn was leading a massive crowd of Temple devotees, marching toward her in a great tide. Roselyn stood at the front, head dipped, playing the picture of timid innocence. “I’m sorry, Your Highness — I couldn’t stop them.” Seraphina looked at the crowd behind Roselyn. They had clearly followed her footsteps here. She almost laughed at the irony. She used to treat Roselyn like a sister. Even that night — she’d gone running down a blizzard-covered mountain for a healer because she believed Roselyn when she said “the priest has been poisoned.” And the result? She later pieced together the truth: the drug in that wine had been placed there by Roselyn herself. The only reason she’d let Roselyn live was because Caden had begged for her life — and because they’d grown up together since they were girls. Her other handmaiden, Ivy, couldn’t hold back any longer. She stepped forward, her voice sharp: “Didn’t the priest personally request a favor, leaving you to recover at the estate? And you claim you couldn’t stop them? You led them here yourself, didn’t you?” Roselyn’s eyes went red, tears trembling at the edges. “Ivy, I really didn’t—” She never finished. A flash of white moved at the top of the steps. A figure descended. Caden — white robes, ink-dark hair pinned with jade, his expression sharp as carved stone — strode down the steps and walked directly to Roselyn’s side. Without a word, he unclasped his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s freezing. Why did you come out?” His voice held a warmth Seraphina had never once heard him use with her. Roselyn’s eyes turned red, and she explained the whole situation — the petition, the crowd, the steps. Caden frowned faintly, then glanced over at Seraphina with something close to reproach. Something in Seraphina’s chest went still. Then it clenched, slow and hard. Roselyn could say anything and he would believe her. She had spoken her true heart to him for years and years. He had never believed a word. She didn’t bother opening her mouth. She simply turned back toward the steps, bent her knees, and knelt. One step, one bow. The crowd went silent for a breath — then the curses crashed over her like a wave. And then, somewhere in the mob, someone threw the first stone. It struck her across the back. More followed. Rocks. Clods of frozen earth. They rained down on her from all sides. Blood ran from her temple, mixing with meltwater, blurring her vision. She didn’t stop. Caden instinctively moved forward — but a sharp cry rose beside him. Roselyn swayed, her face draining to white, and crumpled against his chest. Caden caught her instantly, barking orders at the acolytes behind him: “Fetch a healer.” As he turned to carry Roselyn away, his eyes drifted back once more to that lone figure on the steps. A strange heaviness settled in his chest. Before, whenever she looked at him, her gaze had burned. Fierce and hungry, like she wanted to consume him whole. And she never called him by his proper title. Only ever: Caden. Or sometimes, when she was teasing, cute Caden But just now — from start to finish — she hadn’t looked at him once. The word that fell from her lips was his formal title: priest. From morning she knelt. Through dusk. Into dark. By the time the sun sank completely, Seraphina’s knees had long since worn through to raw flesh, blood gumming her skin to the stone. Her shoulders were bruised and torn from the stones that had struck her. Blood had soaked through her robes. When she crawled up the last step, her body pitched forward — and she collapsed in the snow before the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum.

When she woke, Seraphina was lying in a guest room inside the Snowveil Sanctum. Ivy sat at her bedside, spooning warm water into her mouth while tears streamed silently down her face. “Your Highness — the priest does care for you, in his own way. He had hot water drawn for you. He even gave specific instructions for you to stay and recover as long as you need.” Seraphina’s voice came out as a ragged scrape. “No. Pack everything. We’re going down.” Ivy blinked. “Now? Your wounds—” “I won’t die.” Seraphina braced herself upright. The marriage alliance mission was pressing. There was business at the estate to settle. She had no time to linger here. And she had no desire to lie here listening to what was happening next door. She had been gravely wounded last night — and through the thin wall, she had heard it all. Roselyn’s soft moans. Caden’s murmured reassurances. “Caden, it hurts — you were too rough last time…” “Don’t be afraid. I’ll apply the salve for you.” Even the memory made her stomach turn. She swung her legs off the bed, and the moment her knees touched the floor, searing agony shot through them. She clenched her jaw, gripped the bedpost, and forced herself upright. Just then, a soft knock. Roselyn’s voice through the door: “Your Highness. May I have a few words?” The small frozen lake behind the Sanctum had a skin of thin ice. The two women stood at its edge, saying nothing for a long moment. Finally, Roselyn broke the silence: “Your Highness. Caden told me last night — after he marries you, he’ll find an appropriate time to bring me into the household as well. I don’t ask to compete with you for anything. I only want to stay by his side. From that day on, I will honor you as the head of the household and serve you with all respect!” Seraphina finally turned to face her. Her gaze was level. Still. Without a trace of warmth. Roselyn faltered under that look. Seraphina stepped closer. Her voice was soft. “Everything you’ve done — I know it all. The only reason you’re still alive is because we grew up together.” She paused. “But from this day forward — don’t let me see your face.” She turned to leave. Roselyn’s color drained white. As Seraphina walked away, Roselyn gritted her teeth and lunged — grabbing her by the sleeve. “Your Highness! Please—” Seraphina’s brow furrowed. She shook Roselyn’s hand off — not hard, barely any force — but Roselyn suddenly pitched backward and tumbled into the lake. “Help! Someone help me!” She thrashed in the water, screaming. Acolytes and servants came running from every direction, and the whispers started immediately. “Was that the Princess? Did she push her?” “Of course she did — she’s always been jealous. She can’t stand Roselyn.” “The priest adores Roselyn — she did it on purpose…” And then a white figure burst through the crowd. Caden didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. He plunged into the lake. He carried Roselyn out of the water, wrapped the robe someone handed him around her soaking body — and then he looked up at Seraphina. That gaze. Cold as the ice that had never thawed at Frostpeak Mountain’s peak. It froze every word in her throat. Seraphina felt something in her chest get carved out slowly, like a knife working through bone. Caden turned and shoved past her — not violently, but not gently either — and strode off with Roselyn, shouting for a healer. Seraphina had been weakened. The nudge sent her stumbling backward. Her elbow cracked hard against the stone edge of the path. Caden’s step hitched. A complicated flicker crossed his eyes. But Roselyn whimpered from his arms, and he walked away without looking back. That night, Roselyn ran a high fever. And Caden — the revered priest, who had never once compromised his dignity — stripped down to only his inner robes and lay in the snow until his own body temperature dropped to ice. Then he went back to hold Roselyn close, using his own warmth to bring her fever down. All through the night. Into the next day. When Ivy reported this to Seraphina, she was shaking with fury. “Your Highness! After everything you’ve done for him — he won’t give you a single real look! He froze himself half to death in the snow for that girl, but you— And to think — when you were confined to the palace all those years ago, you split your mother’s gemstone brooch in half and gave one piece to him. And this is how he repays you!” “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice cut through quietly. She coughed twice. “That’s enough.” The door burst open.

Caden entered like a storm, the cold fury around him almost visible. He crossed the room in three strides, seized Seraphina’s wrist, and hauled her off the bed — dragging her without a word toward the door. “What are you doing?!” Ivy lunged forward, but one look from him stopped her cold. Caden dragged Seraphina into Roselyn’s room. Roselyn lay in the bed. When she saw Seraphina, she struggled to rise, her voice thin: “Your Highness — this is my fault. I should never have said those things to you…” Caden shoved Seraphina forward. “Apologize to her.” Seraphina looked at him. “I did nothing wrong.” Caden’s jaw tightened. “You pushed her into the lake and you call that nothing wrong?” The grip on her wrist crushed tighter — nearly enough to grind bone. Seraphina laughed. It was a quiet, strange laugh. “Caden Vale. You may be second to none in this kingdom — but I am still the Princess. We have nothing to do with each other. You have no authority to command me.” Nothing to do with each other? Caden’s expression went flat and cold. “Don’t play innocent. I’ve already petitioned the King. I will take you as my mate after the ceremony. I’m to be your husband — is that authority enough?” He yanked her toward him — barely using force — but Seraphina was already so weak that she simply crumpled to her knees on the floor. Her knees hit the ground hard. The scabs that had barely formed split open again. Black swam at the edge of her vision. She didn’t cry out. She just stared down, watching blood bloom slowly outward from the wounds. He loved the world. He loved his devotees. He loved the people. He would spare tenderness for a bird, for an ant. The only person he had never loved — the only one he had always found so easy to hurt — was her. Roselyn grew frantic. “No — you can’t make Her Highness kneel before me, it’s my fault, I—” She dissolved into a violent coughing fit. Caden rushed to her side. “Stay still. Don’t strain yourself.” Roselyn sagged against him, catching her breath. Then her eyes drifted — and Caden followed her gaze to the small pouch hanging at Seraphina’s waist. He paused. Then he saw the blood spreading across the floor. In one swift motion, he reached down and unhooked the pouch from Seraphina’s belt. He pressed it into Roselyn’s hands. “Consider this her apology. Help the Princess up. Let that be the end of it.” Seraphina let out a quiet breath of a laugh. That pouch was the only thing Caden had ever given her. She’d carried it against her skin for three years. Well. Things she should never have kept in the first place. She pushed away the hands trying to help her, swayed to her feet on her own, and walked out. Caden watched her back until it disappeared. His brow furrowed deeper. She hadn’t said a word. He’d expected, at minimum, anger. Tears. He’d expected her to spin around and confront him, the way she always used to — eyes red, demanding to know why. She used to make jealous scenes over the most trivial things. Once, because he’d lit a single candle blessing for Roselyn during a ceremony, she’d sulked until he lit ninety-nine more. She had treated every small gift he’d ever given her like a treasure. He’d once offhandedly praised a line of poetry — she’d copied it out a hundred times and bound it into a little book. He’d absentmindedly snapped off a branch of winter plum — she’d put it in water and refused to throw it out for an entire month, even as the petals dried and fell. Now this… blankness. As if he no longer mattered to her at all. Something constricted in Caden’s chest, strange and sharp. But Roselyn stirred against him, and he pushed the feeling down. He was about to marry the Princess. If he didn’t correct her behavior now — while he still had some authority as the priest — he would have even less control once he was only an ordinary man. Roselyn would suffer for it. He could not afford to go soft.

Back in her room, Seraphina bound her wounds and went straight back to packing. This room had been hers on previous stays at the Sanctum — she’d put little touches of herself everywhere. Now she had Ivy take them all down, one by one. By the time dark fell, they finally rested. Ivy was crying again, her anger building with every word: “I was blind before — I used to think the priest treated you well. If you had actually married him, you would have been miserable every single day…” Seraphina finally spoke. “I won’t be marrying him.” The door crashed open again. Caden stood in the doorway, his expression like a sky about to break. “What did you just say?” Ivy startled, stepping in front of Seraphina. Caden ignored her, eyes fixed on Seraphina alone. “What did you just say? Are you refusing to allow Roselyn into the household?” “I promised you — outside of her, no one else would enter. You and Roselyn grew up in the same world. Why must you be so intolerant of her?” Seraphina said nothing. Caden drew a sharp breath. “What do you want?” “Nothing. If you have something to say, say it.” She finally looked up. “I’m leaving at first light.” Caden glanced at the wounds on her knees. Then at her bloodless face. Something uncomfortable churned through him — a restless, sourceless irritation. “No one is throwing you out. Why do you have to act pitiful? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Ivy had heard enough. Her voice shook with barely restrained indignation: “priest, that’s going too far. Our Princess has never once played the victim. And besides, there are plenty of people at the estate waiting on her. We’d rather not be in the way of your… arrangements.” Caden’s expression tightened further. He thought of the ninety-nine lovers at the Princess’s estate. A cold sound escaped him. “No wonder you’re in such a hurry. Missing your lovers already. Then leave — right now. At least with you gone, Roselyn won’t have to be afraid all the time.” Seraphina’s hands stilled. He wanted her to leave. Right now. In the dead of night. In the snow. She looked up and met those cold, empty eyes. He wasn’t joking. “One more thing,” Caden’s voice dropped further. “We’ll be wed in a fortnight. I expect every one of those lovers gone before then.” Seraphina closed her eyes. She thought of the letters she’d sent him over the years — every one of them her truest heart. She had told him, in those letters, that she had never touched those men. She kept them only to turn away matchmakers. She was waiting for him, and only him. He had never believed a single word. And now he was using it to wound her again. “Since that’s why you came, I’ll leave.” Ivy’s voice cracked. “Your Highness — it’s the middle of the night. Your wounds—” “Let’s go.” Seraphina braced herself upright, and walked out the door. Ivy followed, crying. Caden stayed where he was and watched her silhouette vanish into the wind and dark. The heaviness in his chest grew heavier. Something pressed down on him, made it hard to breathe. The priest — who was always so composed, so untouched, who prided himself on feeling neither pleasure nor sorrow — found that his temper always seemed to ignite so easily around Seraphina. He drew a slow breath, and noticed for the first time what she’d done to the room. The landscape painting she’d hung on the wall — gone. The small pot of winter plum she’d been tending on the windowsill — gone. She had said once, with a laugh, that a room needed these things to feel like a home. And now it was bare. Stripped clean. Like she had never been here at all. Caden’s fist closed slowly at his side. Something pierced him, sudden and deep. He thought, perhaps, that he was coming down with something. He ought to have a healer look at him.

The mountain trail was treacherous. Snow had buried the path ankle-deep. Seraphina took each step slowly, like she was pressing her feet down onto knife blades. Every time her knees bent, pain ripped through her body in waves so violent her whole frame shuddered. Ivy gripped her arm, weeping silently with every step. They were halfway down the mountain when a howl split the dark. Then — eyes. Twin points of pale green glowing in the black, then more, and more. Witches? How could there be witches here? Before Serafina could even think, Ivy was already trembling—but she still stood in front of Serafina. “Your Highness, run! I’ll hold them off!” Seraphina tried to grab her, but it was too late. The witches’ fiery arrows were already raining down on them, capable of instantly stripping werewolves of all their strength. “Ah—!” Ivy screamed, blood splattering onto the snow. Seraphina drew a dagger from her waist, unleashing the unique aura of a lycan, and moved into a giant white wolf, charging towards the witches. But the witches outnumbered her, unleashing their magic from a distance. By the time she had finally driven them all away, Ivy had collapsed beside her, the ground beneath her feet stained dark red, her face almost as red as the snow. “Your Highness… run… don’t worry about me…” Seraphina’s carefully held composure cracked. This was the girl who had grown up beside her. Her last remaining sister. “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice shook. “Ivy, stay with me — keep your eyes open—” She didn’t let herself panic. She clenched her teeth, hoisted Ivy onto her back, and started climbing. Up. Back toward the Sanctum. She didn’t know how long she walked. She only knew that every step burned her to the bone, and she didn’t stop, because she couldn’t afford to. Finally, the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum appeared through the dark. She stumbled forward and pounded her fist against the wood. The gate swung open — and before she could speak, acolytes surged toward her shouting: “The Princess has been found!” “The moonstone choker from Roselyn’s coat has been poisoned — she’s barely holding on!” “Every healer is inside! Bring the Princess at once!” “That wasn’t me — please, help Ivy first—” Her voice came out like shredded silk. She was barely conscious herself, one arm pointing toward Ivy’s crumpled form on the ground behind her. But no one heard her. They all stared at her like she was a monster who had just crawled up from the earth. More acolytes pushed forward: “Roselyn’s been poisoned — the healers say only the blood drawn from above the heart of the one who poisoned her can serve as the antidote!” Seraphina was dragged into a room and shoved to the floor. Caden stood beside the bed, holding Roselyn’s limp body in his arms. He didn’t even look at her. Just spoke in a voice scraped clean of everything: “Take the blood. Save her.” “That’s not—” Seraphina couldn’t finish the sentence. The knife came down before she could say another word. “Ahh—!” A short, broken cry tore from her as the blade plunged into her chest. Blood welled and dripped, one drop at a time, into the bowl below. Her awareness narrowed to a tunnel. She held on as long as she could — and then a gush of blood rose in her throat and spilled from her lips. She fell. In the darkness, she thought she heard someone calling her name. But she couldn’t hear it anymore. She hadn’t saved Ivy yet. She was so sorry. She was so sorry…

When she woke, Seraphina was looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. A blade of pain lived in her chest. An unknown handmaiden knelt at her bedside. “You’re awake, Your Highness. This is the priest’s new estate — it was prepared for the ceremony, to receive you as his mate.” Seraphina didn’t take any of that in. “Where is Ivy?” The handmaiden went very still, kneeling, and began to tremble. Seraphina understood then. She threw back the covers and lurched to her feet. The wound stitched across her chest tore open. She felt nothing. She was already running, bare feet on cold stone, crashing through the door. Outside, a heavy snowfall. And several servants moving slowly, carrying a coffin out toward the gates. Seraphina stopped. Then she lunged forward, wild. “Ivy! Ivy!!” A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and locked tight. Caden’s brow was drawn together, his voice sharp and urgent. “Stop — are you out of your mind? Your chest wound just closed!” Seraphina wrenched free and turned. The way she looked at him made him go still. “SMACK!” Her palm cracked across his face. Every person in the courtyard froze. Every knee hit the ground. Caden’s head turned with the blow. A vivid handprint rose on his cheek. “You—” “I hate you.” Seraphina’s voice shook, but every word was carved sharp. “Caden Vale. I hate you. I will kill you. I will kill that girl too. They owe Ivy her life!” The words landed in Caden’s chest like a fist. He recovered, and his voice came out low and harder than he meant it to: “Enough. You have any idea what you’re saying? You were the one who struck first — you poisoned the choker. Ivy’s wounds were from the witches. What does any of that have to do with Roselyn?” Seraphina laughed. A thin, broken sound. “That brooch was taken from me by you. How was I supposed to poison it in advance? How could I have known you would give it away?” Caden went rigid. He opened his mouth. No sound came. He thought back. Roselyn had been coughing blood. The healer said the brooch was poisoned — that only the poisoner’s own blood could serve as the antidote. He had panicked. He’d only wanted to save her. But now… What Seraphina was saying also made sense. “It’s all my fault — every bit of it!” A figure hurled itself out from inside. Roselyn fell to her knees between them, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t fight because of me! I will pay with my life!” And before anyone could react, she snatched the dagger from Seraphina’s belt and raised it toward her own throat. “Roselyn!” Caden lunged and tore the blade from her hands, pulling her into his arms. Seraphina’s voice came out flat as stone. “You really should die.” She grabbed the dagger and drove it toward Roselyn— “Enough!” Caden shoved Seraphina back. She hit the snow. The wound tore fully open. Pain crumpled her where she lay. “You try to stab her right in front of me? And you still want to deny the poisoning?” Caden stared down at her, and his eyes held something she hadn’t seen before: not anger, but deep, quiet disappointment. “Seraphina. You are petty, jealous, and consumed by obsession.” He looked at her once more. Then he turned away. “Take the Princess to her room. Keep her there until she’s recovered.” She was dragged inside regardless of how she cursed and screamed. At midnight, the fight drained out of her completely. She slumped against the headboard. And then she heard it. A faint rustling. Her whole body locked. Snakes. Her most primal, bone-deep terror. She hadn’t even screamed before one shot toward her from the dark — and sank its fangs into her flesh. The only person who knew about her fear of snakes was Caden. Three years ago, she had visited him at the mountain, and found a snake in the guest room. He had caught it and carried it out himself. That same night, he had given her the pouch — his voice cool but careful: “Princess, don’t be afraid. This will keep snakes away.” And now he had sent snakes to punish her. Darkness. More rustling. They came from everywhere at once — writhing over her legs, striking, striking again. She convulsed, seized on the floor, unable to crawl, her throat too injured to scream. Footsteps outside the door. Then Caden’s voice: “Don’t blame me for this.”

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