Author: Momo Chan

My father was the Pack’s bravest Warrior. The day he fell defending our borders against a rogue attack, half the territory came to honor him. The burial rites weren’t even cold before my mother collected the settlement — sixty thousand gold pieces — and bonded herself to the wealthiest Elite in the pack. I was left with my grandparents, just another forgotten pup no one bothered to claim. Three years later, the Alpha Council granted one sponsored placement into the Elite Guard to the bloodline of a fallen hero. My father had bled for that honor. It was mine. My stepfather gave it to his own son instead. That afternoon, he blocked the doorway and looked me over with the flat contempt of a wolf surveying something already dead. “Elara.” He held out a small pouch of coin. “Five hundred gold. Take it and go.” “And sign this.” He dropped a folded parchment at my feet. Voluntary Relinquishment of Bloodline Placement Rights. “After that, don’t let me see your face again.” I looked past him to my mother, Clara. A jade bracelet caught the light on her wrist — bright, expensive, blinding. Her eyes slid away from mine. “Elara, listen to your stepfather. Your brother Marcus is a better fit for the Guard.” I glanced at the sleek horses tethered in their courtyard, then down at my own tunic, washed so many times the color had given up entirely. So this is what my father’s life was worth. Five hundred gold. — My stepfather, Roland, went cold when I didn’t reach for the coin. He snatched the relinquishment parchment off the ground and snapped it against my cheek — the paper edge sharp enough to sting. “Don’t push me, girl.” His voice climbed. “You think you belong in the Elite Guard? A worthless pup like you?” My mother Clara stepped forward, catching his sleeve. “Darling, not in front of her.” Then she turned to me, her voice soft now, coaxing. “Elara, sweetheart. Roland’s only thinking of you. The Guard’s training is brutal. It’s no place for a girl.” Sweetheart. Three years of silence, and now sweetheart. The warmth of it almost reached me — until she kept talking. “Take the five hundred now. I’ll send you fifty gold a month after that.” My eyes dropped to the jade bracelet again. Green as envy, purchased with my father’s settlement. The memory surfaced without warning: the burial chamber, my father’s ash-box on the stone plinth, my mother weeping so hard her whole body shook — one hand pressed to her chest, the other quietly slipping his bank seal into her cloak pocket. I had thought she was overcome with grief. Now I wondered what, exactly, she had been mourning. “Elara.” Clara’s voice pulled me back. There was a flicker of something — guilt, maybe — in her eyes. “Do you remember what Father said to me before his last patrol?” My voice came out steadier than I expected. She stiffened. “He said if anything happened to him, I was to study hard and take the placement.” I held her gaze. “He said the Guard seat was mine. That he’d bought it with his own blood.” Roland waved a dismissive hand. “A dead wolf’s words. I’m the one keeping you fed now. I decide.” Clara’s expression closed like a shutter. When she looked at me again, the softness was gone. “Elara. Things are different now. Marcus has better scores. He’s more suitable.” Marcus. Her son. Her real child. The realization landed without drama, the way truths do when part of you already knew: I had never been her daughter. Not really. “Are you going to sign or not?” Roland’s brow furrowed. I didn’t look at the parchment. I didn’t look at the coin. I looked directly at him. “I’ll sign.” Clara’s eyes lit up. “The moment you return every coin of my father’s settlement. All sixty thousand. Not a piece short.”

My mother’s composure shattered. “Are you mad?” She was shaking. “That gold is for Marcus’s future — his bonding ceremony, his standing in the pack. You’ll get nothing. Nothing.” The word ‘Marcus’ landed in my stomach like a stone. All these years — had any of them truly thought of me as one of their own? Without my grandparents hauling salvage at the edge of pack territory to feed me, I would have disappeared into some forgotten corner long ago. Roland shouldered past her, smiling the way a wolf smiles when it has already decided what it’s going to do. “Bold little pup.” His gaze moved over me the way you’d measure livestock at a market. “Since you won’t be reasonable, I’ll stop being polite.” He grabbed me by the throat. The grip was absolute — I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t twist free. He dragged me like carrion toward the dirt track outside the gate, my knees dragging and cracking against the stones. I clawed at his hand, raking lines across his skin. “You little—” He released my throat to deliver a blow across my face instead. My ears rang. Half my face went numb. I hit the ground and tasted copper. Pack members appeared at the commotion, gathering along the road. Roland transformed instantly. One moment he was a man who had just struck a child; the next he was a pillar of wounded community leadership, pointing down at me with open palms. “Look at this! A hero’s daughter, and she’s turned against her own family!” “She’s willing to throw away her father’s honor for money. For a personal claim against me!” “I sheltered her for three years, gave her everything, and now she wants to extort sixty thousand gold from my household!” The crowd congealed around me. I pulled myself upright and looked at the faces — people I had called uncle, aunt, neighbor. “Fallen far, hasn’t she? Her father would be ashamed.” “Girl doesn’t know her place. No wonder nobody wants her.” “Roland took her in and she has the nerve—” Each word landed like a lash. I looked around for one voice. Just one. There wasn’t any. These same wolves had howled their grief at my father’s burial. Now they ground me into the mud to stay in Roland’s favor, and didn’t lose a step doing it. Clara stood to the side, face covered, making the sounds of a woman in distress. “I don’t know what to do with her anymore,” she said to no one in particular. “She was always difficult. I’ve tried so hard.” She played the aggrieved parent so effortlessly that something inside me simply stopped aching and went cold. Roland saw that the crowd was his, and grabbed my wrist to force my hand to the parchment. “You’ll mark this. Here, now. One way or another.” His grip was a vice; my wrist bones ground against each other. “Let go!” I fought, but a seventeen-year-old girl has no leverage against a fully ranked Elite male. He was going to take this from me. My father’s last gift. The only thing he’d left me. No. I bit down on Roland’s hand with everything I had. He howled and released me. I scrambled back — and then his second blow came, harder than the first, and I went down and stayed down. His men joined in. I curled small and took it. Then, through split vision, I looked up and met Roland’s eyes. Blood was running from my lip, but my voice came out level. “You’ll regret this.” Quiet. Simple. Everyone on that road heard it. Roland laughed. His men laughed. The crowd shuffled and smirked. “You’ll regret it?” He crouched down to my level, amused. “A fatherless runt is going to make me regret something?” “You’ll never stand up again, girl. Not in this pack. Not anywhere.”

Roland sent for the Elder. When I saw the familiar figure appear at the gate, my last ember of hope went out. The Elder had always played the kindly patriarch around me — clapping my shoulder at festivals, murmuring that I was a good, obedient pup. But I had known for years: he was Roland’s creature, kept comfortable by steady contributions from Roland’s coffers. Roland’s dominance in this territory ran through him. The Elder’s face now held nothing but flat authority. “Elara.” His voice was a blade. “Show respect to your elders and apologize to Roland and your mother. Now.” I set my jaw and said nothing. Apologize. For what? “Are you deaf, girl?” He raised his hand. Then my grandfather’s voice split the air. He came around the corner leaning on his walking staff, back more bent than I remembered, pace slower — but he put his thin body between me and the Elder without a moment’s hesitation. “Roland. You touch my granddaughter again and see what follows.” His voice trembled with age and shook with certainty, both at once. My throat closed. The whole world had let me go. He hadn’t. Roland’s men didn’t wait. They closed in and shoved my grandfather aside — an old man past seventy, handled like an obstacle in a road. “Grandfather!” I lunged, but hands clamped me from behind. He went down hard. His staff skittered away. He tried to rise; his knee was bleeding through the fabric, the stain spreading dark and fast. “You animals!” My voice cracked. “He is your elder!” The pack Elder looked on and pointed at me with two fingers. “This one needs a correction facility. Keep carrying on, and I’ll have her sent to one.” A correction facility. I went still. “Exactly.” His voice turned vicious. “A fatherless stray, no discipline, no worth. Better for the pack without her.” I understood then — this wasn’t only about the Guard placement. They intended to dismantle me entirely. Several of Roland’s men dragged me through the territory to the abandoned homestead at the edge of the old ward. My father’s house. The one we’d shared before everything ended. The contest ribbons I’d won as a pup still hung on the wall. His favorite cup still sat on the table, exactly where he’d left it. The iron lock struck home with a clang that echoed through the empty rooms. Through the door, Roland’s voice, almost pleasant. “The hero ceremony is the day after tomorrow, Elara.” My heart stopped for a beat. The day after tomorrow. So soon. “Marcus will take the stage and deliver the address. Once the ceremony’s official record is sealed, I’ll let you out.” A pause. “Sit here and think about your choices.” I listened to their footsteps fade. Marcus — Roland’s son — standing at my father’s memorial. Reading words from a prepared script. Wearing the honor my father had purchased with his life as if it were a costume. I threw myself at the door and pounded until my fists bled. Until I couldn’t anymore. I slid down the wood and sat on the floor of my father’s house, looking up at his portrait on the wall. He was in his Warrior’s gear. He was smiling the way he always smiled — like sunlight had decided to wear a face. “Dad.” My voice barely made a sound. “Do you see what your pack has done?” I didn’t understand. I had never understood. Why do the good ones fall, and the scavengers inherit everything they built? Night came. The old homestead went fully dark. I sat in the corner, hollow with hunger, hollower with despair. In two days, it would all be finalized. Marcus on the stage, the seal on the record, my father’s name handed over to someone who had never earned a single scar in his service. And I would be locked in here, watching it happen.

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During a narcotics bust, my mom was taken hostage while protecting a civilian. The bastards livestreamed the whole thing on the dark web. “Ten minutes! If I don’t walk out of here, I’ll slit her throat!” I frantically dialed Nolan’s number. He was my mom’s protégé, the rookie she’d personally trained and promoted to detective. He was also the closest officer to the scene, the only one who could reach her in time. He finally picked up. My voice came out raw. “Nolan, get to the address I sent you! You’re the only one who can save my mom right now!” “Is this your new trick to get my attention? I’m so sick of your constant jealousy.” He laughed, cutting me off. A dog barked in the background, followed by a cloyingly sweet female voice. “Nolan, you’re using way too much doggie shampoo!” “I just talked to Captain Monroe yesterday. She filed her retirement paperwork. She’s not in any danger. Stop making things up and grow up, Harper.” He hung up. The countdown hit thirty seconds. I called again and again. He blocked me. My phone buzzed with a text from Stella: Your boyfriend’s helping me give my baby a bath. Don’t worry, we’re just friends. No need to keep checking up on him. The attached photo showed her and Nolan laughing, covered in soap suds, bathing a golden retriever. They looked like a couple in a goddamn laundry detergent commercial. On my screen, the livestream showed my mother’s throat being sliced open. She collapsed, eyes wide, staring directly at the camera. My phone slipped from my hand. Something inside me died with her. ……………………… The police brought my mother’s body back. At the funeral, one of her old colleagues came up to me. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Captain Monroe was the finest officer this department has ever seen. She solved countless cases, and she was protecting the city. She’s a hero.” His voice cracked. He hesitated, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone at the precinct knew my fiancé, Nolan had refused to respond to the emergency call because he was too busy keeping his girl best friend company. I stood in front of the headstone but didn’t cry. I just gripped the badge in my hand until my palm bled. The pain kept me standing. It reminded me I couldn’t break down. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. I’m sorry for your loss. I know what happened. I’ll make sure justice is served. I scrolled through my messages. Nothing from Nolan. I pulled up his contact and called him, hoping he’d at least come to say goodbye to the woman who’d raised him in the force. Once. Twice. Three times. All of them went straight to voicemail. My mom had loved Nolan like a son. She’d taught him everything she knew, pulled every string to get him promoted to detective. He’d been a good protégé. He’d been a good boyfriend. Then Stella came back to Chicago, and everything changed. He started canceling on me. He missed my birthday. He wasn’t there when our dog of eight years was poisoned and died. Even wasn’t there when my mother was in danger. And now, at her funeral, he still wasn’t here. His text finally came through after the funeral ended. Harper, stop being so childish. You’re exhausting me. Stella is my best friend. We’re JUST FRIENDS. There’s no reason for you to be jealous of her. I took two days off to take her hiking. The signal’s bad up in the mountains, so don’t blow up my phone unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered whatever hope I’d had left. I threw my umbrella aside and tilted my face up to the rain. It hit my skin like tiny blades. The pain finally made the tears come. I blocked Nolan on everything. Don’t worry. I’ll never bother you again. When I got home, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He picked up immediately. He didn’t speak, just breathed steadily on the other end. I took a deep breath. “This is Harper Monroe.” His voice was low and controlled. “I know. I’m here.” “I want to finish what my mom started. I want to take down the people who killed her. I’m asking for your approval to reinstate me.” There was a long silence. I could picture him frowning, weighing his options. “Those criminals work for the Blackwood Cartel. Your mother died trying to take them down. I can’t let you risk your life too. And besides—” I cut him off. “I already passed the internal assessment. I’m the best candidate for this operation.” “My dad died when I was a kid. My mom raised me alone. She died with her eyes open, Chief Thorne. I can’t let the people who killed her walk free.” He sighed heavily. “Does Nolan know?” “He doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to.” “Fine. Send me your report. I’ll make the arrangements. The undercover operation starts in two days. Use that time to handle your personal affairs.” He paused. “Come back safe. For your mother’s sake. And for the people who actually care about you.” “I will.” I hung up and started packing. I was selling everything I owned, including every gift Nolan had ever given me. While cleaning out my desk, I found a framed photo of us. In the picture, sunlight streamed through the windows. I had my arms wrapped around him from behind, my chin resting on top of his head. We’d looked so happy. Now it just made me sick. I pulled the photo out of the frame, tore his half off, and threw it in the trash. That’s when I heard a key turning in the lock.

The door swung open. Stella walked in with her arm draped around Nolan’s waist. She was practically hanging off him, her chest pressed against his arm. The moment Stella spotted the grand piano in the corner, she squealed with excitement. “Babe, there it is! I played it last time I was here and the sound was incredible. It photographs so well too! You promised you’d give it to me, remember?” Nolan saw me standing in the living room. His smile faltered for a second. “Harper. Perfect timing. I need to talk to you about something. Stella loves this piano, so I’m having it moved to her place. You haven’t played it in forever anyway. It’s just collecting dust.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mom had spent her entire life savings on that piano. And he wanted to give it away? Without even asking me? “What did you just say? My mom left that to me. It’s mine. I dare you to touch it.” Stella made a theatrical gasp. Her eyes landed on the trash can. She bent down, plucked out the torn photo with two fingers, and dangled it in front of Nolan’s face. “Babe, looks like we really pissed off your ball and chain. She even tore up your picture! When did she grow the balls to disrespect you like this?” “We need to get that piano out of here fast before she smashes it in one of her tantrums.” Nolan’s face darkened. “Harper! Are you done with this bullshit? First you lied about your mom being in danger, and now this? How old are you?” “That piano is leaving today whether you like it or not. Your useless wrist can’t even play it anymore!” I was shaking with rage. “Nolan! Have you forgotten how my wrist got ruined? I took a knife for you! The tendon was severed! That’s why I’m like this!” Stella clicked her tongue and put on a patronizing expression. “Harper, you can’t say it like that. Nolan appreciates what you did, but the fact is, you really can’t use the piano anymore.” “Nolan’s my best friend. What’s his is mine. If he wants to give it to me, that’s totally normal.” “Besides, we’ve known each other for years. We don’t keep score like that.” Nolan looked at Stella with pure adoration. “Exactly. It’s just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can’t you be a little more generous? Why are you secretly tearing up photos and throwing tantrums?” I laughed bitterly and screamed at her. “Nolan, my mom is dead! And you’re calling me unreasonable?” “Are you even human? My mom was taken hostage by criminals. You were the closest officer. You were the only one in the entire department who could save her! And what were you doing?” I pointed at Stella, who looked absolutely delighted. “You were giving her dog a bath!” “My mom loved you! She was your mentor! Why didn’t you save her?” “You didn’t even come to her funeral!” Nolan’s voice turned vicious. “Enough! You’re still acting? You keep saying your mom is dead. Who curses their own mother like this? I never knew you were this disgusting.” Stella’s voice was sickeningly innocent, but she was smirking. “Harper, are you still holding a grudge? It was just a dog bath. It’s not that deep.” “Nolan and I are best friends. We don’t play those stupid games you do.” She ran her hand over the piano lid and turned to Nolan. “Babe, I really do love this piano.” She slapped his ass playfully, right in front of me. Nolan’s face flushed. “Of course you can have it. We’re ride-or-die. I’d give you the moon if you asked for it.” He turned to me, his voice cold. “The piano is being moved today. As of right now, you’re not allowed to touch it.” He pulled out his phone and called a moving company right in front of me. I grabbed everything within reach and hurled it at them. A makeup case hit Stella in the head. Nolan lost it. He stormed over and slapped me across the face. I stumbled backward and crashed into the piano bench. Instinctively, I put my hand out to catch myself. My old wrist injury exploded with pain. I heard something crack. Tears sprang to my eyes. Nolan hesitated for a second, then reached for me. I recoiled like he was contaminated. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” Nolan pulled his hand back. His face twisted with anger. “You want to be difficult? Fine. I’ll have them tear the whole thing apart!” Stella touched her forehead and pouted. “Babe, look, she made me bleed. Don’t you think she owes me some kind of compensation?” “How about this? I’ll convince Nolan not to destroy the piano. Just give it to me as an apology and we’ll call it even.” “Get out! Both of you get the fuck out!” Rage took over. I grabbed the piano bench and hurled it at them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Stella immediately ducked behind Nolan. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes burning red. “If anyone touches this piano, I’ll kill them!” “Harper! You’ve lost your goddamn mind!” Nolan was furious. He shoved me hard. He loomed over me, disgust written all over his face. “Look at yourself! You’re acting like a psycho! No wonder your mom didn’t want you. If she really is dead, you probably drove her to it. You deserve this!” “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson on her behalf!” How dare he bring up my mother? I put every ounce of strength I had into the slap I gave him. My hand went numb from the impact. “Shut your fucking mouth! You don’t get to talk about my mom!” Nolan’s face snapped to the side. His eyes filled with disbelief. Stella shrieked. “Harper, how could you hit him? I wouldn’t even hurt a hair on Nolan’s head!” The movers arrived at the door. Nolan’s face was stone. “That one. Take it away.” “No!” The movers looked at me blocking the piano and hesitated. “Um, she doesn’t seem to agree. Are you sure about this?” Nolan sneered and pulled out a thick stack of cash from his wallet. “Triple your rate. Don’t listen to a word the lunatic says.” Stella immediately chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Guys, don’t mind her. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend. She’s, uh, got some issues.” She tapped her temple and gave them a knowing look. “Alright then.” The lead mover looked at me with pity and waved to his crew. “Boys, let’s get to work.” “No! Please don’t! You can’t!” I tried to stop them, but Nolan grabbed me from behind. Between the injuries and the sleepless nights, I had no strength left to fight back. Nolan held me in place while putting on a sickeningly sweet voice. “Baby, just relax. The doctor said seeing this piano triggers you. We’re moving it for your own good.” The movers carried the piano out the door and down the hall until it disappeared. Nolan let go of me. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in his eyes. I felt numb. I stared at him through blurred vision and screamed, “Nolan! We’re done! It’s over!” He didn’t even look back. He took Stella’s hand and walked away. “Fine! You want to break up? Don’t come crawling back!”

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The third time Ethan Holt burst through the door to catch me slept with a strange, I didn’t scramble to pull on my clothes or fumble for excuses the way I had the first two times. His company’s attorney, Vivienne Walsh, stood at the front of the group. “Ms. Calloway, this is the third instance of marital infidelity.” “Per the prenuptial agreement, you will leave this marriage with nothing, and you forfeit all custodial rights to the child.” Ethan had long since run out of patience. The look in his eyes when they landed on me was pure contempt. He threw the divorce papers down in front of me: “The first time, you said you didn’t even know the man.” “The second time, you said you had no idea how you ended up at that hotel.” “Third time’s the charm — so what’s your excuse this time?” He assumed I’d pull out another pathetic story. But I said nothing. I simply picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. Then I disappeared from his world. Only — why was it that the moment I finally gave him what he wanted, agreed to walk away with nothing and give up our child, he lost his mind? …… Vivienne immediately snatched the signed papers from the table. As though terrified I might change my mind, she turned to Ethan and said, “Mr. Holt, it’s signed.” Ethan stared at me, his brow deeply furrowed. Most likely because he hadn’t gotten what he’d expected the way he had the previous two times — me ripping up the divorce papers, then pressing my forehead to the floor until it bled, sobbing as I begged him: “For the sake of our child, please believe me just this once!” …… I capped the pen and set it back on the table. “I’ll clear out my things as soon as possible. As for visitation rights for the child —” “You have no right to call yourself a mother.” His voice was low and heavy as he cut me off. “You’re never to see the child again.” I didn’t look up. I only smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say — I don’t want visitation rights either!” The coldness in Ethan’s eyes didn’t waver. He just looked at me a moment longer. As though he couldn’t quite read my sudden decisiveness. For the past four years, he and our child had been my entire world. I used to be upset for half a day whenever the little one called out “Auntie Viv” one too many times. And now I was letting go without a second glance. That wasn’t like me. “Shameless,” he said with a cold laugh, as though he’d finally found a reasonable explanation for my change of behavior. “You’d throw away your own flesh and blood for some man on the outside.” “Then what would you call what you did — going out of your way to get into my bed and getting pregnant to trap me?” I listened to him and felt not even the faintest urge to defend myself. The first time he’d caught me “in bed with someone” at a hotel, I’d been completely blindsided. I had begged him to listen, insisting I had done nothing to betray him. He had always been certain I couldn’t live without him. And because the man supposedly caught with me had long since fled — leaving only a blurry shadow on the hotel security footage — Ethan had grudgingly believed me. But he’d still taken our son from my side. Monthly visits had to be scheduled a week in advance through Vivienne. When I came to see him, she followed me around the entire time as a so-called “escort.” Even holding him a little longer required reading her mood. Every toy, every outfit I bought for the child had to be cleared with Vivienne first. Otherwise it would never reach him. The ordeal wrecked me mentally, and then came the accusations of a second affair. At the time, I’d taken a job to keep myself occupied. But on a business trip one day I somehow ended up at a hotel, dizzy and disoriented. When I woke, a heavyset man was lying beside me, snoring and drooling in my direction. I called the police. A female officer examined me and said I hadn’t been assaulted. The facts were right there, but Ethan still refused to believe I’d simply been set up before I could “commit the crime.” After that, I wasn’t even allowed to attend parent-teacher nights at the kindergarten. Whenever the school had something, Ethan sent Vivienne instead. He told me to stay home and “stop embarrassing everyone.” When our son pointed at me and called me a “bad woman,” Ethan stood right there and said nothing. And then came the third time I was “caught”… I was done playing this game. I was setting them free. And now he had the nerve to ask me why I was giving up even my own child?

Vivienne stepped quickly to Ethan’s side and lowered her voice to remind him: “Mr. Holt, even though the agreement stipulates she gives up custody… in all my years of practice, I’ve never once seen a mother give up her child this easily.” “Given that Ms. Calloway has had multiple affairs, she probably planned this all along — after all, a child would be inconvenient… There’s no point trying to talk her out of it.” She glanced up at me as she finished speaking, a flicker of something heavy passing through her eyes. I let out a short laugh. She seemed to have forgotten… Four years ago, this absurd prenuptial agreement — with its precisely predetermined number of “permitted affairs” — had been drafted by her. Ethan’s expression dropped another degree. “You’d better mean what you say. Don’t come crawling back to me later.” He left those words behind and turned to walk out. I watched his retreating figure and felt the corner of my mouth twitch. I won’t, Ethan. Back then, just to convince myself to accept you, I went to every tarot reader and psychic in the city. Every answer they gave me warned against us. Later, I flew five thousand miles to the old chapel in Florence, kneeling there for an entire day and night before I finally found the words I wanted to believe: Some loves are written by fate—never question where they come from. Who could have known that a heaven-ordained match would end up a cursed one. This time, my knees will not bend again. Vivienne looked at me, the faintest smile curling the corner of her lips. “Ms. Calloway, every second is precious — we won’t keep you any longer.” The moment the door shut, the room fell quiet again. I glanced down at the man still passed out on the bed. My stomach turned with revulsion. I had woken before him. I could have left without waiting for them to arrive. But I was tired of this cat-and-mouse game. So I’d waited. I put on my coat and walked out without looking back. The following evening I returned to collect my things. When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I found everything I’d ever used or worn was gone. The housekeeper shifted awkwardly, unable to meet my eyes: “Ma’am, your things were all moved to the storage room… Miss Walsh said the master bedroom… is about to have a new mistress, and it needed to be cleared out right away.” I smiled slightly. Four years of marriage, and I wasn’t even entitled to a proper goodbye. I turned and walked toward the storage room at the back of the property. When I pushed the door open, boxes were stacked on boxes, bags piled on bags. I crouched down and began sorting through them, piece by piece. Nothing else mattered. I needed to find my mother’s vintage brooch. It was an heirloom — passed from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me… It was the only thing in this house that truly belonged to me. I finally found it at the very bottom of the last box. I clutched it in my palm and let out a long, slow breath. I was just gathering a few pieces of clothing to take when a small voice came from the doorway: “What are you doing?” I turned. Little Oliver Holt stood in the doorway, his small figure blocking the exit. He looked exactly like Ethan — but that imperious, top-down posture was pure Vivienne Walsh. “Taking my things.” I kept my head down and continued sorting. Any other time, even when he was being difficult, I would have gone to him with hugs and kisses. But this time, I was completely calm. “Those aren’t your things.” Seeing that I was ignoring him, he walked in. He stepped squarely on the clothes I’d scattered across the floor. “Auntie Viv said everything in this house belongs to Daddy. You can’t take a single thing.”

I paused what I was doing. “This is my own property.” “The money you spent was Daddy’s.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Daddy’s money belongs to the Holt family. The Holt family’s things have nothing to do with outsiders.” Outsiders? I lifted my head and looked at him. A four-year-old boy standing before me, looking at me the way you’d look at a thief. The coldness in those little eyes ran even deeper than Ethan’s. “I’m only taking one thing.” I tightened my fingers around the brooch and stood up. “Everything else, I’ll leave.” “No.” He moved to block the doorway in a single step, stretching both arms wide. “You can’t steal things from the Holt family.” “Oliver, move.” “No!” He raised his voice. “You’re a beggar! A thieving beggar! Auntie Viv said once you’re gone you can’t come back, and if you come back it means you’re stealing!” My temples throbbed. “I’m going to say this one more time. Move.” “No! Put it down!” He lunged at me and grabbed at the small velvet pouch in my hand. I instinctively pulled back. The pouch was ripped open in an instant. The brooch slipped free and hit the floor, shattering into pieces. I stood there, frozen, and heard my mother’s voice from the day she’d pinned it on me. She had said: “Hannah, this piece has been passed down through six generations of our family. One day you’ll pass it to your daughter, and if there’s no daughter, then a daughter-in-law…” I had no daughter. I had no daughter-in-law. I had only this brooch. Six generations. And here, in my generation, it was shattered by my own son. Oliver stood nearby and muttered under his breath: “Who told you not to let go…” I looked at him through burning eyes. “I told you — this was left to me by my grandmother.” “Do you even know why your grandmother is lying in that care home?” Oliver blinked and took a step back: “I don’t know any grandmother. All I know is some money-burning old woman…”

The blood rushed to my head. “Auntie Viv said so — she said that old woman has such a nice room, and she costs Daddy so much money, and she never gets better, so she’s just burning through it—” “Say that again.” My voice had changed. Even I couldn’t recognize it as my own. Oliver was startled by the look on my face. He bit his lip, then summoned his nerve and repeated himself: “She’s just a money-burning old woman, so what — ah!” I shoved him. He tripped over his own feet and landed hard on the floor. He blinked once, then burst into wailing sobs. “Daddy! Daddy!” I stood where I was, my palms numb. Watching my son kick and flail on the floor, that phrase “money-burning old woman” echoed and echoed in my ears. That “money-burning old woman” was my mother. His grandmother. The woman who had dragged herself out of a hospital bed, still healing from surgery, to hand-stitch him a little cotton jacket the month he was born. The woman who called from the care home every year on his birthday, asking the nurses to help her say “Happy Birthday, Oliver, darling.” And he called her a “money-burning old woman.” The sharp edges of the broken brooch cut into my palm. The pain cleared my head a little. Ethan burst through the door, took one look at his son sobbing on the floor, and scooped him up. “Oliver, what happened?” Oliver threw himself into his father’s arms, crying so hard he could barely breathe. “Daddy, she pushed me — make her leave, I want Auntie Viv…” Ethan held him and looked up at me. His eyes held nothing but icy displeasure. “Hannah, are you out of your mind? You hit the child!” “I didn’t hit him.” My voice was very quiet. “I pushed him.” “Is there a difference?” I looked down at the shattered brooch in my hand. “Yes,” I said. “Hitting him would have been a mother disciplining her child. Pushing him — he had it coming.”

Ethan faltered. He looked down at the son in his arms. Oliver, nestled against his father’s chest, had quieted his crying to a murmur. “I was only telling the truth… Auntie Viv said that old woman is just burning through Daddy’s money…” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you arguing with a child?” He glanced at me with a sweep of his eyes. “Vivienne is helping manage the household finances right now — she was simply stating a factual observation from a financial perspective, and the child overheard it. Don’t blow this out of proportion.” “You know how much she does for this family. You’ve always known.” He glanced at the brooch broken into pieces in my hand. Something in him softened slightly after all: “I brought the child over today on purpose — so the two of you could have a proper talk. But that matter — don’t tell him about it for now. It won’t do his development any good.” I knew he meant the divorce. I said nothing. Talk? Talk about what? In four years of marriage, the amount of time he and our son had spoken to me combined didn’t add up to half the time he spent talking to Vivienne. And yet it was he who’d pursued me back in university, step by step drawing me in. Getting me to travel to churches and tarot readers and mediums all over, searching desperately for a sign, not giving up until at last one fortune-teller and one reading gave me the answer I’d hoped for… Even without that so-called “accidental pregnancy,” I had already gathered my courage and was ready to set aside the difference in our families’ status to say yes to being with him. Looking back now — it’s just as well I never said it out loud. My mother was still in that care home, waiting for me to come visit. With those thoughts, I picked up my bag and walked out of the storage room. In the living room, Vivienne was crouched in front of Oliver, coaxing him softly. I walked past them without expression. Behind me, Oliver let out a wail: “Why isn’t that bad woman paying attention to me!” He stamped his feet, overcome with a sense of grievance. He was used to me running to soothe him after every tantrum, red-eyed and apologetic. Used to me saying “Oliver don’t be mad, Mama was wrong.” So when I didn’t even glance at him, he felt wronged beyond all measure. Ethan said nothing, but the coldness in his gaze hit my back like a blade. I didn’t stop. I was just reaching to open the front door when his voice exploded behind me: “Stop right there!”

I stopped. “Come here and apologize to Oliver.” His voice was low and suppressed. “You pushed him earlier and frightened him.” I hesitated for a moment. Thinking this might be the last time we saw each other, I felt no energy left to argue. I walked over and crouched down. “I’m sorry.” I looked into his eyes one last, genuine time. “Mama shouldn’t have pushed you.” Oliver sniffled, and then spat directly at my face. A glob of saliva landed on my cheek and slid slowly downward. In his babyish little voice, he said: “Disgusting woman. You deserve it.” Ethan only watched with cold eyes, adding in a mild tone: “You’ve been carrying on with other men, and even your own child can’t stand to look at you.” I slowly raised my hand and wiped my face. Then I laughed. “I’ve been carrying on with other men?” These so-called affairs, these supposedly caught-in-the-act moments — staged so clumsily — had he truly never seen the cracks? Perhaps he had. Perhaps he just didn’t want to expose it. If he was certain that’s what it was, then so be it. “For four years, you and she have been inseparable — four full years! You even had my child raised in her home. Ethan, who exactly has been carrying on with whom?” “Since we’re already divorcing, can you at least stop lying to yourself?” Vivienne’s face went pale. Her eyes immediately reddened. “Ms. Calloway, how can you slander me like that? Mr. Holt, I…” “Hannah, four years of this — haven’t you had enough?” Ethan’s gaze bore down on me. “Fine, if you think there’s something between us —” he took one step toward me, then another, “— then let me show you what truly improper looks like.” He had the nanny take Oliver away, then grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the bedroom. The moment the door shut, he bound my wrists with his necktie and threw me to the floor. Then he turned, pulled Vivienne toward him, and bent close to her ear. “Do you want this?”

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Six years I gave Damien Krest. He gave me back a contract — three years as his secret mistress, on call like a damn escort. I thought it was a prenup. I’d already picked up the pen, ready to sign. But the words staring back at me read: Mistress Agreement. Three-year term. On call at all times. Renewed upon satisfaction. My fingers tremble. “Damien, what the hell is this?” He lights a cigarette without looking up, his tone lazy and cruel. “The family’s been pushing. The Don arranged a match — someone from the right bloodline. I have to get married.” “Then what about me?” My voice comes out raw. He glances up, smiling like he doesn’t have a heart. “Baby, let’s be fair here.” “Your old man walked out on you and your mom, then limped back when his liver gave out , and you held his hand. Your ex drained your accounts and ghosted , and you still paid off his bookies. So don’t stand there looking at me like I’m the villain.” “All I’m asking is for you to become my side piece. That’s not unreasonable, is it?” … The terms are printed in black and white, each clause more blinding than the last. “Party B must be available on demand and shall not inquire about Party A’s whereabouts.” “Party B shall not display affection toward Party A in public.” “Should Party B become pregnant, she must handle it on her own…” I stare at that last line. My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking. My fingers are ice cold. Damien leans back on the couch, exhaling smoke. His gaze lands on me, light as air. “Sign it.” He flicks ash off the cigarette. “What are you waiting for?” I set the contract down. My voice shakes with fury. “Damien… we’ve been together for six years.” “And?” He smiles. “Six years, and you still never made it through the front door, did you?” That sentence is a knife — aimed right at the place I’m most afraid to touch. He’s right. Six years. He brought me to every family gathering, every gala. But the introduction was always “my assistant.” Maybe his mother sensed something. More than once she hinted: “You should really think about settling down, dear. It only gets harder as a woman gets older.” I thought she was pushing for our wedding. Turns out she was just giving me a polite nudge toward the exit. “Then what were these six years?” I ask. Damien stubs out his cigarette, stands, and walks over to me. “They were mutual.” He reaches out, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Ivy, you stayed with me six years. I took care of you for six years. That little paycheck of yours , how many times would it have covered your dad’s medical bills? And those tens of thousands your ex owed the loan sharks, didn’t you pay that off with my card?” He pauses, then smiles. “Baby, be fair. You had no problem using me. Now I’m using you. It’s an even trade.” My eyes burn, but not a single tear falls. He never said these things before. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true. My father did abandon us. Then he got old and sick and came crawling back. I’m pathetic — too soft-hearted. I spent every penny I had keeping him alive. As for my ex… He was nobody. A guy I dated for one month before we split over “incompatibility.” I only found out he’d stolen my identity to take out loans when the sharks showed up at my office. Damien stepped in and made it go away. I know I owe him. I just didn’t know he was keeping score. “So,” I push his hand away, “you’re saying these six years meant nothing to you? I was just an investment?” Damien laughs. “Not quite. What kind of investment value could you possibly have?” He pulls out a bank card and sets it beside the contract. “There’s five million in here. Sign, and it’s yours.” “Be my mistress for three years. After that, you want to renew, we renew. You don’t — the money’s still yours.” I stare at the card. Five million. Enough to pay off every debt I owe — but not enough to buy me. That sentence rolls around my throat three times. I never say it. Because I think of my father’s care facility fees. If I don’t pay by next week, they’ll send him back to me. Damien knows I can’t afford it. That’s why he can toss that card in front of me so casually. Like throwing a bone. Waiting for me to gnaw on it. “Well?” He watches me hesitate, then lights another cigarette. “Not enough?” I don’t speak. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Six years with me? Half a mil is a little low.” He blows smoke in my face; it stings my eyes. “But that’s the rate I pay a mistress. Not a girlfriend. Your current status — that’s what it’s worth.” He pauses, then smiles. “Of course, you don’t have to sign. But if you don’t, you can’t stay in this apartment either.” My heart feels like someone’s squeezing it in a fist. Six years together. I always thought of this place as home. The succulents on the balcony , I grew them one by one. The spice rack in the kitchen , arranged exactly how I like it. The nightstand always held a photo of us together. I thought this was our home… Turns out I was just a tenant who could be evicted at any time.

“Damien,” my voice is still shaking, “if you don’t have feelings for me, we can part ways like adults. There’s no need to humiliate me like this.” “Feelings?” He says it like it’s a joke. “Ivy, did your father have feelings for you?” “Did your ex have feelings for you?” “When you poured your heart out to people — did any of them have feelings for you?” He insists on talking like this. Insists on making me admit — every relationship I’ve ever fought to hold onto never truly belonged to me. “They all did, I guess?” He answers his own question, his tone suddenly softer. “At least once upon a time.” My tears finally fall. Not because he’s being cruel — but because for one terrible second, I think he’s right. “Signing or not?” He holds out the pen, impatient now. I reach out and take it. I flip to page two, clause five: Should Party B become pregnant, she must handle it on her own… My hand freezes. Damien adds casually from beside me: “Relax. I won’t let that happen. My fiancée’s family is very traditional — no bastards before the wedding.” Fiancée. The title I craved for six years — and it was never mine. Not for a single second. “Damien, what if I told you I’m already—” The words reach my lips and die there. Forget it. What would it change? I lower my gaze and say flatly: “What if I told you my mother and I already discussed it — we’re planning a wedding next month. Would you still be making me sign this?” “Your mother?” He laughs. “That useless woman drowned herself in the ocean. Who exactly did you discuss this with?” He exhales slowly, smoke blurring his expression. “Even without all this mess between us, I had no plans to get married this young.” “Next month? You’ve got quite the imagination.” I close my eyes. Six years. We’re both pushing thirty. That’s not young. A wedding that never happens , because from the very beginning, it was never going to. I open my eyes. My fingers finally stop trembling. I sign the last page. “Good girl.” Damien picks up the contract, smiling with satisfaction. “Everything stays the same. Only difference — from now on, you call me Mr. Krest.” He leans down and presses a cold kiss to my forehead. “Be good.” He leaves. The door closes softly. I look down at the bank card. Slowly, I sink to the floor and bury my face in my knees. Outside, it starts to rain. As hard as the night six years ago when he pulled me out of the storm. Back then, he was the one holding the umbrella. Now he’s the one pushing me into the rain. I don’t know how long I stay there. My legs go numb. My tears dry up. I stand slowly, walk to the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash cold water on my face. Until that face in the mirror is calm again. Then I pick up my phone and dial a number. “Mom. You were right. I lost.” “That thing you mentioned before… don’t wait. I’m ready to start.” A pause on the other end. “Are you sure? Once it begins, there’s no turning back.” I look out the window. “I’m sure.”

The next morning, I go to the care facility first. My father sits in a wheelchair, pushed into the courtyard by an aide to get some sun. He’s aged badly. His hair is all white. He looks like a tree hollowed out by rot. I hand over the bank card. “There’s five million on this. Enough for the best facility, the best care. From today on, I won’t be coming back.” “Because — she wants me clean when I see her.” His lips tremble like he has a hundred questions. I don’t give him the chance to speak. Some memories, I don’t want to touch anymore… But the moment I turn around, they flood back anyway. The year he went bankrupt, he knelt in front of me, asked if I could forgive him. I suddenly find it laughable. My mother gave everything fighting for a man and got nothing but a cheap apology in the end. So I swore I’d never be like her , crying, clinging, losing everything. Just as I’m about to tell him “I don’t forgive you,” a flash of white cuts across my peripheral vision — a van, out of control, barreling straight toward me. The next second, a massive force shoves me aside. I hit the ground hard. When I look back— He’s lying in a pool of blood, the bumper embedded in the left side of his body. He took the hit for me. That’s why he ended up in the care facility. Five million — not because he’s my father. It’s me paying back a life. After that, I go to work like normal. Damien walks into the office while I’m sorting files. He glances at me. No expression. “Ivy, bring the quarterly reports to my office.” “Yes, Mr. Krest.” I say it naturally. He’s the one who falters. “You adapt fast.” He murmurs it under his breath. He passes me, his fingers deliberately brushing the back of my hand. I don’t flinch. I don’t respond. Our relationship was never exactly a secret at headquarters. Six years of him picking me up after work, bringing me to events — everyone knew without being told. But he never made it official. A relationship that was never official ,now he calls me “Ivy,” I call him “Mr. Krest,” and to everyone watching, it actually looks proper. That night he sends me a location pin. I take a car. I push open the suite door and find rose petals scattered across the floor and a silk negligée hanging on a rack. She’s not here. But her perfume still is. Damien’s voice comes from behind me: “Seen enough?” I turn around. He’s leaning against the doorframe, cigarette in hand, watching me with that half-smile. “The engagement gala is next week. I need you there to help.”

I pull out the calm I’ve trained myself into these past weeks. “Help with what?” Their engagement gala has a top-tier event planning team handling everything. They don’t need an ex-girlfriend stirring things up. “Greet the guests. You know everyone at headquarters — keep them comfortable.” He exhales smoke. “Serena also thought it’d be nice for you to witness our happiness.” I let out a small laugh. That last part is the real point. “Sure.” I pull out my phone to take notes. “I’ll confirm the details with you at the office tomorrow, Mr. Krest. If there’s nothing else, can I go?” His fiancée just left. He won’t need me staying the night. After all, a mistress only serves one purpose. He narrows his eyes. “You’re not upset?” “Would you like me to be upset, Mr. Krest?” He doesn’t answer. He stubs out his cigarette, walks over, and grips my chin. “Ivy, honestly. You’ve changed a lot lately.” “Changed into—” He tightens his grip. “Something a little irritating.” I keep my eyes down. “What would you like me to be, Mr. Krest? I can adjust.” Back then, what drew him to me was exactly this — the fact that I was close enough to have him but never once asked for anything. He used to call it dignity. Now he calls it irritating. The one who changed was never me. “Forget it.” He stares into my eyes for a long time, then lets go. “Go home.” I turn to leave, but he wraps his arms around me from behind. His chin rests on my shoulder. His voice comes out muffled: “Do you know why I won’t let you go?” He means the Mistress Agreement binding me to him. I don’t know either. At the very least, I thought two people who don’t love each other could split peacefully. “Because you’re too obedient. You never make things hard for me, never fight with me, never ask where I’ve been or who I’ve seen. Not like her — checking up on me every damn day.” His arms tighten. “Sometimes I think, if you just had a proper family behind you, I wouldn’t have to marry someone else.” I almost laugh. In the end, he’s blaming me for not having a better bloodline. But he forgets — he’s the one who pursued a girl with nothing. “Mr. Krest,” I gently peel his hands off me, “what color should I wear to the gala? I’ll get something ready.” His hands freeze in midair. Maybe the evening wore him out. He doesn’t have the energy to push back. He lets me go. Outside the hotel doors, I realize my palms are bleeding where my nails dug in.

The day of the engagement gala, I’m stationed at the entrance handling the guest book. Champagne in hand. My eyes can’t leave the couple everyone’s congratulating. In a daze, I think back to the day I signed the Mistress Agreement. I’d quietly slipped the pregnancy report into the study drawer. I thought — once he finds it, a proposal would be the natural next step. So when he pulled out that contract, my heart leapt. I thought it was a prenup. In these powerful families, signing one is perfectly normal. I was willing. Because all I wanted was him. I never imagined six years together would end as a joke. In one moment, I became a dirty secret — a mistress hidden in the shadows. Near the end of the gala. Serena stops in front of me, smiling warmly. “So you’re Ivy?” I blink, then nod. “Damien mentioned you. Said you’ve been with the organization for years — very capable.” I return a few polite words. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, by the way — starting next week, I’m having him move out of that apartment. We’ve already picked out our new place.” “I figure it’s awkward for you to stay there, so… you might want to start looking for somewhere else.” My fingertips jolt. The sting behind my eyes nearly spills over. I swallow it down while pretending to straighten the guest book. “Of course… I’ll take care of it.” The words barely leave my mouth before she picks up the champagne glass beside me. Before I can react, she lets out a shriek. “Ah—!” “You — how could you throw your drink on me?” Then a slap cracks across my face. I press my hand to my cheek and look up to see her — drenched, eyes glistening red. Half the room turns to stare. Damien walks over, frowning. “What happened?” Serena throws herself into his arms, sobbing: “Damien, I was just kindly letting her know you’re moving out, telling her to find a new place — and she threw champagne on me…” “Ivy.” “I didn’t—” My voice is raw. “So what — she poured it on herself and then came over to slap you?” His logic is flawless. No one would believe a bride-to-be would ruin her own dress on her big night. And he’s already decided I think of that apartment as my territory. His voice turns cold. “Apologize.” I don’t move. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know what today is. If this blows up, it’s bad for you. Apologize — or don’t bother showing up tomorrow.” I look at him. Six years ago he pulled me out of the rain and said, “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.” Six years later he holds the woman who just hit me in his arms — and tells me to apologize. The scab over my chest tears open again. I lower my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spilled my drink on you.” Damien isn’t satisfied. But he turns and waves the crowd away. “It’s fine. Misunderstanding. Everyone move along.” Before he goes, he gives me one last look. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass yourself out here.” I touch my swollen cheek and the hair shaken loose by that slap. Right. How embarrassing. But the most humiliating part — is the man I loved for six years convicted me in front of everyone without even asking. I pick up my phone and send one message: [Move everything up.] Then I smile through my tears.

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My stepfather was drugged. I became his only cure. When he woke up, Grandfather told him we weren’t blood‑related and ordered him to marry me. But Lucian believed an arranged marriage would ruin his one chance at real love. He got drunk and lay down on the train tracks. I saved him off, but I lost both my legs for him. He finally agreed to the wedding, his eyes red. But on our wedding night, he locked me in The Cage—his underground club where men paid to use women like broken dolls. They strapped me to a bed. They gave me injections and whipped me. He just sat in the shadows, smoking, watching like it was entertainment. After endless rounds of that, I found my chance. I set the curtains on fire. The whole place went up—him and me together. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on the night he was drugged. *This time, My father, I’m letting you have your real love story.* — A man’s hand on my waist yanked me awake. I opened my eyes flew open to meet Lucian Ashford’s bloodshot gaze. His eyes were thick with hunger—bottomless, primal. The kind of look I remembered from The Cage. Instinctively, I looked around. No rusted shackles bolted to the walls. No stained mattress reeking of sweat and iron. No muffled screams bleeding through concrete. No unnameable smell of sweat and blood and cheap perfume hanging in the air. Just his save private apartment, the bodyguard’ heavy boots shifting behind the door. This wasn’t The Cage. Lucian’s fingers dug into my hip bone hard enough to bruise. “Can’t you understand me? Take off your clothes!” He was too close. So close that my vision blurred and I was dragged back to my past life—to The Cage. To the men he’d sent in. The weight of bodies pressing me into that filthy mattress. Foul breath against my neck. Greasy hands tearing fabric from skin while the sound of his lighter flicked somewhere in the dark—click, click—the ember of his cigarette glowing like a single red eye watching from the corner of the room. I forced the memories down and sank my teeth into Lucian’s arm with everything I had. “Get off me!” The sharp pain snapped him back. His gaze dropped to my crooked collar, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before disgust swallowed it whole. “Elara Ashford, you’re revolting.” His voice dripped with contempt—the voice of a man who ordered executions without blinking. “Don’t think that sleeping with me will make me want you.” A stab of pain lanced through my chest. I thought of how I had died in my previous life. The flames eating through The Cage. The smoke filling my ruined lungs while Lucian burned beside me. I wanted nothing more than to grab the gun I knew he kept in the nightstand drawer and put a bullet between his eyes. But I couldn’t. Grandfather liked him. In this life, I wasn’t going to destroy myself for him again. I swallowed the nausea clawing up my throat. “Where’s your mistress? I’ll go get her.” Lucian froze. Even drugged out of his mind, the calculating instinct of a man who ran an empire never fully shut off. “How do you know I have a girlfriend?” “Is now really the time for that?” He stared at me for two long seconds, his eyes sharp with suspicion even through the haze of whatever was coursing through his blood. Then he gave me an address. “Thirty minutes. I want to see her.” I said nothing more. I took the armored sedan from the garage—the one with bulletproof glass and the Ashford crest discreetly etched into the door panel—and drove like a madwoman the entire way. In the rearview mirror, a black SUV tailed me for three blocks before peeling off. One of Lucian’s men, making sure the Don’s stepdaughter wasn’t running. I made it back with her in twenty. Serena Cross’s legs were trembling when she stepped out of the car. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice pitched to a delicate quiver. “Lucian, I don’t know what I did to offend her—she drove so fast the whole way, I was terrified.” Gone was the cutting edge she’d used on me in the car—the sneer, the hissed warning to *stay away from what’s mine*. And the surprise on her face when she saw Lucian’s flushed skin was perfectly measured. Not a fraction too much, not too little. “Lucian, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you to the hospital—” Before she could finish, he pulled her inside. The door slammed shut in my face. The deadbolt turned. Through the thick wood, I heard the sound of fabric tearing. My heart finally settled. My hands were still gripping the steering wheel, white‑knuckled. This time, the twisted fate between Lucian Ashford and me would go no further. —

Serena Cross was my classmate. She was on a hardship scholarship—couldn’t even afford a couple of dollars for a hot meal most days. I always lied and said I’d ordered too much food so she’d eat with me. When she said she spent the holidays alone, I brought her home to Ashford Estate. Past the iron gates. Past the guards with holstered weapons who nodded at me without expression. Even though we had Mrs. Clark (Ashford Estate housekeeper) to cook for us, Serena would wake up early every morning to help in the kitchen. In the evenings, she’d ask each person’s preferences and prepare dinner herself. I thought I’d found a lifelong friend. Until the necklace Lucian had given me vanished. I tore through the entire estate before finding it shattered on the kitchen floor. That necklace was his gift to me—one of the few things that proved the man who now commanded killers had once been capable of tenderness. I’d treasured it like nothing else. Only Serena had known where I kept it. And she was the only person I had ever told about my shameful feelings about my stepfather. When I confronted her, she knelt outside the front door in thin clothes, insisting it was an accident, saying she had nowhere else to go. I had her things thrown out anyway. She rose from the ground and limped toward the gate. And ran into Lucian at the entrance. He was coming back from whatever business of mafia handled at two in the morning—his knuckles raw, his shirt cuffs rolled to the elbow. He saw her shaking, barely able to stand, and his pity got the better of him. I was furious—but more terrified that he’d learn about my feelings and pull away from me forever. So I let her scheme succeed. I just never imagined they would become lovers. Serena started sending me photos of them together. Intimate ones. His lips on her neck. Her hand on his chest. The kind of photos that made my stomach turn. Each image a knife twisted slowly between my ribs. I tried to tell Lucian what she had done. His eyes went cold. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “People like you, who only understand arranged marriages and family alliances—you don’t know what real love is. Stay out of my business.” Things turned ugly. Lucian moved out of the Estate entirely—took a safehouse on the east side of the city. Grandfather said nothing, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes. Tonight, Grandfather had asked me to deliver documents to him. That was the only reason I’d stumbled upon his drugged state. But remembering the provocative look Serena shot me before walking through his door—that slow, victorious smile—I understood. This had all been her trap. A girl from nothing, with ties to bottom-feeder gangs, scheming her way into the most powerful crime family in Northgate City. Drugging the Don was the most direct route. In my past life, I had ruined her plan. This time, I would watch Lucian walk right into it. —

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I held my engagement invitation and went to find Nora, my friend of ten years. I pushed open her apartment door, and my eyes landed on the TV. On the screen, a video was playing of her and my fiancé, Dante, tangled together. My blood ran cold. Nora looked at me and smiled. “For the past three years, every time he said he was on a business trip, he was actually here with me.” I clutched the invitation in my hand and suddenly felt that everything I had given these past years was ridiculous. She picked up a pregnancy report from the table and waved it. “Two months. If you still want the wedding, you can be a free nanny for my baby.” The fingerprint lock beeped, and Dante walked in carrying chicken soup. Our eyes met, and his smile froze. I folded the invitation and slipped it into my pocket. From that moment on, there was no Nora and no Dante in my life. … “What were you doing here?” Dante changed out of his shoes and casually set the soup on the entry cabinet. His gaze swept over the report in Nora’s hand, then landed on my face. After a brief pause, he loosened his tie and sat beside Nora. “Since you’ve seen it, there’s no need to hide it anymore.” He looked at me. “The report is real. She’s pregnant with my child, almost two months.” The invitation in my pocket crumpled little by little in my grip. “So?” My voice was barely there. Dante frowned, clearly unhappy. “What kind of attitude was that? I hadn’t even blamed you for coming here uninvited.” He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, sounding completely justified. “You had two miscarriages. The doctor said your body was too weak now, it would be hard to get pregnant again.” “The Marchetti family needed an heir. Nora was willing to have the baby. She was helping us.” “When the child was born, it would call you Mom. You got a child for free. What was there to be upset about?” Ten years. I stayed by his side as he rose from an ignored son to the head of the family. I took bullets for him. I even lost two unborn children for him. And now he told me that cheating on me with my friend was for my own good. Nora leaned against his shoulder and gently touched her flat belly. “Aurora, I was an orphan. I always treated you like my own sister.” “In the future, the three of us would live together. My child would be your child.” She lifted her chin, her eyes full of triumph. “Didn’t you always want a family? Now it was complete.” Dante stroked her hair. “See how understanding Nora is. Not like you, always with that long face.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This was a supplementary agreement. I had a lawyer draft it.” “The wedding next month would go on as planned. You would still be Mrs. Marchetti.” “But to everyone else, Nora was my cousin. She would move into our home to rest during her pregnancy.” I stared at the document and didn’t reach for it. “Nora would live in our home as your cousin?” “Right.” Dante nodded. “I wasn’t comfortable with her living alone.” “What about after the baby was born?” I curled my lips slightly. “We would say it was your child. Nora was still young. She couldn’t be tied down by a baby.” Dante took out a pen and held it out to me. “I would give you an extra ten thousand dollars every month, just to take care of Nora and the baby.” “Aurora, don’t be greedy. I gave you the best life money could buy. What were you not satisfied with?” He looked into my eyes, sincere in a way that felt terrifying. He truly believed he had done nothing wrong. In his eyes, I was nothing more than someone without her own income, someone who couldn’t leave him. As long as he gave me a little, I should be grateful. Nora picked up the pen and pressed it into my hand. “Sign it, Aurora. If you didn’t, these ten years of your youth meant nothing.” “You didn’t even have a job. Without Dante, how would you live?” The pen dug into my fingers. I watched them echo each other, and suddenly this whole scene felt ridiculous. Ten years of youth, in exchange for an agreement that turned me into a free nanny for his mistress. I put the pen back on the table. “I didn’t sign.” Dante’s face darkened. “Aurora, don’t push your luck. I always felt guilty about the two children you lost.” “Take this child as compensation. What else were you making a fuss about?” He stood and looked down at me. “I gave you one last chance. Sign it.” I stood, took the invitation from my pocket, and threw it into the trash. “I would think about it.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Dante sat back down and handed the chicken soup to Nora. “I knew you would come around. Tomorrow, go pick a diamond ring.” “Nora liked pink diamonds. Pick one for her too.”

That night, I went back to the home I shared with Dante. I entered the password, and the lock gave an error beep. I froze, then entered it again. “Incorrect password.” The mechanical female voice echoed through the hallway. I stood outside the door, looking at the place I had walked in and out of for five years, and suddenly it felt completely unfamiliar. Two hours later, the elevator doors opened. Dante walked out, supporting Nora. When he saw me standing at the door, he frowned. “Why aren’t you going in? What are you doing out here?” I looked at him.“The password doesn’t work.” Dante slapped his forehead.“Nora said the old numbers weren’t lucky, not good for the baby, so I changed it.” He walked up and entered Nora’s birthday. The door opened. I followed them inside. My slippers were gone from the entryway. In their place was a pair of anti-slip maternity slippers. “Your slippers were too hard. I was afraid Nora might slip, so I had the maid throw them out,”Dante said casually, helping Nora toward the master bedroom. I walked to the bedroom door and froze completely. All my skincare products had been swept into the trash on the vanity. The closet doors were wide open, half of my clothes gone, replaced with Nora’s maternity wear. “Dante, what is this supposed to mean?” I pointed at the empty closet. Dante was pouring water for Nora and didn’t even look back. “Nora is pregnant. She can’t stand your perfume.” “I had the maid move your things to the guest room. You sleep there for the next few months.” Nora leaned against the headboard, touching her belly as she sighed. “Aurora, you’re not mad at me, are you? The doctor said my pregnancy is unstable. I need rest.” “The master bedroom has better light. It’s good for the baby. You’ve always been so good to me, you’ll give it to me, right?” I looked at her fake face and felt no urge to argue. The next morning, I sat at the dining table, drinking coffee. Dante walked out of the bedroom with his phone in hand. Right in front of me, he turned on speaker. “Hello, Viktor.” “Change the bride’s name on the welcome sign. Replace it with Nora.” My hand holding the spoon froze. There was a pause on the other end. “Boss, then Miss Aurora…” Dante pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at me. “Aurora? She’ll be the bridesmaid.” He hung up and took a sip of his coffee. “Nora said she’s dreamed of wearing a wedding dress since she was a child. She’s pregnant now, her emotions can’t be affected.” “We’ve been together this long anyway. The wedding is just a formality. Let her have the bride’s place. Think of it as fulfilling her dream.” His tone was calm, like he was talking about something trivial. Nora walked out of the bedroom wearing my pajamas and wrapped her arms around Dante’s neck.“Dante, you’re so good to me.” She turned to look at me, smiling innocently.“Aurora, will you be my bridesmaid? I want you to witness my happiness with your own eyes.” Dante tapped the table, urging me.“Nora is talking to you. Don’t be so petty. It’s just a wedding dress.” I lowered my head and looked at the coffee in my cup. Ten years of devotion couldn’t compare to a single sentence from her. Even the place of the bride was taken from me. I put down the cup and took a napkin to wipe my lips.“Okay.” Dante smiled in satisfaction.“That’s more like it. A family should live in harmony.”

“Tonight is the gathering of the five families. Dress simple. Don’t steal Nora’s spotlight.” On the sofa was the cheap old dress he had thrown at me. Behind him stood Nora, dressed in a custom maternity gown, wearing my pink diamond necklace. “Dante, do I look good in this?”Nora lifted her skirt and spun around. Dante walked over and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You look beautiful. You’ll be the most stunning woman there tonight.” He turned to me, frowning slightly. “What are you standing there for? Go change. Don’t waste time.” I picked up the gray dress and walked into the guest room. When I came out, Dante had already left with Nora. I could only take a taxi to the hotel by myself. I pushed open the banquet hall doors and saw Dante holding a glass of wine, chatting and laughing with several family heads. Nora clung to his arm, soft and dependent. I walked over, about to stand behind Dante. “Mr. Marchetti, who is this?” One of the family heads pointed at Nora. Dante raised his glass, smiling brightly. “Let me introduce you. This is my fiancée, Nora.” Flattering voices rose around them. “Miss Nora is truly stunning. A perfect match for Mr. Marchetti.” Another family head recognized me.“Wait, then who is the lady behind?” The hall fell silent for a moment. Every gaze on me carried curiosity and mockery. Dante paused, not even turning his head.“Her? She’s my sister.” Ten years by his side, and I had become his sister. He did not even bother to give me a decent explanation. With one sentence, he erased everything about me. I stood in the corner, watching Nora receive everyone’s blessings. Midway through the banquet, Nora walked toward me with a glass of red wine.“Oh!” She suddenly slipped, and half the glass spilled onto my gray dress. The red liquid dripped down the fabric, leaving me a mess. “Aurora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Nora covered her mouth, pretending to panic. Dante rushed over, shoved me aside, and pulled Nora into his arms. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your stomach?” He turned and glared at me, his voice sharp. “Why were you standing so close? You know she’s pregnant, and you still got near her!” “Go to the restroom and deal with that. Stop embarrassing yourself here.” I said nothing and turned toward the restroom. After the banquet, we waited for the driver in the parking lot. Nora suddenly cried out. “Ouch, Dante. I twisted my ankle. It hurts.” Without hesitation, Dante crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” Nora climbed onto his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Over his shoulder, she looked at me walking behind them. Her lips moved silently. “You spent ten years with him, and it’s still not worth my three months.” I stopped, staring at their overlapping shadows. Dante turned back, impatience clear on his face.“Aurora, can you walk faster? The car keys are in your bag. Stop dragging your feet.” I stood there and didn’t move.“Give them to me!” His voice rose. I unzipped my bag, took out the keys, and threw them onto the ground with a sharp clatter. Dante froze. I didn’t look at him. I turned and walked to the roadside, stopping a taxi. When I got home, I opened my phone. There were more than three thousand photos in my gallery, all of them from my past with Dante. I selected them and deleted them, one by one, until nothing was left. I erased his number from my contacts as well. The last message popped up. It was from Dante. “Remember to try on the bridesmaid dress tomorrow. Nora wants pink.” I didn’t reply. In the corner of the living room, three packed suitcases stood quietly against the wall.

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At the graduation ceremony, I exposed my husband’s affair with a female student in front of everyone. Unable to bear the humiliation, she threw herself from the eighteenth floor to prove her innocence. I became the one they blamed for her death. The guilt broke me — severe depression. I climbed to the rooftop more times than I could count, ready to pay with my life. Every single time, it was Liam who pulled me back — arms locked around me, voice low and steady against my ear. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll stay with you. Always.” Even as the world turned against me, he stood in front of me and took the blows. “Ava is my wife. Whatever she carries, I carry too.” Slowly, I began to wonder if I’d been wrong about the two of them from the start. Then Stella’s letter arrived. I shattered completely. [Ava, I’m sorry. Liam and I lied to you.] [We staged the whole thing — provoked you into a scene, then faked my death to disappear. Ten months later, I gave birth to his child.] [We had to protect the baby. We had to protect my reputation. You were the only option. I’m sorry it had to be you.] That night, my hands shook as I reached for the sleeping pills. I was crying as I forced them down my throat, handful after handful. Liam jolted awake. He lunged across the bed and pried my jaw open, fingers digging deep. “Spit it out — Ava, spit it out right now!” The pills came up in a mess of saliva. He held me so tight I couldn’t breathe, his tears hitting the back of my hand one after another. “Don’t leave me. Please.” I said nothing. My eyes dropped to his neck. There was a mark there — vivid, unmistakable. He followed my gaze and went pale. His hand flew up to cover it, yanking his collar higher. By morning, I stood in front of the mirror. The person looking back at me was hollowed out — skin and bone, dull eyes, hair tangled like weeds. For over six months I’d been folded into the dark corners of this apartment, not living so much as enduring. Outside the door, reporters waited with their cameras like hunters at a blind. “Stella was young and brilliant. You’re weak and pathetic — can’t even have children. What else do you have besides jealousy?” “You drove a rising star to her death with your dirty tricks. You’re a monster.” “Professor Harmon must have the worst luck alive, ending up with someone like you.” Even taking out the trash earned me eggs and gravel from god knows where, hurled with gleeful hatred. Only Liam never wavered. He fed me my medication without complaint. He taught himself to cook, badly at first. He held my hand through every nightmare, all night long. I had believed he was my salvation. My cure. Now the cold words from Stella’s letter crashed back into me. [Don’t blame Liam, Ava. He’s been suffering too — I’m the only one who brings him any comfort.] [Just hold on a little longer. Once the dust settles, I’ll tell everyone the truth. That you never pushed me.] I put on a mask and a cap and quietly followed Liam to a hidden apartment on the outskirts of Chicago. The sunlight hit my eyes like a slap — I’d forgotten what it felt like. The door eased open. He slipped inside with the easy familiarity of someone returning home, his face soft in a way I hadn’t seen in months. But I still saw her. Stella Knox, holding a baby almost a year old, laughing like she owned the world. Everything in the letter was true. My legs nearly gave out. I pressed my palm flat against the wall, my other hand balling into a fist. Before I turned eighteen, my body was whole. Then I went looking for Liam — he’d been taken. I found him, but a rusted blade caught me across the lower abdomen during the struggle. We had no money. All we could afford was the cheapest antibiotics from a back-alley clinic. I crouched on that filthy bathroom floor and tried to hold myself together while everything fell apart inside me. By the time a real doctor found me, I was already delirious with pain. When I came to, I was told the damage was permanent. My uterus — destroyed beyond repair. I would never carry a child. Liam held me and wept until he couldn’t speak. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry, Ava. I will fix this. I swear I will fix this.” He meant it. He went into medicine because of me, pushed himself until he became the youngest professor his department had ever seen. He swore he would find a way. But then, at the top of his field, he met Stella — another prodigy in medicine. He told me he was away at a conference. He was gone for ten months. And when he came back, she had his child. He had let me rot under the weight of a lie while building a life with someone else. A laugh tore out of me — low, broken, unhinged. My whole body shook with it. Tears and snot streaked down my face. I must have looked insane. It was dark by the time I turned and walked home. Liam still hadn’t come out. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and went straight to his study. I found the experimental vials in the back of the cabinet. For nearly a decade, Liam had claimed he was researching a therapy to restore my reproductive system. Every trial had failed. Every subject who took it died of cardiac arrest. I uncapped one without hesitating and swallowed it.

The glass vial slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. A searing heat tore through my throat. I felt none of it. I stepped over the broken glass in bare feet and walked out into the pouring rain. I don’t know how I ended up outside Stella’s building, but I did. My phone buzzed. I lit up the screen. [Ava, I’m working late tonight. Remember to take your meds.] But Liam’s car was parked right in front of me. I didn’t reply. I stood in the rain until almost dawn, barely conscious. The door finally opened. The two of them were tangled together like they couldn’t stand to separate. Stella pressed her lips to his temple. “I don’t want you to go. Can’t you stay a little longer?” Liam held her close, his voice gentle in a way that turned my stomach. “I’ll be back in a few days. I promise.” Something in me broke. I ran at them. Before I could get within reach, I was shoved hard to the ground. Liam looked down and saw me. His pupils contracted. “Ava — how did you—” I was shaking so badly I could barely point. “She’s supposed to be dead.” He went rigid. Then his expression tightened. “Is that what you wanted? To actually watch her die? This is where she’s been staying with the baby. Stop making a scene — we’ll talk at home.” He reached for my arm. Stella dropped to her knees behind him, eyes red. “Liam, I’m the one who told her the truth. I couldn’t stand watching you suffer because of me. This is all my fault. I don’t need any claim on you. Riley can take a different name — or I’ll go back up to the eighteenth floor right now if that’s what it takes—” Liam’s face drained. He turned and caught her, holding her like she was made of glass. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” Then he looked back at me, and something in him went cold. “Ava. Are you done?” “I’ve spent six months walking on eggshells for you because of your depression. I’ve barely seen Stella at all. And you still can’t let it go.” The pain in my chest had nothing to do with the vial. I scrambled up and lunged forward. “You don’t have a heart — neither of you do!” He shoved me back down, harder this time. “At least I have a heart to give. You were so obsessed at eighteen that you got yourself gutted in an alley. You’re broken, Ava. You’ve always been broken.” He saw my face go white. Something flickered behind his eyes. His mouth opened. But what came out was: “How dare you call us heartless. I just wanted a child. What did I do wrong?” “Stop using your depression as a weapon. Stop threatening to die every time you don’t get your way. Stella will clear your name.” ‘You’re getting a child out of this — Riley will be yours to raise. You’re still my wife. What more do you want?” Tears fell from my face and hit the wet pavement. I turned and ran. That’s when Liam finally looked down. My feet were bare and shredded. A trail of blood marked every step I’d taken. He caught up and grabbed me, steadying me whether I wanted it or not, ignoring Stella calling his name behind us. I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten. “Whatever else happens, we’re getting those feet cleaned up.” The car was silent the whole way. At a red light, he took my hand. His voice dropped. “Ten years, Ava. You are the one I love. I know I broke your trust and I know that’s not a small thing. But in a few months, Riley will come live with us. I’ll cut things off with Stella completely. We can start over.” Riley. His child with her. I stared at my lap and said nothing. His phone rang. Stella’s voice, breathless and scared. “Liam, the baby won’t stop crying. She’s burning up. I don’t know what to do—” He hit the brakes so hard my head cracked against the window. He turned to look at me, and his tone left no room for argument. “You’re not far from home. Get yourself inside. And don’t breathe a word about Stella being alive to anyone.” I met his eyes. “And if I do?” His patience ran out in an instant. His voice went flat. “Don’t forget. Your mother is still in the hospital.”

I laughed — a hollow, gutted sound — and stepped out of the car. I’d almost forgotten. After Stella’s faked death, her father had shown up at our door with a canister of acid. My mother pushed me out of the way. It took him instead. She’d been in the hospital ever since. In the rearview mirror, Liam caught one last glimpse of my silhouette — gaunt, soaked through — and felt something snag in his chest. Then Riley’s crying pulled him back, and he drove away. I watched the taillights dissolve into the rain. Something ran into my eye. Hot. Then the sting hit. I pressed my fingers to my face. They came back red. Before I could process it, the compound in the vial detonated through my bloodstream. The world tilted. Then it went sideways entirely. I hit the ground and dragged myself to the nearest wall, fingers scrabbling at the wet concrete. My heart felt like it was being wrung apart. It was a long time before Liam called. His Porsche split the rain and lurched to a stop in front of me. He pulled me up, and when he saw my forehead — still bleeding — his expression shifted. “We need to get that cleaned. I’m taking you in.” He drove fast. The hospital was lit and white and loud. Once my wounds were dressed, he led me by the hand down a corridor and stopped outside a set of surgical doors. He held out a consent form. I stared at it. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice came out rough. “Stella went into acute kidney failure. Riley can’t lose her right now. We can’t wait.” “Riley is going to call you Mom someday. You owe Stella this. One kidney isn’t a death sentence — think of it as making things right.” So this was why he’d come back for me. I didn’t move. He frowned. “The dressing already cost us time. If something happens to Stella, your mother’s treatment—” I cut him off quietly. “Fine.” “But you cover every cent of my mother’s ongoing care. All of it. Up front.” I turned and pushed through the surgical doors before he could respond. He stood watching my narrow frame disappear inside a gown three sizes too large. Something twisted in his stomach. From the adjacent table, Stella coughed — weak, deliberate. He was at her side in an instant, hand over hers. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.” The anesthesia needle went into my arm. That’s when I heard the surgeon hesitate. “Mr. Mercer — her vitals are very poor. There are signs of cardiac distress. Forcing a donation right now could trigger acute shock. Honestly, Stella’s condition isn’t yet critical enough to—” Liam laughed, short and sharp. “Did Ava put you up to this? Her health has always been fine. I’m a doctor — don’t tell me about cardiac distress. Your job is to make sure Stella comes out of this intact. Everything else is secondary.” The dull, grinding pull of extraction began. He crossed to my side only once, leaning in close. “Almost done, Ava. Just a little longer.” I didn’t have the strength to form an answer. When consciousness finally left me, the last things I heard were the flat scream of the cardiac monitor, shoes running on linoleum, and Liam’s voice — sudden, frantic, stripped of everything controlled. Three days later, I opened my eyes. Two nurses were murmuring just outside the curtain. “That woman in the next bay is so lucky — her husband is there every night. Changes her dressings himself, sleeps in the chair.” “And he’s gorgeous on top of everything. Some people really do have it all.” “Then there’s this one. Lost a kidney, nearly died, and not a single visitor.” I pressed my nails into my palm until it hurt. The door opened. Liam walked in carrying a thermos. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Is anything hurting?” He ladled soup and lifted the spoon to my mouth with practiced ease. I turned my head away. His hand stalled. Irritation surfaced behind his eyes. He set the bowl down on the nightstand with a crack. “What is your problem? I went through all this trouble and you can’t even—” “I lied to you once. Once. And I was trying to give you a family — something you could never give yourself. Can you not be reasonable about this for five minutes?” I thought about what the nurses had said. “I heard you’ve been making Stella bone broth every day. Your choice of cut, her choice of what she’s in the mood for.” I looked at him steadily. “The fat’s already congealed on top. This is what’s left over. I don’t eat other people’s leftovers, Liam.” His face went rigid. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. What came out was: “You’re being completely irrational.” “I’ll come back tomorrow.” The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. Tomorrow didn’t come. Neither did the day after, or the one after that. My body grew weaker by the hour. Then a call came in. When I heard what they said, the world went silent. I threw off the blankets and ran — down the corridor, through the double doors at the end, into the room I never wanted to see. My mother was lying there. Cold. Still. Her fingers still curled around a letter she hadn’t finished writing.

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I am the vicious Duchess everyone whispers about. Arthur brought back a blood slave from the border named Lilith. She’s been lavished with his affection. Yet tonight, she suddenly collapsed. Arthur cradled her corpse as his claws pressed against my throat. “You poisoned Lilith! I’ll make your entire bloodline pay!” Suddenly, I heard her demon whispering to Lilith. [Demon: Perfect. The fool thinks you’re dead.] [Demon: The Draught wears off in two hours. Teleport out from the crypts. Return with a new face and replace that bitch as his true Duchess.] Oh? Fake death? Planning to return and humiliate me? I wiped the blood from my neck and threw myself onto her “corpse” with a sob. “Poor girl! She died from a blood curse! Her soul will mutate! Seal her in the Obsidian Coffin! Pour mercury down her throat! Perform the rites and release her soul!” The whispers panicked: [Demon: What?! This bitch is actually purifying you?!] …… The guards approached with a bucket of steaming mercury. Arthur’s wings exploded from his back. His blade flashed. The guard screamed, his arm severed. Mercury splashed across the floor, burning it black. “No one touches Lilith!” He stood before her corpse, sword dripping blood. I stepped forward to meet his gaze. “My lord Duke, this is ancestral law! Blood curse victims carry the heaviest corruption.” “Without mercury sealing and the Obsidian Coffin, she’ll rise as a ghoul on the seventh night and slaughter this entire castle!” I pointed at the ancestral portraits lining the walls. “Would you disgrace a thousand years of House Crimson for a blood slave?” Arthur’s knuckles whitened on his sword. “Chloe Nightshade, spare me your superstitions! You just want to desecrate her!” I smiled coldly. Desecrate? No. Obliterate. More whispers: [Demon: Stay calm. Your consciousness is waking early.] [Demon: Half an hourglass more. I’ll activate the teleportation circle.] [Demon: She won’t really pour mercury. The Duke will stop her.] Half an hourglass? Dream on. I drew the Blood Covenant Token and raised it high. “The Elder Council’s Supreme Decree! The blood slave Lilith entered this House through binding ritual. Her life and death are subject to our laws!” “Crypt Keepers! The coffin! Drive the stakes in!” Eighteen hooded priests stepped forward with ash-wood stakes covered in runes. Arthur froze at “Elder Council’s Supreme Decree.” In that heartbeat, the priests lifted her into the black obsidian coffin. “Close the lid!” CRASH! “Drive the stakes!” “CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!” Ash-wood stakes pierced through the coffin. Wood splintered. Flesh tore. The whispers screamed: [Demon: The stakes pierced your shoulders!] [Demon: Don’t move yet! The potion is still active!] [Demon: Where is that fool Duke?!] I smiled. Pierced? Perfect. Arthur lunged forward. “STOP!” I blocked his way. “If you open this coffin, you defy the Elder Council! You’d sacrifice House Crimson’s thousand-year legacy for this whore!” “Kill me first. Step over my corpse!” His claws pressed my throat. Blood trickled down. “Chloe Nightshade, if her body is harmed, your entire bloodline dies!” I didn’t flinch. “Continue! Pour the molten lead! Seal it!” Guards poured liquefied lead along the seams. Sizzzzz… Sealed completely. Then, from inside, a faint groan. “Mmph…” Arthur’s face changed. He spun around. “What was that?! Lilith isn’t dead?!”

The sound echoed through the hall. Arthur’s sword clattered down. He threw himself at the coffin, pounding the lid. “Lilith! Is that you?!” Whispers flooded in: [Demon: Stay calm! You’re still a fledgling. Your body hasn’t fully transformed yet. You still need air!] [Demon: Cratch the lid! Make him hear you before you suffocate!] [Demon: The lead is blocking my magic!] I glanced at the musicians. “Play! Send her to eternal rest!” “BLAAARE!” Trumpets drowned out everything. Arthur roared at me. “STOP! I heard her voice! She’s alive!” He clawed at the lead seams. His fingers began to smoke. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “You’ve gone mad! That’s a ghoul turning! If you open it, it’ll drain your blood!” “GET OFF!” He shoved me back hard. I held on, screaming to the nobles. “Bear witness! The Duke is bewitched! He wants to unleash a ghoul!” “If it harms you, I accept death!” The guests went pale at the pounding inside. “Madness! The dead can’t return! It’s transforming!” “Arthur! Cremate it now!” “Suppress it before it breaks free!” Opinion turned against him. Arthur’s eyes blazed. He channeled power into his palm and struck the lid. “CRASH!” A crack appeared in the lead seal. The scratching became violent pounding. Time for my killing move. “The corpse is turning! It will claim our souls! Dead Man’s Blood! Suppress the ghoul now!” Buckets of rotting blood were brought forward. “Pour!” SPLASH! The foul blood flooded the coffin, seeping through the crack. Whispers shrieked: [Demon: It burns! ] [Demon: Damn this bitch! I’m invoking emergency power! Burning part of your lifespan to fuel a strength curse! You need to break out NOW before you suffocate!] The pounding became frantic. Arthur stared at the blood-drenched coffin, lips trembling. He spun and kicked my stomach. “WHAM!” I flew back, hit the pillar, spat blood. He grabbed my collar, lifting me. “Chloe Nightshade, you’re dead!” I swallowed blood and smiled. “My lord… I’m saving you… This abomination will destroy House Crimson…” “Noble. Righteous.” His grip tightened on my throat. My vision darkened. “Since you love purging evil, meet the Devil first!”

Choking, vision fading, I clawed his wrist. “Burn… it…” I forced the words out to the guards. “Light the pyre! Cremate it!” Torches hit the oil-soaked kindling. WHOOSH! Flames consumed the coffin. Whispers screamed: [Demon: The obsidian’s heating up! Your skin is blistering!] [Demon:I’m channeling my power into you!Let the power EXPLODE and shatter this coffin from the inside!] My heart seized. “BOOOOM!” The lid blasted skyward, smashed through the altar. Through black smoke, a blood-soaked figure sat upright in the shattered coffin. Dead Man’s Blood covered her face. Fingernails ripped off. Two bloody holes in her shoulders from the stakes. “AHHH! THE CORPSE MOVED!” “GHOUL!” Nobles screamed and fled. Arthur stumbled back from the shockwave. Lilith sat in the ruins, glaring at me with hatred. Then instantly shifted to tears, reaching for Arthur. “My lord Duke… save me… Lady Chloe tried to burn me alive… it hurts…” Hoarse voice. Arthur froze, then charged into the flames. “Lilith! I’m here!” He shielded her, his back burning. Carried the blood-soaked woman out. Whispers turned gleeful: [Demon: Perfect. Now play the helpless victim.] [Demon: Make him so enraged that he’ll slaughter that bitch and her entire bloodline for you.She’s finished.] Arthur set her down gently. Lilith trembled in his arms, pointing at me weakly. “My lord… Lady Chloe called me an abomination… poured Dead Man’s Blood on me… drove stakes through my shoulders…” “I only fainted from shock. Why torture me…” Arthur looked at her, then at me. His eyes held murder. “SEIZE HER!” His servants surrounded me where I lay wounded. Arthur handed Lilith to the healers, picked up his sword, walked toward me. “Chloe Nightshade, you witch! Lilith was in a death-like state from the blood curse, yet you tortured her and tried to burn her alive!” “Today, I’ll tear you apart!” I clutched my bleeding stomach, pulled myself upright against the pillar. “The healers examined her! No blood flow!” “You’re so bewitched you can’t recognize True Death?!” Lilith reclined weakly as healers tended her. A cold smirk played on her mouth, voice still fragile. “Lady Chloe… I know you resent me for taking the Duke’s affection…” “But my late father left me maps of the Empire’s magical defenses…” “Is House Nightshade killing me for those maps?” One sentence. Domestic dispute became political treason. Arthur stopped. Murder intensified in his eyes. “So that’s it… Clever House Nightshade. Cunning Chloe Nightshade!”

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When he came to, Grandfather told him we shared no blood—and ordered him to marry me. Lucian wasn’t having it. He said an arranged marriage would kill any chance at real love. So he got blackout drunk and stumbled onto the train tracks. Saving him cost me both my legs. He still showed up to our wedding—red-eyed, jaw locked, hating every second of it. And on our wedding night, he threw me into an underground club. They tied me to a bed. He sat in the corner and watched. Smoking. Smiling. Like he was at a goddamn show. After more nights than I could count, I got hold of a lighter and set the curtains on fire. The whole place went up. He burned with me. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back—back on the night someone drugged him. Fine, my stepfather. This time you can have your great love. I won’t be the one paying for it. …… A hand clamped around my waist, hard enough to bruise. My eyes flew open and met Lucian Ashford’s bloodshot stare. There was raw hunger churning in those eyes—dark, unhinged, barely leashed. I jerked my head sideways, scanning the room. No leather restraints. No bed bolted to the floor. No stench of bleach and other people’s sweat clinging to the walls. Just my apartment. Just him. His grip tightened. “Strip. Now.” He was too close. The heat of him bled straight through my dress, and his breath rasped against my throat. My vision blurred. And just like that, I wasn’t here anymore. I was back under those men—too many of them, foul mouths on my neck, fingers tearing my clothes off in pieces. I shoved the memory down and bit into Lucian’s arm hard enough to taste blood. “Get the hell off me!” The pain snapped him out of it. His eyes dropped to my torn collar, and something flickered there—something I couldn’t name—before disgust wiped it clean. “Elara Ashford, you’re disgusting.” His voice came out flat and lethal. “Don’t flatter yourself. Spreading your legs won’t make me love you.” Something twisted in my chest, sharp and deep. I remembered the way I’d died. And for one ugly second, all I wanted was a knife from the kitchen, to end him right there. But I couldn’t. Grandfather loved him. And I wasn’t going to burn for this man twice. I swallowed the bile crawling up my throat. “Where’s your girlfriend? I’ll go get her.” Lucian went still. “How do you know I have a girlfriend?” “Is this really the time?” He stared at me for two long seconds, eyes sharp with suspicion. Then he rattled off an address. “Thirty minutes. Get her here.” I didn’t waste another word. I floored it the whole way and made it back with her in twenty. In the car, Serena Cross had been a different person—sharp-tongued, smug, daring me to say a single word about her and Lucian. The moment she stepped out of the car, all of that vanished. Her legs were shaking. Her eyes went red on cue, her voice trembling at exactly the right pitch. “Lucian—I don’t know what I did to upset her. She drove so fast the whole way. I was terrified.” The shock on her face when she saw Lucian’s flushed skin was a masterclass. Not a beat too much, not a beat too little. “Lucian, are you okay? You don’t look well. Let me take you to the hospital—” He pulled her inside before she could finish. I stood there as the door slammed shut in my face. And let myself remember everything. Serena had been my classmate—on a hardship scholarship, couldn’t afford a hot meal most days. I used to lie about ordering too much food just so she’d eat with me. When she said she spent the holidays alone, I brought her home with me. We had a butler. Mrs. Clark cooked for us. But Serena got up at dawn every morning to help in the kitchen, asking everyone’s preferences and making dinner herself. I thought I’d found a friend for life. Until the necklace Lucian gave me went missing. I tore the house apart looking for it, and found it shattered on the kitchen floor. Only Serena knew where I kept it. And only she knew what it meant to me—because she was the only person I’d ever told about the way I felt for him. When I confronted her, she dropped to her knees outside the front gate in thin clothes, trembling, swearing it was an accident, saying she had nowhere else to go. I had her things thrown out anyway. She rose and limped toward the gate—and ran straight into Lucian. He saw her shaking, barely able to stand, and his pity won. I was furious. But more than that, I was terrified. Terrified he’d find out how I felt about him. Terrified he’d pull away forever. So I let her play me. I just never thought they’d end up in bed. She made sure I knew. Photo after photo. Every detail. When I told Lucian what she’d done, he didn’t believe a word. “People like you—bought and traded like cattle—wouldn’t know real love if it hit you.” The fight got ugly. He moved out the same week. The only reason I’d ended up at his apartment tonight was because Grandfather asked me to drop off documents. But the look Serena gave me before she walked through his door— I understood now. She’d planned all of it. A girl from nothing. Scheming her way into a wealthy family. Drugging him was the most direct route. In my last life, I’d ruined her plan. This time, I was going to stand back and watch my stepfather walk straight into it. I stared at the closed door for a long moment. Then, slowly, my lips curved.

I left the documents on the entry table and walked away. After my parents died, I grew up in Grandfather’s house. Most of my memories were of the estate—and of Lucian. He was the one who helped me with my homework. Taught me how to carry myself. He tore up the love letters boys slipped into my bag and warned me not to fall for any of them. When I got my first period, he was eighteen. His ears went red as he bought pads for me at the drugstore. Watching the sunset catch on the flush of his face, I learned what it meant for a heart to race. Later, that racing turned into something else. And he drifted further and further away. It was past midnight when I got home. The living room light was still on. Grandfather was half-asleep on the couch. He let out a long breath when he saw me. “Another few minutes and I would have called the police.” I buried my face in his arms. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. Grandfather had always loved me most. In my last life, Lucian pushed him down the stairs because of me. After Grandfather lost the use of his legs, Lucian dumped him in the cheapest nursing home he could find. Left him there to rot. He sent me to a place just like it. “I lost my phone,” I said quietly. “I’ll get a new one tomorrow.” It took a long while to coax him back to his room. When I finally reached mine, everything looked unfamiliar—but safe. So this was how easy it was to stop loving someone. The next morning, I came downstairs to find Lucian and Serena sitting in the dining room. Grandfather sat across from them, his face dark as a storm. On the table was my favorite—seafood porridge. Serena beamed at me. “Elara, did you sleep well last night?” I noticed the red marks on her neck right away. “Fine.” She didn’t touch her food. “Serena, why aren’t you eating?” Lucian’s voice was so gentle it almost made me drop my spoon. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m allergic. It’s okay—I’ll grab something at the dining hall once we get to campus.” Lucian’s expression darkened. He told Mrs. Clark to make her something else. Grandfather slammed his chopsticks down. “Allergic? A farm girl?” Lucian’s jaw locked. “Father, everything here is what Elara likes—” “She’s my granddaughter. She eats whatever the hell she wants.” Serena scrambled to smooth it over. “Lucian, really, I can eat it. Don’t upset your father over me.” The meal ended cold. The moment Grandfather left the table, Lucian blocked my way. “Keep your mouth shut. I don’t want him knowing what happened last night. And—” He tossed my phone at me. “Try something like this again, and I’ll make sure the whole family knows what you really are.” So he thought I was the one who’d drugged him. No wonder he’d hated me so deeply in my last life. Throwing me into that club hadn’t been enough. He’d had his men feed me pills every day—asleep or awake, I was never lucid. I’d stripped off my own clothes in front of strangers. Begged them. Lost every last shred of shame. The pain ripped through my chest so hard I doubled over and crouched on the floor. My head felt like it had been split open with a hammer. “Lucian Ashford—whether you believe me or not, I had nothing to do with last night.” He just stared at me, eyes cold. “You were the only one who came to my apartment yesterday. If not you, then who?” “Unless you’re going to tell me you don’t have feelings for me?” Being humiliated like that in front of Serena—my face went up in flames. I lifted my chin. “You’re not that important to me anymore. Lucian Ashford—I feel sick for ever being attracted to you.” His face went rigid. “What did you say?” I pointed at the door and told them both to get out. “The person I cared about was the Lucian Ashford from years ago. Kind. Decent. Knew right from wrong.” I met his eyes. “Not you.” I walked past him without looking back.

I thought that was the end of it. Let him have his love story. I’d wash my hands of Lucian for good. Two or three days later, the rumors started at school. “Did you hear? Elara Ashford’s in love with her own stepfather. That’s basically incest.” “I heard she tried to drug him too. Didn’t work. He kicked her out. The Ashfords must be mortified.” “I never liked her anyway. That holier-than-thou look on her face. Take away the Ashford name, and what’s left?” I walked up behind them. “I have top grades. And a shelf full of competition trophies.” They spun around. That was when I recognized them—Serena’s roommates. I didn’t bother softening my voice. “I recorded everything you just said. Expect a letter from my lawyer. You’re right about one thing—I have the Ashford family behind me. What do you have? Your lying mouths? Or just your shamelessness?” “We’re not lying. Go check the forum. There’s a video.” I opened the site. Someone had posted security footage from outside Lucian’s apartment. You could see him through the open door, his face flushed. But the clip ended the second he shoved me out. Everything after—Serena’s arrival—had been cut. It was obvious who’d done it. Before I could find Serena, Lucian found me. He was waiting outside my classroom, his face like thunder. Mindful of the Ashford name, he didn’t go off in public. He steered me to his car instead. He threw his phone into my lap. “Delete the post. I’ll handle the rest of the gossip.” So he thought I was the one who’d posted it. I stared at him. “You’re wrong. Serena—” He cut me off. “Don’t bother lying. I traced the IP. It came from your laptop. The account was registered with your number. You own a unit in that building. Pulling the security footage would have been easy for you.” His eyes went colder. “Should I keep going?” Every excuse I could have offered was already walled off before I opened my mouth. Even knowing he felt nothing for me, being accused like this still cut. This man had taken up my entire youth. I used my phone number to recover the forum password right in front of him. Deleted the post. He let out a cold scoff, ready to say something— Then watched as I opened my messages and deleted his contact. Looking back, the chat had mostly been me, talking to myself. Lucian, the ribs at the dining hall today were good. But not as good as yours. Lucian, Grandfather wants us home for dinner. Says he wants to introduce me to someone. What do I do? His replies had been almost identical every time. Ya. I wiped him off my phone. His number. His photos. Every last trace of him. As he watched me do it, the composure drained from his face. “Elara Ashford. What do you think you’re doing?” My voice came out flat. “You think I’m annoying. You think being associated with me is humiliating. So let’s just stop all contact.” His hand shot out, catching my arm as I reached for the door handle. “Elara Ashford—I told you to delete the post. I never said I wanted to cut ties.” “Behave. Stay out of Serena’s way. And we can go back to normal.” I almost laughed. “I make things difficult for her?” Lucian frowned. “Of course. You had her kicked out of the student clubs. You reported her for cheating so she’d lose her scholarship. You’ve been making her life miserable.” “But I can fix all of that. I won’t hold it against you.” I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “Father—you’ve misunderstood.” He hadn’t heard me call him that—so solemnly, so deliberately—in a long time. It stopped him cold. “It’s me who doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.” I opened the car door. “Not at all.” The door clicked shut between us. Through the window, I watched the color drain from his face.

When I got home, I told Grandfather I’d accept the arranged marriage he had suggested before. But he didn’t look as pleased as I expected. “My girl,” he said carefully, “tell me the truth. Why the sudden change of heart?” My pulse quickened, but I kept my voice even. “I used to think I was still young. But a classmate just had a baby. I’m twenty-five. If I get engaged now, we can date for two years—and I’ll still be young enough to give you a great-grandchild before my best years are gone.” I knew exactly what he wanted to hear. My answer raised no suspicion. The next day, I met the man who controlled the Wesson Group—Caspian Wesson. They called him The Cold Man in Northgate City. Cold likes ice. Unapproachable. Never linked to a single woman. The moment I saw him, I froze. In my last life, after Lucian locked me in that club, someone had burst through the flames the night I set the place on fire. The man leading the rescue was Caspian. He’d run through the burning building without hesitation, dragging out everyone who’d been trapped like me. When he reached out his hand, I’d pushed it away. “I’m tired,” I’d said. “I don’t want to keep going.” He let me go. But the look in his eyes wasn’t cold at all. It was full of sorrow. A man that good—getting close to him was the easiest thing in the world. For the next two weeks, whenever I didn’t have class, he came to pick me up. Dinners. Movies. Shopping. Walking through the city. Every plan he made hit me in exactly the right spot. So perfectly matched to my taste it was almost suspicious. I started to wonder if he was secretly a player. How else would he know so many ways to win a woman over? Until I caught a glimpse of his browser history. Best places for a first date. Romantic movies for couples. What do women in their twenties like. I burst out laughing. His face went red. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. A long moment passed before he spoke, resigned. “Stop laughing. I just… I don’t know how to act around you.” I still couldn’t stop. “You can ask me next time.” “Can I?” “Of course. What if the internet recommends something I don’t even like? Aren’t you worried I’d be upset?” The resignation on his face faded into something serious. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” No one had ever called me sweetheart before. Not in this life. Not in the last. One month was enough. I knew he was the man I wanted to marry. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping love. But he answered every message I sent. He made me feel like I mattered. I asked him once—he was so busy. Why did he always reply to me instantly? “Nothing in my life comes before you. Nothing.” I admitted I was confused. Why did he care about me? Where did his feelings even come from? “Sweetheart. Give it time. Don’t shut me out. Let’s give each other a chance.” I said yes. The next day, I formally brought Caspian home.

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On the day of my wedding to the Lycan prince, his childhood sweetheart, Rue, his wet nurse’s daughter, killed herself with her own claw. Kane knocked over the blood covenant cup. He was silent for a long moment. Then: “Give the wet nurse some gold coins for her retirement. Bury Rue properly.” Then he went back to completing the blood covenant ritual with me, as if nothing had happened. Five years later. The night before Kane’s coronation as Lycan King. The elders examined me and declared I was barren. Would never bear children. He had his warriors drag me to the stone quarry behind the royal grounds. Made me pave a road of atonement. Said I could never return to court. That night, he pointed at Rue’s grave marker and said, “She was carrying my pup when she died. If your Stormfang tribe weren’t so powerful, why would I have married you? Rue would still be alive, and so would my child.” “You don’t deserve to have offspring. Spend the rest of your life moving stones. Atone for Rue and her pup.” Within a year, my father and brother were framed for colluding with vampires. The entire Stormfang tribe was slaughtered. I coughed up blood and died. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. The day I was marrying into the royal court. Outside, the wolves were howling at the moon. The sound of Alpha Kane kicking the wedding carriage axle snapped me fully awake. I was reborn. I clenched my fists. My heart pounded. If the Moon Goddess was giving me a second chance, I wasn’t going to waste it. The Stormfang tribe wouldn’t die in vain. I would live this time. And I would make Kane pay for every drop of blood he spilled in my past life. Kane led me into the ritual circle. Wolf-bone beads hung lightly over my face. Freya, my handmaiden, steadied my arm. As she leaned in, I whispered a few quick words. Freya’s eyes flickered. She slipped away without a sound. She was a warrior raised by the Stormfang tribe. She’d been by my side since childhood. A handmaiden in name, a bodyguard in truth. I trusted her completely. The wedding between Alpha Kane and the daughter of Stormfang, every chieftain in the northern territories had come with their mates.  It was the biggest union the North had seen in years. The daughter of Stormfang was about to become the Luna of the royal court. The ritual circle was alive with noise. The elder chanted: “In the name of the Moon Goddess, bind by blood.” Then a young servant from Rue’s room came running in, stumbling over herself. “Alpha! Rue tried to kill herself!”

Tears streaming down her face, she dropped to her knees, forehead hitting the ground. “Rue grew up with the Alpha. Please, Alpha, save her. Kane’s hand, the one intertwined with mine, went slack. Dropped away. “Why would she do something so stupid?” he muttered. “I told her I’d give her a title after the wedding.” He caught himself mid-sentence and shut his mouth. He turned to run. Nearly tripped on the ritual circle steps. Remembered, it was his wedding day. Every chieftain in the North was watching. If he left now, by tomorrow his father’s desk would be buried in letters demanding his head. So he stopped. Looked at me. “Liora, I need to check on Rue. I’ll come back and finish the blood covenant. The wedding’s set, what’s the hurry?” I widened my eyes, made my voice small and pitiful. “Alpha, this is a matter of life and death. Why don’t I come with you? A Luna should handle household affairs, after all.” Kane looked relieved. “Yes, yes, of course.” So the Alpha and his bride-to-be left the ritual circle halfway through the ceremony to visit a wet nurse’s daughter. The crowd whispered behind us. They couldn’t believe it. Inside the wooden house, Rue was wearing a Moonlight Gown. The kind a bride was supposed to wear for the blood covenant.  She’d dyed cheap burlap white herself. The stitches were crooked.  Her half-shifted claws were pressed against her own throat. Her fingertips had already broken skin. Blood trickled down her neck, dripping onto the white dress. She saw Kane walk in. Burst into tears. Threw herself at him. “Alpha, I didn’t mean to, I just want to be with you.” “I know I’m lowborn. I can never be your Luna. But I wanted, just once, to wear a Moonlight Gown and complete the blood covenant with you.” “You know I’ve wanted to be your mate since we were children.” Kane pulled her close. His face was twisted with pain. “Why are you so stupid? I told you I’d give you a title after the Luna moved in.” “Why would you do this? If anything happened to you, how could I go on? Are you trying to rip my heart out?” Rue took his hand. Placed it gently over her stomach. “Alpha, the healer came a few days ago. I’m carrying your pup. Two months. I didn’t want my child to be born lowborn. To be mocked and called bastard. That’s why I…” Kane’s face lit up. “Really? You’re carrying my pup?”

Rue threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, Alpha. We’re having a child.” They held each other. Everyone else just stared. “No way. The Alpha knocked up a wet nurse’s daughter?” “On his wedding day? And she chose today to make a scene?” “Look at them. This is bad.” “Liora must be devastated. She’s the future Luna. This is a slap in Stormfang’s face.” I let my face go pale. Let the betrothal wolf fang slip from my fingers. It hit the ground with a clatter. I staggered back into my old nurse’s arms. “Alpha Kane,” I said, my voice trembling. “I thought she was just a servant. Now you’re telling me she’s pregnant with your pup?” Kane looked at me, uncomfortable. “Liora, she’s my wet nurse’s daughter. We grew up together. She’s the woman I love.” I cut him off. “So you’re in love. You’ve been meeting in secret. And now there’s a child.” Question after question. He didn’t answer any of them. Rue scrambled off the bed. Dropped to the floor in a full submission kneel, forehead to the ground, hands spread wide, throat bared. “Luna, it’s not the Alpha’s fault. It’s mine. I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to give the Alpha a pup. He drank too much that night, he thought I was you…” Slap. My palm connected with her cheek. “How dare you,” I said coldly. “I’m the legitimate daughter of Stormfang. I was raised with discipline. I will not be slandered.” “I met the Alpha two times before the engagement. Always with elders present. Never alone. So don’t drag my name through the mud just to make yourself look less disgusting.” Rue sobbed. Shook her head. “It’s my fault, Luna. Forgive me.” Then she half-shifted and dragged her own claws down her face. Three gashes from forehead to cheekbone. Blood poured down her cheeks. Kane grabbed her arms. “Stop.” He looked at me. His voice was sharp with blame. “This isn’t Rue’s fault. She wasn’t born powerful. You were. That’s the only difference.” “Without your father’s wolves, would I want you as Luna?” “Rue tried to kill herself today because of you. She’s carrying my pup.” “Now you’re married in. Rue is my consort. I won’t leave her or my child without a title.” I laughed at him. I laughed at him. Luna? The Lycan King himself had approved this match. If it weren’t for this engagement, Kane wouldn’t even be sitting in the Alpha’s seat. I lifted my chin. “The Luna position was granted by the Lycan King himself. How you’ve behaved today, on our wedding day, insults not only Stormfang but also the King.” “If you loved Rue, why not call off the engagement? You wanted my family’s army and your lover. Did you think I’d refuse you a consort?” Then I turned to Rue. “And you. You’ve known about the pregnancy. You waited until wedding day to make a scene. Are you really not doing this on purpose?”

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