Author: Momo Chan

On the night of the Blood Moon Ritual, Clara, the pack’s sweetheart, stole the Heart of Fenrir. It should have been mine. That legendary totem held the wolf spirit said to create the strongest Alpha. In my last life, I got the Heart of Fenrir. But during a battle with vampires, Gideon, the wolf spirit bound to me, pushed me directly into their fangs. Just to protect Clara. That was when I realized. He was never truly loyal to me. When I opened my eyes again, I picked up the nameless stone Clara had dismissed and thrown aside. One of the pack elders tried to stop me. “Selena, that is just an ordinary stone. The wolf spirit inside is weak. It will only weaken you.” He had no idea. When the wolf spirit inside that stone finally showed itself… Every wolf would bow. … Just like the nightmare from my previous life, Clara reached out from behind me. Among the ancestral totems, she snatched the Heart of Fenrir. The one carved with the mark of the great wolf. The young wolves around us froze. They surrounded her and called her out. “Clara, these totems were brought back from the Forgotten Lands by Selena’s father, the former Alpha, who gave his life for them. The Heart of Fenrir should belong to Selena. You can’t just take it!” The Moonfang Pack prided itself on bloodline and strength, but the wolf spirit’s power ultimately determined a wolf’s future potential. The wolf spirits sealed inside these totems were ranked as Dormant, Awakened, Warrior, Elder, and Legendary. Werewolves shared their bonded wolf spirits’ power, so obtaining a Legendary totem was the ultimate guarantee on the path to Alpha. My father, the former Alpha, died last month in the Forgotten Lands. He was defending our pack from a vampire lord. He sent these totems back before he fell. The Alpha Elder wanted me to inherit the strongest totem. That was his promise to my father. But Clara stole it from me first. Facing everyone’s anger, Clara looked at the Alpha Elder with tears in her eyes. “Elder… I want to become stronger and serve the pack too. Selena grew up here. She knows these things far better than I ever could. I’m sure she’ll find a wolf spirit that suits her even better…”

The Alpha Elder frowned, but he still tried to keep his voice calm. “Clara, powerful wolf spirits are rare. We may not see another one like this for a hundred years.” “And you’re new in our pack. Your bloodline power is not yet stable… A Legendary wolf spirit is not something you can control.” “Give it back to Selena.” Clara bit her lip, hesitating. Then she held the totem and dropped to her knees. “Elder, Selena was born with unstable wolf blood. Can’t shift properly. Giving the Heart of Fenrir to her would be a waste.” “The most powerful wolf spirit deserves a better master…” My wolf blood? I almost laughed. The pack had pitied me for years. But no one had said it to my face. “Enough!” The elder finally snapped. “Selena’s father gave his life to bring these totems back. How dare you touch them before Selena?!” Tears filled Clara’s eyes. She clutched the Heart of Fenrir. Suddenly, she sliced open her palm, letting her blood drip onto the totem. A gust of wind swept through. Clouds swallowed the moonlight. A tall, powerful man appeared out of thin air. He looked proud. Cold. Untouchable. He glanced at me with disdain, then spoke. “As a Legendary wolf spirit, I have the right to choose my own master.” “And I choose Clara.” An unbound wolf spirit only obeyed the person who brought it back. But my father was dead. So no one could command him. A Legendary wolf spirit was too rare to risk. Forcing the ritual to stop could damage his spirit core. Everyone fell silent, faces darkened.

Gideon looked around at everyone. Then he spoke again. “If you don’t let Clara be my master, I’ll destroy my spirit core. And no one can ever bond with me!” The elder saw how stubborn he was. Looked at me. Torn. I gave him a smile. Then picked up the last stone totem. A Dormant totem forgotten in the corner. “Thank you, Elder. But my bloodline has never been stable. Since nobody wants this one, I’ll take it. At least I’ll have some company.” The elder looked at me like he wanted to shake some sense into me. “Selena, you silly girl. You… ah…” A few of my friends tried to talk me out of it. “Selena, you carry the former Alpha’s blood. How can you choose a Dormant wolf spirit?” “This was brought back by the Alpha. He died for these totems. The best one should go to you.” … I shook my head. “I can’t even shift properly. Even if I had a powerful wolf spirit, I couldn’t control it. Clara wants him that badly. Who am I to stand in her way?” Someone whispered. “Clara only joined our pack a few years ago. She’s pretty and talented, sure. But arrogant as hell. Why would Gideon choose her?” I watched Gideon and Clara leave together. Their figures side by side until they disappeared from sight. And I knew. Gideon had chosen Clara from the very beginning.

My name is Selena. My mother was the Moon Priestess of our pack. Her bloodline was pure. Pure enough to calm even the most violent wolf spirits. My father was the strongest Alpha our pack had ever known. Never lost a fight. And then there was me. Born with unstable wolf blood. Every time I tried to shift, I failed. Sometimes, it almost killed me. My mother loved me more than anything. She said I didn’t have to become some great warrior. A quiet life, far away from war, could be a good life. My father agreed. “Selena, remember this. Stay alive. That matters more than anything.” So he taught me Shadow Step. The footwork that made him famous. He wanted me to have at least one way to protect myself. They did not need me to become strong. They just wanted me to survive. As the leaders of our pack, protecting our people was their duty. They spent most of their lives at the borders. Fighting vampires, and dark creatures that tried to cross into our land. My mother vanished on a mission. Her fate unknown. And now, my father had died in a fight too. After his death, the pack treated me kindly. I knew they were doing it for my parents. It was the same in my last life.

In my last life, with the elders backing me, I chose Gideon. I hoped he could help with my unstable wolf blood, and make me a real werewolf warrior. Strong enough to protect myself, and avenge my parents. But Gideon looked down on me. He liked Clara. Pretty, lively, perfect Clara. To me, having a powerful wolf spirit meant I might have a chance at revenge. And Gideon was Legendary. One day, he could even become Mythic. So I couldn’t let him go. I put all my hope in him. The moment Clara touched the Heart of Fenrir, I shoved her away. Then I held the totem tight. Clara was heartbroken. She stormed off and took the nameless stone no one wanted. After I got Gideon, I gave him everything. I wanted him to grow stronger as fast as possible. A Legendary wolf spirit needed a lot to survive. He wouldn’t touch ordinary moon essence. He wanted rare herbs. And the blood and flesh of powerful beasts. So I fed him the rare herbs my father had left for me. But herbs run out. So does money. I had no real skills. I had to go into the Darkwood. A place full of danger. I gathered herbs there and traded them for more resources. The Elder running the herb garden saw me risking my life every day, only to give everything to Gideon. He started to worry. “Selena, I know a Legendary wolf spirit is powerful. But you’re giving him too much.” “You need to take care of yourself too. If the master is too weak, the wolf spirit won’t respect them.” I smiled and nodded, still willing to take the risk and return to the Darkwood.

The Darkwood was full of thorns. Every time I went in, I came back covered in cuts. Healing potions were expensive. So I never used them on myself. I just let the wounds heal on their own. Gideon wore the enchanted leather armor I bought him. He looked at my patched-up clothes with pure disgust. “Dull, weak, and pathetic. How could someone like you ever be worthy of me?” But the rare resources I brought back? He took every single one. “Giving them to you would be a waste. Only a wolf spirit like me—one that can truly evolve—deserves them.” I didn’t care what he said. As long as he grew stronger, I could use his power to stabilize my wolf blood. That was all I wanted. Three years passed like that. I searched through every old pack record. At last, I found out. Gideon was close to ascending. From Legendary to Mythic. I was so excited that I hunted for ten straight days. Finally, I found a rare two-headed chimera. I gave it my all, breaking my left arm in the process. With my packmates’ help, I finally took its heart. Still bleeding, barely feeling my wounds, I rushed back to Gideon—eager, almost giddy with excitement. But then I heard his voice coming from inside my cabin. “That useless Selena? She could never fight beside me!” “You’re the only one who can.” I froze. Through the narrow crack in the window, I saw him holding Clara’s hand— his gaze burning with a fierce tenderness.

I never wanted Gideon to overwork himself. So I always hunted by myself. The second I walked in, Clara let go of Gideon’s hand. Before I could even say a word, tears were already filling her eyes. “Selena, I know I shouldn’t have trained with Gideon behind your back. But my wolf spirit is weak, and Gideon is so powerful… I just couldn’t help myself.” I heard Clara had thrown away that nameless stone the day she took it. By now, whatever spirit was inside it was probably long gone. Gideon saw Clara crying. His face softened. He turned to me with irritation. “Why can’t you just be kinder to Clara? Am I not even allowed to have friends now?” I looked at Clara’s tear-streaked face. My heart softened. And I nodded. I forgave her. Clara’s sad little face immediately lit up. “Selena, you’re the best.” Then she clung to Gideon’s arm. Her voice turned sweet and soft. “Great. Selena said yes, I can come see you every day now.” Something felt wrong. I was about to speak, but before I could, Gideon smiled—softly, almost tenderly. “You can come whenever you want. Maybe my so-called master can learn something from you.” I had never seen Gideon smile like that before. I just stood there. Stunned.

Clara laughed softly and threw herself into Gideon’s arms. Her eyes stayed on me. Full of mockery. After that, Clara came to my place all the time. Trained with Gideon. Day by day, they moved better together. And they grew closer. I had to gather resources for Gideon and prepare food for Clara. I was exhausted. When Gideon saw me worrying over money, he sneered. “It’s just one extra plate. What? You can’t even afford food now?” But when I asked to train with him, he refused. “I heard your shift is unstable. What if you lose control during training and hurt me?” Clara spoke in that timid little voice. “Gideon is a Legendary wolf spirit. If anything happens to him, no one can take that risk.” Then she looked helplessly at Gideon. “Don’t blame Clara.” Gideon stepped in front of her, as if she were the one who had spent years feeding and keeping him alive, not me. Then came the Blood Moon Hunt. It only happened once every ten years. Clara suggested that the winner would get to decide who Gideon really belonged to. That was when I realized. Gideon and I had never sealed our final bond. He said he would only do it after he reached Mythic level. And I believed him. I thought that once he became Mythic, he could stabilize my bloodline for good. My packmates were furious. “Selena can’t shift properly. Her Shadow Step is barely enough to keep her alive in the hunt. How is she supposed to beat you?” “You’re just stealing from her! That’s shameless!”

Clara shook her head like everyone had wronged her. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Gideon and I are meant for each other. Selena, why can’t you just let us be happy?” Gideon wiped the tears from Clara’s face. Then he looked at me. Frowned. “I know you’ve been trying so hard these past few years. You have feelings for me. But I don’t feel the same way. Stop fooling yourself.” I watched them, lost in each other. It was almost funny. I had never loved Gideon. I only wanted his power to stabilize my bloodline. Gideon was a Legendary wolf spirit. I gave him everything I had. Now he thought he could just walk away from me? Not happening! During the hunt, our team found a nest of rare blood bat pups. Clara wanted to catch them. And that brought the Blood Bat King straight to us. At the last second, I used Shadow Step, pulled Clara away from the Blood Bat’s fangs. But Gideon was afraid the Blood Bat would go after them again. So he and Clara shoved me toward its claws. Dark energy tore through my body. And in that pain, the truth finally hit me. Gideon and Clara—they had always belonged to each other. In this life, I refused to be their stepping stone again. I would not be the price of their love. Late that night, in my room, I awakened the wolf spirit inside the nameless stone. A tiny white wolf came running out. He looked happy. Great. I’ll guard the pack border with this little… watchdog? Its fur was pure white. I looked at it for a moment. “Hey, little one. I guess I’ll call you Ash.”

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Every time Kieran brought a new fling back to the castle, he made a point of bringing home a male Beta for me too. “I need something fresh. You need company. Everyone gets what they need. No one has the right to complain.” That was his refrain these past three years, delivered with all the righteousness in the world, as though he weren’t the Alpha and I weren’t his Luna. The last time, he miscalculated. He brought yet another male Beta before me, his tone flat, as if discussing some trivial domestic matter: “We tried, but she’s pregnant anyway. Vera won’t keep the pup unless I give her a proper title, so we’ll dissolve the Mate Bond for the time being.” “Until we re-bond, you’re welcome to spend time with him. I won’t interfere.” Just when everyone in the hall expected me to do what I’d always done—turn cold, fling money at the Beta, and have him driven out— I looked up and smiled. “All right. Whatever you say.” … Kieran’s hand froze on the ivory pendant he’d been turning between his fingers. The hall fell silent for a heartbeat. Even the crack of logs in the fireplace sounded shrill. His expression didn’t shift much. The careless little curl at the corner of his mouth was still there. But Vera, nestled against him, tightened her grip on his arm. “Kieran.” Her voice was soft and sticky, like velvet steeped in honey. “Leona’s come around. You should be happy.” Kieran said nothing. He set the pendant down, rose slowly, and walked over to the Beta. He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking down at him from above. “Take good care of Leona.” Then he wrapped his arm around Vera and headed for the master bedroom on the second floor. I didn’t watch him go. I simply withdrew my gaze and turned to the Beta, who was still standing where he’d been left, the tips of his ears flushing a suspicious red. “Will you be staying outside the castle, or here?” His throat bobbed. His voice came out low and hoarse. “Either… either is fine.” “Stay, then.” I turned and walked toward the corridor. Behind me came the whispering. They thought I couldn’t hear—or perhaps they simply didn’t care whether I could. “No way. Is the Luna actually going through with it?” “Every other time something like this happened, she’d lose her temper. We’d all catch hell for it.” “Come on—have a little faith in the Alpha. When has the Luna ever not stuck her nose in the air, slapping money at those outsiders like even touching them would dirty her?” “That last Beta—she didn’t even bother with the money. Just told the guards to drag him out.” “My guess? She knows Vera’s carrying a pup now. She’s putting on a show, trying to rile Kieran up.” I kept walking. The corridor ended at my bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through the castle’s arched windows, stretching my shadow long across the floor. They weren’t wrong. I had been excessive before. Excessively aloof. Excessively proud. Excessively convinced of “the purity of the Mate Bond.” Every time Kieran had paraded a Beta in front of me, I’d turned my face to ice and driven the man out with the sharpest look I owned, then ordered the steward to escort him from the grounds. I’d thought that was winning. I’d thought that, at the very least, I was cleaner than he was. At least before the Moon Goddess, my purity, my Mate Bond, remained unblemished. And in the end? Vera’s belly was swelling. What had the Mate Bond, what had purity, preserved for me? A dissolution petition lying on the nightstand, still unsigned? A bed I’d slept in alone for three years? The mocking glances downstairs in the hall? I pushed open my bedroom door, lifted my hand, and let my fingertips brush the mark at the side of my neck—long scabbed over, yet still faintly burning. Kieran thought I was still the Leona he’d always known. That I wouldn’t dare. That I wouldn’t do it. That I’d guard that mark forever, guard that absurd notion of purity, live out my days alone and wait for him to come home. He was wrong. I lowered my gaze to the parchment spread open on the nightstand—*The Petition for the Dissolution of the Mate Bond*, the ink still wet, lacking only one last signature. I picked up the pen. And I signed. *Leona Fenn.* When I was done, I rolled the parchment up and tied it with a dark crimson ribbon. Tomorrow it would go to the Council of Elders. And then, under the witness of every wolf in the pack, the bond of purity Kieran had spoken of, the vigil I had kept all these years—all of it would be severed for good. “Um… may I come in?” Wren’s voice, slightly stiff, came from beside me. I looked up at the doorway and only then realized he had actually followed me. He was standing just inside the corridor. He was young. Six foot three, tight-built, with beautifully drawn shoulders. The moonlight caught half his face and lit it bright. The scent of cedar. Pleasant. This wasn’t some stranger Kieran had picked up at the tavern. Nor some wretch bought off the black market, still bearing the marks of silver chains. Kieran had actually put thought into this one. I gave a silent, bitter laugh. “Selling yourself for money?” I asked. The Beta didn’t defend himself. He simply nodded. Once, I might have thought him filthy. But now I saw it clearly— which of these men was filthier than Kieran? “Tell me if you need anything.” I turned and walked out onto the terrace. He followed. “Luna. My name is Wren.” “I know,” I said, without looking back. “Kieran told me.” I stood on the terrace and watched the figures below recede into the distance. I’d lost count of how many times they’d watched me become their spectacle. Three years ago— something happened that drove Kieran and me apart. After that, his behavior grew more and more outrageous, outrageous enough that he was willing to perform a dissolution ceremony with me. But I had my own reasons for keeping silent. I turned and looked at the signed petition. If you want it severed, then severed it shall be. “Luna, I’m done washing up.” Wren had slipped off to bathe at some point, and his voice broke my thoughts.

I had just turned toward him when the crystal communication stone at my waist flared. A rare message from Kieran: *Get some rest.* I stared at it and found it almost funny. He’d never once sent me a message like that before. But today he had. Was it because I’d kept Wren? Or because he’d finally realized that the Leona who “would never touch them” might actually be ready to? I didn’t reply. The lamps outside the window went out. The whole castle fell quiet. Vera had moved in. Wren had moved in. The castle had finally turned into a cheap inn. Anyone could stay. I crooked a finger at Wren, then turned off the light. A smile curved at my lips—one I couldn’t even see myself. Kieran thought I would guard my purity forever? He really was wrong. … Early the next morning, the ache in my lower back was still there. When I came downstairs, Wren was in the kitchen helping the servants prepare breakfast. When he saw me, he flushed so deeply he nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where had last night’s seductive prowess gone? I had just sat down at the table when Kieran came down. “Up so early?” He took the seat across from me, that unreadable smile still tugging at his mouth. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door swung open. Griffin charged in first. “Alpha! Who won the bet?” Griffin was one of Kieran’s most trusted pack members. Several werewolves followed at his heels, each shouting over the others: “I bet she wouldn’t last till noon—two hundred thousand on the line!” “I bet the Luna threw the Beta out last night. Three to one, Alpha holding the bank!” The voices died abruptly. They’d just spotted me. The grins curdled into awkwardness. “Luna… morning,” they offered. Kieran lifted the wine at his elbow and took a sip. His face was relaxed. As though this wager weren’t his pack members using his Luna for sport, but rather some triumph he ought to be proud of. “Want some breakfast?” I said. “It’s just ready.” I rose, walked toward the kitchen, and said to Wren, “You should go.” Wren paused, then untied his apron and walked out. The castle door shut behind him. The hall went quiet for two seconds. One of the pack members deliberately lowered his voice. “See? She sent him off after all.” Griffin laughed. “What did you expect? You think the Alpha can’t read the Luna’s little schemes?” “The Alpha really knows how to break her in,” another said, all admiration. “A mate has to be like the Luna—pure, clean, devoted to her Alpha alone.” Kieran sat at the table, breakfast finished. He listened to all of it with a faint smile on his lips. He looked thoroughly gratified. I exhaled and stepped out of the kitchen. Kieran and I started speaking at almost the same instant. “Come with me to old Alpha’s for supper tonight—” “This afternoon, let’s go to the Council of Elders to dissolve the Mate Bond—”

The room went still. I set the signed petition on the table. “Let’s go to the Elders first and have the ceremony done.” Kieran froze for a moment. His gaze settled on my signature. He didn’t move. I knew what he was thinking. In the past, I would have torn the parchment to shreds with red-rimmed eyes. I would have wept and demanded, *”Kieran, how dare you decide this on your own?”* Without a long, drawn-out struggle, the matter would never have been so simple. Kieran lifted his eyes to mine. That same lazy drawl. “What’s the rush? I thought we agreed to wait until Vera’s pregnancy was stable?” “I can’t wait.” My voice was level. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late.” His eyelid twitched. “Leona.” He pushed the petition back toward the center of the table and frowned. “Are you still half-asleep?” “You wouldn’t want to wait for me to wake up either,” I said, rephrasing. “You’d rather not give yourself the chance to change your mind and tear it up, would you?” The air between us froze for a few seconds. Then Vera came down from upstairs. “Leona, don’t be in such a hurry. I only didn’t want my pup born and called a bastard.” “The dissolution… you could wait until my pup is born.” Tears rimmed her eyes as she spoke. She looked sorrier to lose this rotten bond than I did. Kieran glanced at her. That pitiful, fragile expression—paired with that *don’t be in such a hurry*—was a needle straight into his fragile pride. When had it become Kieran’s place to be *urged* into a dissolution ceremony? Ridiculous. “Leona, you think I don’t dare?” He let out a sudden laugh. “Two o’clock. Council of Elders. I’ll see you there.” Griffin shifted nervously at his side. “Alpha—” “Shut it.” Kieran cut him off, his trademark smile back in place. “I’ll do what I said. Everyone here can bear witness.” “Once Vera’s pup is born, Leona and I will re-bond.” He leaned in close to my ear, his voice intimate, certain. “You’re the Luna I dragged back from hell. None of these other women can compare to you.” “Once this pup is born, it’s yours to raise. Only you have the right to raise it.” I let out a quiet laugh. So this was how he “doted” on me. I said nothing. I dragged the suitcase I’d already packed out of the castle. Vera’s voice drifted softly behind me. “Alpha… Leona—will she really not come back?” Kieran was toying with the ivory pendant again. He didn’t answer. In the original plan, even after the dissolution ceremony, I would have retained the right to live in the castle. That I’d chosen to leave had genuinely caught him off guard. “You sly little thing.” He tipped his head and looked at Vera. “Leona’s gone. You’re pleased, aren’t you?” “Of course not!” Vera pouted. “You’re teasing me again… my upbringing would never allow me to break up someone’s Mate Bond…” She bent her head and touched her belly. “Everything is for the pup.” That wronged, grieving look melted whatever temper Kieran had left. “All right, all right. Don’t cry. I won’t tease you anymore.” Vera was cleverer than the rest. She didn’t goad me with rambling diatribes. She didn’t bombard my crystal stone with messages claiming her territory—no *he’s with me right now!* She wore the air of someone who’d come to *join* us. Naive. Sweet. A single sharp word from me, and Kieran would feel she’d been deeply wronged. I’d met younger, prettier, more interesting girls than her. But they had all been too impatient. Impatient for him to declare himself. Impatient for me to step aside. Only Vera was patient—no fuss, no fight, no fight for position. She’d simply moved in with her belly out. Every other word out of her mouth was *Leona*, spoken more intimately than any of the others ever had. She’d done what none of the would-be usurpers had managed. … At one fifty in the afternoon, I stood outside the Council of Elders. I tried Kieran on the crystal stone for the ninth time. The first eight calls had gone nowhere. This one connected at last. “Where are you?” His voice came through, careless. “I’m with Vera at her prenatal checkup. Can’t get away. Wait a bit—I’ll come once I’m done.” “I told you, the dissolution is at two o’clock!” “What’s the rush?” he soothed, as though I were a fractious child. “We’ll do it after Vera’s seen the doctor.” The line cut off. Wait. Wait again… If this had been the old me, I might have been relieved to have won my mate back once more. But today, that wasn’t what I wanted. Calmly, I sought out the elder in charge of dissolution ceremonies. “I want to perform the dissolution unilaterally. The petition will be brought to you shortly.” The elder was visibly shocked. “Luna! A unilateral dissolution will cause you tremendous pain. Are you certain?” He clearly knew about the troubles between Kieran and me. “I’m certain.” My voice didn’t waver.

That evening, after the old Alpha pressed me several times, I did go to his home. The whole way there I kept thinking: how should I explain this to him? Tell him that the Alpha had gotten another woman pregnant? That he was forcing me into a dissolution? Or that I’d already prepared to undergo it unilaterally? When I arrived, I was alone. The old Alpha paused. “Where’s Kieran?” “He’s busy,” I said. “Busy?” He set his wine cup down on the stone table with a thump, his tone darkening. “What could be more important than his own mate?” I said nothing. The old Alpha and my father had been brothers-in-arms who crossed the Silverfire Forest together in their youth. My father had once saved his life. He had been determined to see Kieran and me bonded, but the old Luna had not approved. She thought my family beneath them. Especially after I fell gravely ill—she decided I’d been forsaken by the Moon Goddess, that I would bring misfortune to Kieran. It was Kieran who refused to let go. Alone, he crossed the Bonepass and knelt for nine days and nine nights at the altar of the Moon Goddess, his knees raw to the bone. He had knelt there and said, *”I can give up being with Leona, if only she lives.”* When I learned of it, I wept. Between us, it had always been him charging ahead, while I shrank back, weighed down by my own self-doubt. After that, I took his hand and said, *”I won’t run anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll be your mate. Your Luna.”* And then I truly did recover. I went home with him of my own will. The old Alpha was overjoyed. He carved off a third of the family’s territorial holdings into my name and sealed it with a Moon Oath. He said it was for all the pack to see—he wanted every wolf to remember that, on these lands, my word, Leona’s word, carried the same weight as Kieran’s. In those days I thought the biggest obstacle between Kieran and me was the old Luna. Now I understand: outsiders were never the barrier to a Mate Bond. I was still searching for how to begin when the door opened. Kieran came in with Vera tucked under his arm. When he saw me, he stilled. The old Alpha’s face darkened. “You wretch—dragging just anyone into our home!” Kieran settled into a chair with Vera, his tone as easy as ever. “Father, it’s only dinner. What’s the harm?” Then he glanced at me. “Leona, head home first.” As though he felt obliged to soften it, he leaned closer and murmured, “I didn’t think you’d come, so I brought her. Tonight’s her night, understand?” I laughed once, short. I had once thought he was merely amusing himself with Vera. That when the novelty wore off, he’d move on to the next. It seemed I’d been mistaken. The old Luna came downstairs, her gaze grazing me before settling on Vera. “So this is the woman from outside who’s carrying a pup? It’s a wonder what gutter trash this house keeps inviting in.” One sentence, two insults. In years past, Kieran would have stepped in front of me and said, *”Leona is the one I chose.”* Today, he frowned and pulled Vera closer. “Mother, she is the one I chose. You’ve no right to interfere.” His voice was harder than when he’d once shielded me. Vera leaned into him, eyes rimmed red. She always wore the look of a woman trampled by the world. Unlike me, who could take a beating and still look as though I could carry the sky on my own back. I rose without interest. “I’m leaving.” The old Alpha couldn’t keep me. Kieran had no time for me. The moment I stepped out the door, I thought again of those nine days and nights he’d knelt at the Moon Goddess’s altar. He had knelt and said, *”I can give up being with Leona, if only she lives.”* Well. He had what he asked for. … The dissolution went more smoothly than I’d expected. There was no pain—because once the Council of Elders had notified him, Kieran finally rushed over. In the end, he did not let me bear the wound of a unilateral dissolution alone. Kieran, I imagine, believed that once Vera’s pup was born and our Mate Bond was renewed, everything would simply slot back into place. “Under the witness of the Moon Goddess, I, Leona of the Blood Moon Pack, formally reject you, Kieran of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate henceforth.” “Under the witness of the Moon Goddess, I, Kieran of the Blood Moon Pack, formally reject you, Leona of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate henceforth.” When it was over— I felt the mark that had wound between us for years dissipate. He leaned in, his tone unusually coaxing. “You always wanted a grand bonding ceremony, didn’t you?” “When we re-bond, I’ll throw one for you myself. The cedar grove you love. The silver-white Moon Oath robes, the lilies of the valley, everything you’ve ever wanted—all of it, yours.” I lifted my eyes to him. “Kieran, there’s no need.”

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Lyra’s Maiden Moon ceremony had just ended. Back in my room, I opened The Den — our pack’s private forum. A post was blowing up. The title read: Looking for a gift to completely destroy someone. Budget: 200 bones. For my so-called best friend’s ceremony. Two days from now. The comments flooded in — poison-laced daggers, plants that stank like death. But the OP shot every single one down. The reason? Not vicious enough. Then the OP pinned their own reply. “Thanks, everyone. Her mate offered to help. We’re going to humiliate her in front of the whole pack at her Ascension Ritual.” Someone in the comments immediately called it out. “Her bonded mate is helping you go after her? What exactly is going on between you two?” The OP fired back with a row of eye-rolling wolf emojis. “After every hunt, he gives me the heart — the first and finest cut. Not her.” “When it’s time for ceremonial moonstones, I get first pick. Not her.” “His first embrace was mine. Every single one of his seven full-moon rampages? Also me.” “He’s delayed their Mating Bond three times. For me. And that priceless Bonding Amber they have? It doesn’t carry their fur. It carries ours.” It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and closed around my heart. I zoomed in on the OP’s profile picture. Two hands. Clasped together. And on one wrist — a Bonding Amber, glowing in the moonlight. My heart dropped. That amber. Kyle and I had traveled to the Oracle’s Grove together, six months ago, to get it made. One of a kind. … I sat there, frozen, long enough for the moon to drift across my window. Just an hour ago, the ceremony had barely ended. Kyle was already holding a “blackout drunk” Lyra in his arms. He frowned at me. “Selene, she drank way too much Moon-daze wine. I’ll have the guards walk you home — I need to get her back to her den.” I’d barely had anything to drink. The night air had already cleared my head. I just nodded, like I always do, and told him to ping me on the pack-link once she was home safe. It’s a half-hour walk, tops. But every time I reached out to him through the link since then… nothing. Just silence on the other end of the link. And now, reading Lyra’s post. She was completely sober. The whole thing had been an act. Just then, my wrist crystal pinged. A message from Kyle popped up. My Moonlight Goddess She’s home safe lol Omw back

I didn’t reply. I just went back to the post and zoomed in on the profile picture. That amber… I designed the pattern myself. The Pack Oracle sealed it. There’s nothing else like it out there. The man’s wrist in the photo — he was wearing a limited-edition Patek Philippe. Kyle’s Coming-of-Age gift. From me. And the woman’s wrist? A moonstone bracelet. I carved those stones myself, from gems I mined in the Frostfang Peaks. A symbol of our sisterhood. We had matching ones. Someone in the comments asked, “What did she ever do to you?” Lyra’s reply was pure venom. “It was my birthday today. She’s literally pack royalty, and all she gave me was some stupid enchanted dagger instead of picking up the tab for the whole party like she always does.” Another user pressed, “Aren’t you scared of getting caught?” “Please. During the Trials at Shadow Peaks, I came up with the whole plan myself. Use an Illusion Bloom to cloud her mind — so she’d never think to question him.” “But first, he had to spend seven full moons completely unhinged… with me. He didn’t even hesitate.” “The next day I could barely walk. And my sweet, stupid friend just assumed it was post-shift exhaustion. She felt so bad for me she made Kyle carry me all the way to the summit.” I stared at the screen. My stomach turned. I remembered that day. I kept pushing my own strength into her through the pack bond, worried sick. “Lyra, if you’re not feeling well, just stay at the base camp,” I told her. Kyle’s voice went uncharacteristically soft. “Don’t push it. If you really want to see the eclipse from the summit, Selene and I will bring you back next time.” She rolled her eyes and insisted on going. But after two steps, her face went pale — and she collapsed. That’s when I told Kyle to carry her. I blinked. My throat tightened. Hot tears dropped onto my comm crystal. I switched back to Kyle’s messages. My mind was just… static. I didn’t even know how to confront him. Just last week, Lyra was grabbing my hand, putting on this whole dramatic bit. She said as the wolf who’d witnessed every single moment of our love story, she had exactly one job at our Mating Ceremony — to get up on that stage and roast us for every single wolf we’d ever left feeling like a Steve. I laughed so hard I fell into her arms. I promised her she’d be the one to catch my bouquet. But I never saw it coming. These were the two wolves I trusted the most. And together, they handed me the most complete betrayal I had ever known.

I’d known Kyle and Lyra for twelve years. From our Pack Academy graduation to our Coming-of-Age ceremony, the three of us were always together. I still remember the day Kyle told me he was in love with me. Lyra snarled at him. Fangs out. A warning. “Kyle. Selene is about to ascend to her Alpha bloodline. Are you seriously trying to sabotage that? Out of jealousy?” I had to pull her back, laughing. “Lyra, relax. He’s the reason my bloodline is stable enough for Ascension. He trained with me through every single Blood Trial.” “And remember when I shattered my leg on that hunt? He went out alone to find the healing herbs.” Lyra had this look on her face I couldn’t read. I thought she was disappointed in me for getting distracted right before my Ascension. After we got together, Kyle was the perfect mate. The whole pack knew it. He escorted me to every Council meeting and training session. He had my Waning Cycle schedule memorized better than I did. His go-bag was basically a care package built for me. Restoration potions. High-energy jerky. All of it. For three years, Kyle had been mapping out our entire future. A written plan. He presented it to my father — the Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack — as proof he was worthy of me. And he hit every single benchmark. Made Beta. Came home after brutal days and still groomed my fur and made me dinner. We journeyed together to get our Bonding Amber. The plan was locked in — Mating Ceremony after my ascension this year. An heir by next year. Every single line of that plan had my name in it. But outside the plan… there was Lyra.

The post updated. My finger clicked on it before I could even think. “Honestly? I’ve already given her some disgusting gifts. Indirectly, of course.” “Like that guardian rune bracelet she never takes off.” “I was in a bad place. Her mate and I got a little wild one night. One of my fangs snapped — still wet with my blood — and got lodged inside one of the stones. He didn’t even care. He just had it set into the bracelet and gave it to her anyway.” My eyes shot to my vanity. The bracelet Kyle gave me for the Winter Solstice. He told me he’d traveled three thousand miles alone through a frozen forest, and prayed to the Spirit of the Mountain to have it blessed for me. But Lyra wasn’t done. “Oh, and the Solstice this year? He didn’t go on any spirit quest. He took me to the Blackstone Pack. To meet his parents.” “This silver family crest I’m wearing? His mother gave it to me.” “He said since he couldn’t give me the Mating Bond, he had to make it up to me in other ways.” My mind just went blank. His mother’s face flashed in my head. Warm. Apologetic. I remembered her exact words from when Kyle brought me to meet her last year. “Sweetheart, it’s a Blackstone Pack tradition. This wolf-fang crest is passed down to our son’s future mate. To our future daughter.”

Kyle came back past midnight. He reeked of Lyra’s signature scent — that sickly sweet rosemary perfume. Completely overpowering his own. He gave me that same doting smile. “Waiting up for me to brush out your fur?” I stared at him. Face completely blank. I was about to let him have it. But right then, Lyra’s face popped up on my comm crystal. Video call. She was slurring her words, blowing a sloppy kiss at the screen. “Selene, you’re my bestie, I love you.” “This dagger is so gorgeous,” she said, her voice dropping into a pout. “I just feel so bad. I’m so broke. I’ll never be able to afford something this amazing for your Ascension tomorrow…” I cut her off. “Right.” She caught the look on my face and froze. Kyle swooped in without missing a beat. Wrapped his arms around me from behind, buried his face in my neck. Just like always, competing with her for my attention. “Selene, I’m the one who loves you most,” he murmured against my cheek. Through the screen, Lyra let out a sharp, sudden scream. Then the sound of her comm crystal hitting the floor. Kyle’s head snapped toward the screen. All the color drained from his face. The call went dead. He pulled away and bolted for the door, his voice cracking in a way I’d never heard before — frantic. Panicked. “Selene, something’s wrong. I have to go check on her!” The door slammed behind him. But right before the call disconnected — I heard it. A soft little laugh from the other end of the line. My hands were shaking as I opened The Den again. Straight to her post. New update. “She’s so dumb it’s actually painful. Couldn’t even tell I faked that whole thing just to get her mate to come running.” “Tomorrow at her Ascension? She won’t even know what hit her until it’s too late. It’s almost too easy. Kinda boring, tbh.” My heart dropped into ice. A chill crawled through my entire body.

I just lay there on the couch, hair still wet, eyes wide open until the sun came up. My mind kept looping back to that day at the summit. The Shadow Peaks Trials. I can still see Lyra, screaming into the wind in the Old Tongue. “Kyle and Selene! Mated for life! A bloodline that will never end!” And Kyle glanced over at her, then howled back. “Lyra and Selene! Friends and allies, forever!” The eight o’clock bells snapped me out of it. I grabbed my comm crystal. Typed one message to Kyle. “The engagement is off.” A second later, I heard a key in the lock. Lyra’s voice, loud and teasing. “See? This is your fault we’re late. Now Selene’s favorite Sunrise Glaze Rolls are sold out.” “Excuse me? You’re the one who spent an hour preening just to walk over here,” Kyle shot back. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t kept me up all night—” They walked in. Arms full of breakfast bags. Huge grins on their faces. Then they saw me. Just lying there on the couch. The smiles died. The chatter stopped. I knew exactly what that little argument meant. Kyle kept his expression neutral, setting the food down on the table with a casual laugh. “My heart-link just buzzed. Let me see what my moonlight goddess sent me…” He looked down at his comm crystal. His face went white. Lyra leaned right over his shoulder to read it. Close enough that their faces were nearly touching. Then her eyes shifted to me. My face still completely blank. Her voice came out soft. Sweet. Almost playful. “Selene, are you serious right now? All this drama just because Kyle didn’t come home last night?” “If anyone should be upset, it’s me. I took a nasty fall last night and you didn’t even check on me.” “And I still dragged myself out this morning to get you breakfast for your Ascension day…” That’s when every detail I’d never thought to question came rushing back at once. Since when were Sunrise Glaze Rolls from the East Side shop even my favorite?

No. Lyra is the one who loves them. He just buys them for her, every time. I was just the cover story. And eventually, everyone, including me, just started believing the lie. I stared at Lyra, my voice dangerously calm. “You faked the fall. Didn’t you?” “You wanted him to come over. To spend the night at your den.” “That little laugh you let out before the call dropped? I heard it.” “And your scent all over him? The bite marks on his neck? I see them.” Just like I knew she would, Lyra’s hand flew to her collar, pulling it higher. Kyle strode towards me, swallowing hard. “Selene, no. You’re getting the wrong idea.” “Lyra’s bloodline went haywire after she fell. She passed out. I had to stay and watch over her all night, that’s all.” “I swear, it won’t happen again.” The first day we moved in together, we made one rule. One promise. As promised mates-to-be, neither of us would ever spend a night away without the other. Every good memory we shared just made me want to end this clean. But looking at their faces — faces I’d known for twelve years, now suddenly foreign to me — the emotion hit me all at once, and when I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop the crack in my voice. “The engagement is off,” was all I could force out. Lyra shoved Kyle forward. “Get on your knees and apologize to her. Now.” But then, she was the one who dropped to the floor with a thud. “Look, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not your fault, Selene. I’ll apologize first, okay? Can we just be done with this?”

But Kyle just yanked Lyra to her feet, his eyes full of… tenderness. For her. Then he looked at me. No guilt. Just disappointment. “Selene. Apologize to Lyra.” “We’ve put up with your moods for so long. We get tired too. When are you going to grow up?” “Why can’t you just trust us? Like we’ve always trusted you?” And just like that, something inside me broke. What was left was nothing — just numbness. “You both betrayed me.” I said. “Are you done pretending otherwise?” “Get out. Both of you. Right now. If you don’t leave now, I will invoke my birthright as the next Alpha and have you both exiled.” Lyra grabbed Kyle by the arm and pulled him out the door. But not before she stage-whispered — making sure I caught every single word. “Let’s just give her some space.” “Guess we’re just her punching bags today.” “It’s probably just Ascension stress. She’ll get over it.”

I thought I’d been clear enough. But I suppose only the ones being lied to ever see the full picture. And a cheater always knows exactly what they did. When I blew out the sacred Embers of Ascension, the ceremonial hall’s moonstone lights flared to life. And standing right in the center of that glow, side by side, were Kyle and Lyra. Smiling. Lyra walked toward me like nothing had happened. Carrying this massive, hideous statue carved from obsidian. “Surprise!” she chirped, pushing it into my arms. “I picked it out just for you! Do you love it?” At the same time, Kyle dropped to one knee. Held up the Bonding Amber, eyes overflowing with fake tenderness. “Selene. Bind your life to mine. Be my mate, forever.” The amber pulsed with light. The whole pack burst into cheers. One of the Elders shouted from the crowd. “Accept him, child! Say yes!” I looked down at the statue in my hands. It was a carving of me. In my wolf form. The angle she’d chosen caught me right after a fight — mouth open, gasping for air, eyes completely vacant. Like a dumb, hollow Omega.

She always loved catching me at my worst. Always had to show Kyle. Said it made me look “real and adorable.” Every single guest had their phone out. Recording this whole thing. Lyra slipped back behind Kyle. Her own phone aimed right at me. I caught the smirk. She knew. She knew exactly how stupid I looked — standing there in my ceremonial robes, holding this hideous, cursed-looking thing like an idiot. Kyle pushed the amber higher. His voice dropped. Urgent. “Selene, come on. Lyra even got you a gift. That’s her apology.” “The Elders are watching. Everyone’s watching. Isn’t this literally everything you’ve ever wanted?” Apology. I looked back down at the statue. He genuinely could not see it. How cheap it was. How ugly it was. I almost laughed. But a tear came out instead. They both saw it. They probably thought I was happy-crying. I closed my eyes. I raised my hand. And then the whole room just — exploded. Thick, slimy liquid and silver glitter shot out from every direction, all at once. All over me. My face. My hair. Everything. White confetti floating down around me like I was at a funeral. It was all over my gown. Soaked in. A complete disaster. Every flash in the room went off at once. Kyle shot Lyra a soft, adoring look. Then turned back to me, grinning. “Selene, we lost at Truth or Dare, you can’t actually be—” WHACK. I moved before I even thought about it. My hand came down hard across his face. The Bonding Amber flew out of his grip and skidded into the corner. Lyra screamed at me. “It was just a joke! Who do you think you are, hitting Kyle?”

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My biological family brought me back to their multi-million dollar mansion, only to assign me the broom closet. But what they didn’t know? My adoptive parents are some of the richest people on this planet. So I turned around and bought the estate right next door to theirs. I’m Evelyn Astor. Born in Boston, raised on Martha’s Vineyard. Old money, only child, and the kind of girl who was taught at age five that tears are tacky but a good lawyer is forever. So when the Vance family shows up claiming I’m their long-lost daughter, swapped at birth twenty years ago, I don’t cry. I pack a Goyard duffel, kiss my adoptive parents on the cheek, and tell them I’m just going to “audit the situation.” Day one. The Vance estate in Greenwich. Marble floors, gold Roman columns, a fountain in the driveway that looks like Versailles threw up. And my “room”? A converted broom closet with a twin mattress on the floor. Chloe Vance, the girl who lived my life for twenty years, stands in the doorway dabbing at fake tears. White sundress. Doe eyes. The whole performance. “Sister, if you really hate it, I can move up to the attic. I don’t mind, really.” I press a silk handkerchief to my nose because the dust is genuinely offensive, and turn to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Higgins, what’s this property valued at?” She blinks. “Approximately… twenty million, miss.” “Lovely.” I pull out my phone and text my dad. Daddy, the accommodations here are rough. Can you buy the house next door for me? Thanks, love you. Thirty minutes. That’s all it takes. The doorbell rings, and in walks the neighbor, two attorneys, and a real estate agent with closing documents already drafted. Eleanor Vance, my so-called biological mother, goes pale. “Evelyn, what is this? You just got home and you’re already trying to live separately?” “Live with you people and rot from the inside out? No thanks.” Julian, my new “older brother,” slams his palm on the console table. “Do you have any sense of family at all?” I drop the guest key card on the marble. “Sure I do. But I’m allergic to favoritism. Toxic households require an appointment.” Chloe’s lower lip wobbles right on cue. “Sister, please. I knew you’d hate me. You think I’m a gold digger, don’t you?” I tilt my head and smile. “Sweetie. Where I come from, girls are taught three things. Love yourself. Love your money. And don’t waste either on people who don’t deserve it.” Charles Vance, the patriarch, finds his voice. “Evelyn, this is hysterical behavior. What will people say?” “They’ll say your real daughter has standards.” I sign the closing papers with a Montblanc, hand them back to the agent, and slip my Amex Black card into my wallet. “And that the Vance family put her in a closet.” Eleanor’s eyes shine with tears. Julian looks like he wants to throw something. Chloe is openly sobbing into her hands now, the performance reaching its third act. I walk toward the door, heels clicking on imported marble. “Oh, and Mrs. Higgins?” I pause. “Have my things sent next door. The good linens. I’ll be sleeping somewhere that doesn’t smell like mothballs and resentment.” I don’t look back. Because here’s the thing nobody warned the Vances about: I wasn’t raised to beg for a seat at anyone’s table. I was raised to buy the whole damn restaurant.

Two hours earlier, I’m sitting on the wraparound porch of our Vineyard house, peeling a fresh fig while my mother arranges peonies in a crystal vase. The Vance family’s lawyer is perched on the edge of a wicker chair, clearly uncomfortable. My adoptive dad, in khakis, boat shoes, and a forty-year-old Patagonia fleece, is watering the hydrangeas and pretending not to listen. “Miss Astor, Mr. and Mrs. Vance would very much like you to come home.” I bite into the fig. “Is the food good there?” He stalls. “I beg your pardon?” “The food. At their house. Is it good? Because I’m not going if it isn’t. Girls like me have delicate stomachs and zero tolerance for mediocrity.” My mother sets down the vase and gives a small, polite laugh. The kind that has buried entire careers. “What my daughter means,” she says, smoothing my hair, “is that she’ll visit. Briefly. To assess.” Dad walks over, dripping watering can still in hand, and slides an envelope into my bag. “Here. Copy of your trust documents. The deed to the Beacon Hill apartment. And Robert’s direct line. He’ll have a team on the ground in twenty minutes if you so much as raise an eyebrow.” Mom adjusts the collar of my linen dress. Her voice goes soft in that way that always makes my chest tight. “Sweetheart. If their house isn’t warm, you come home. Astor girls don’t beg anyone to love them.” I almost cry. Almost. Instead I smile. “Relax. I’m just going to check the quality of their parenting. If they fail inspection, I’m returning the merchandise.” The driver loads my bag. As the car pulls down the gravel drive, my mother stands under the wisteria and waves. The sky is impossibly blue. A sailboat drifts past on the sound. I think: no matter how much money the Vances have, they can’t buy back the twenty years that built me. Two hours later, the car stops in front of their Greenwich monstrosity. The driver opens my door. I stare up at the gilded columns and fountain and pause for exactly three seconds. “Did your decorator have a personal vendetta against Versailles, or…?” The driver coughs to hide a laugh. I walk in. Before I even reach the living room, I hear it. Soft, breathy, theatrical weeping. “Mom, Dad, now that she’s back, I should probably leave, right? I don’t want to be in the way…” My heels stop on the marble. Oh. So this is the flavor. Wet doe eyes and weaponized fragility. Amateur hour. Four people sit in the formal living room. Charles. Eleanor. Julian, scrolling his phone like I’m an inconvenience. And Chloe, perched on the loveseat in white, dabbing her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. She springs up the moment she sees me, lip quivering. “Sister.” “Hi.” She falters. Clearly expected more drama. Eleanor squeezes Chloe’s hand and looks at me with that complicated mother-of-two expression I’m sure she practiced in the mirror. “Evelyn. We’re so glad you’re home. But I need to say something first. Chloe may not be biologically ours, but she’s been our daughter for twenty years. You can’t expect us to just…” “Understood.” She exhales, relieved. Charles jumps in. “So don’t come in here trying to take her place. We won’t shortchange you, but you will not bully Chloe.” “Got it.” Julian finally looks up, jaw tight. “I hope you really do get it. Chloe has anxiety. She doesn’t handle stress well.” Chloe’s lashes flutter downward. “Please don’t talk to her like that, Julian. She just got here. If she wants my bedroom, she can have it. I’ll move to the attic, I really don’t mind…” I finally meet her eyes. “Which room is yours?” She brightens. Bingo, her cue. “The south-facing suite on the second floor. The one that… should’ve been yours.” Eleanor clutches her hand. “Don’t say that. It’s your room.” Julian’s voice drops cold. “Evelyn. Don’t even think about it.” I blink slowly. “Did I say I wanted it?” The room goes silent. Chloe’s face flickers. Just a half-second crack in the porcelain. “I just thought you’d be upset, sister.” I smile. “Honey, you preemptively absorb other people’s feelings so hard, you should be charging a consulting fee. Did anyone ask you to perform?” Julian’s nostrils flare. “Does everything you say have to come with a knife in it?” “No,” I say, voice perfectly sincere. “You all keep insisting on performing a soap opera in front of me. I can’t follow the plot. You can slow down if you’d like.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, materializes to escort me upstairs. Chloe trails behind us all the way to the end of the second-floor hallway, where Mrs. Higgins pushes open a narrow door. Dust billows out. Inside: stacked picture frames, a broken lamp, cardboard boxes, and curtains so gray you can’t tell the original color. Chloe covers her mouth, eyes wide and wet. “Sister, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it hadn’t been cleaned. Please, take my room tonight.” I glance at the bare mattress, then turn to Mrs. Higgins. “This is the room you prepared for the biological daughter?” Mrs. Higgins shifts. “The Vances said, temporarily—” I raise a hand to stop her, then pull out my phone and snap a few photos. Julian smirks behind me. “What, posting a sob story online?” “No. Sending them to my mother. She loves fresh gossip material on dysfunctional rich families.” Eleanor hurries up the stairs, flustered. “Evelyn, don’t blow this out of proportion. The room can be cleaned. Chloe is already upset. Don’t push her.” I look her dead in the eye. “Mrs. Vance. I haven’t said a word yet, and your whole family has already convicted me. Efficient. Just not very smart.” Julian explodes. “Evelyn!” I slip my phone back into my bag, calm as a Sunday morning. “You don’t have to shout. My hearing is excellent. So is my allergy to favoritism.”

Dinner is served at seven sharp in a dining room the size of a small chapel. The table is set with Hermès china and crystal that probably costs more than a Tesla. Chloe sits at Eleanor’s right hand, leaning into her shoulder like a kitten. Julian sits across, occasionally passing Chloe a napkin and never once looking my way. Fine. I serve myself a slice of the wagyu and take a bite. I chew. I stop chewing. I set the fork down. Charles notices. “Not to your taste?” Chloe pipes up sweetly, “Maybe sister prefers more, um, casual food? Our private chef trained in Paris. It might be a little refined for her palate.” “It’s not refined,” I say. “It’s bad.” Silence drops like a guillotine. Eleanor stiffens. “Evelyn. Our chef has been with us for fifteen years. No one has ever complained.” “Then everyone in this house has been very generous.” I take a sip of water. “The wagyu is overcooked. The reduction is too sweet. The acid sits on top instead of cutting through. It tastes like this family looks. Pretty on the outside, hollow underneath.” Julian’s jaw locks. “You grew up outside this family. What would you know?” “I grew up on the Vineyard, Julian. Not in a cave.” I dab my mouth. “Is your entire understanding of the outside world divided into two categories? The Vance estate, and Naked and Afraid?” Charles slams his palm flat on the table. “Enough! It’s one meal. Do you have to make a scene?” I lower my fork carefully. “Mr. Vance. You brought me here. You gave me a closet. You gave me zero respect. And now you want me to compliment a bad steak. Is your family reunion process outsourced to a gaslighting manual? Because it’s not exactly five-star service.” Eleanor’s face drains. Chloe’s tears spill on cue. “Sister, are you saying this because you hate me? Even the food?” I turn to her slowly. “Chloe. Not everything is about you. The food is bad because the chef is bad. You’re dramatic because you’re dramatic. Two unrelated facts.” She sobs harder. Julian shoots to his feet. “Apologize to Chloe. Now.” I glance at my watch. “Sorry. Astor women don’t engage in low-quality emotional disputes after nine p.m. Union rules.” “You…” “Also.” I gesture at the table. “Starting tomorrow, I’m having all my meals catered in. My expense. Don’t trouble yourselves. And please don’t try testing my breeding with food like this again.” Charles turns purple. “You think the Vance family needs your money?” “Hope not. I’d hate to think you were freeloading.” Right on cue, a server appears with dessert. She sets a delicate crystal coupe in front of Chloe. Caviar service with mother-of-pearl spoons. In front of me, she sets a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. Her smile is just a little too thin. “Miss Evelyn. This is also very nourishing.” I look at the dish. Then at hers. Then back. “Why does she get caviar and I get Häagen-Dazs?” The server smiles. “Miss Chloe has delicate health. Mrs. Vance gave specific instructions.” Eleanor flushes. “Evelyn, if you want some, we can bring it out tomorrow…” “That’s fine.” I turn to the server. “What’s your name?” “Higgins, miss. Mrs. Higgins.” “And how long have you worked for the Vance family, Mrs. Higgins?” “Twelve years.” “Wonderful.” I pull out my phone. “Please email me your employment contract, twelve years of pay stubs, and every household purchase reimbursement on record. By tomorrow morning.” Her smile slips. “Excuse me?” I keep mine warm. “Just curious whether someone who distributes desserts based on family ranking deserves twelve years of full benefits.” Charles cuts in. “Evelyn. Mrs. Higgins is an old member of this household.” “Then she should especially know better. Old money runs clean books. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Higgins?” Her eyes flicker away. Chloe leans in, eyes wet and wide. “Sister, please don’t make things hard for her. She takes such good care of me.” “Oh?” I tilt my head. “Then I should definitely audit her. Because she’s spending Vance money taking care of you, and that’s coming directly out of my inheritance pool.” Julian chokes on his water. Eleanor stares at me like I’m a creature she’s never seen before. “Does every sentence out of your mouth have to be about money?” I think about it, genuinely. “Yes. Because so far, money is the only value you people have demonstrated.” I push back my chair, drop my napkin on the plate, and walk out without another word. Behind me, I hear Chloe start to cry again. Bless her heart. The girl has stamina.

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I texted my older brother Mason for $20 and suddenly the entire internet dragged me as his mistress. It’s the first month of summer break. I’m already broke, and there’s no way I’m calling Mom and Dad about it. So I send a voice note to Mason. Me: Mase, can you spot me $20? Five minutes later, my phone buzzes. I grin, expecting his usual eye-roll emoji and a money transfer notification. Instead, I get this — Mason: Stop hitting up random guys with that baby voice. Have some self-respect. I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover, frozen. Random guys? I’m his sister! Same parents, same house, same everything! I don’t know what crawled up his ass today, but fine. Me: Got it, Mason. I toss my phone on the bed. He’s probably in a mood. Whatever. I’ll figure out the twenty bucks myself. I don’t think about it again. Until the next morning. Riley, my best friend, sends me a link. I tap it. It’s a TikTok. A girl with bleach-blond hair and lash extensions thicker than my eyelids is crying into the camera. Behind her, in giant red letters, is a screenshot of my messages with Mason. My name. My selfies. My Instagram handle. All of it. “Ladies, I need y’all to be careful out here,” the girl sobs, dabbing fake tears. “This is the kind of girl who slides into taken men’s DMs with that fake baby voice, begging for cash like a little gold digger. Twenty dollars? That’s all you’re worth? No shame, no morals—what kind of parents raised you?” I scroll down. A hundred thousand likes. The comments are a bloodbath. “$20 a pop?? Sign me up for ten.” “Aren’t you scared of catching something?” she replies. Encouraging it. “Disgusting. Her parents should disown her.” “Pretty face, rotten soul. Classic.” My hands start shaking. I tap her profile. @BellaKnoxOfficial. 2.3M followers. Relationship & lifestyle creator. And then I see the pinned post. A photo. Kissing Mason. Captioned: My everything! She is Mason’s new girlfriend. That’s how she got the screenshots. That’s how she got my face. I can’t breathe. I screenshot everything—Bella’s video, the comments, her profile, the kiss photo. Every receipt. Then I open the Reed family group chat and dump it all in. My fingers are trembling so hard I have to retype the message twice. Me: Look what Mason’s girlfriend did to me. If she sets foot in this family, I’m done. Done. Send. I wait. Three seconds later, the messages vanish. Every. Single. One. Mason—the group admin—deleted them. Then a system notification pops up: You have been removed from “Reed Family.” I let out a laugh. A short, ugly, disbelieving laugh. I open Mason’s contact and type fast. Me: ??? The message doesn’t go through, because he blocked me. I try calling. Straight to voicemail. “Are you kidding me?” I hiss at the empty room. My own brother. Blocked me. Over a girl he’s been dating for, what, two months? Fine. Fine. I’ll call Mom. I’ll call Dad. I’ll call every single person in that family chat one by one if I have to— Ding-dong. The doorbell. I freeze. Mom and Dad aren’t supposed to be back from their trip for another week. But maybe they saw the post. Maybe they came home early. I jump off the bed, wipe my face on my sleeve, and run for the door. I’m already half-smiling when I pull it open. Then a hand cracks across my face so hard my vision goes white.

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On the eve of our wedding, my fiancé, Dante Valenti, brought Bianca—the mistress he had hidden for three years—back to the Valenti estate. When I neither cried nor made a scene, Dante visibly relaxed. “Elena, since you don’t mind, Bianca can stay here for the time being.” Dante was the sole heir to the Valenti family. Everyone assumed that once his father handed control of the family over to him, Dante would become the next Don, and I would become his wife and the lady of the Valenti household. But then he continued, “Tomorrow is only the ceremony. We won’t file the marriage registration right away. Bianca has been emotionally unstable lately, so I’m going to humor her for now. You’re still the woman I’ll ultimately marry. Once she’s had her fun, I’ll hold a proper wedding with you.” I pressed my trembling palm closed and said nothing. Dante took my silence for consent. He took Bianca by the hand and led her away to choose a wedding gown without looking back. I took out my phone and sent one message to our private group chat. Tomorrow’s wedding is missing a groom. Who’s available? The chat exploded at once. The heirs who had grown up with Dante and me began volunteering one after another. They asked what ring size I needed, what color suit I preferred, and what time the ceremony would begin. I smiled. See, Dante? If you won’t marry me, someone else will. … Before I could choose tomorrow’s fiancé, the butler approached with a complicated expression. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti would like you to bring out the wedding gown you planned to wear tomorrow.” He paused before adding in a low voice, “He said that since you won’t be holding your ceremony tomorrow after all, Miss Russo might as well wear it first.” I had spent six months designing that gown and another full year traveling between Paris, Milan, and New York, personally overseeing every stitch of embroidery. No one knew better than Dante how much of myself I had poured into it. Now, simply because Bianca said she liked it, he expected me to hand it over—and had even ordered the bridal atelier to alter it to her measurements overnight. “Tell him that if he wants my wedding dress, he can come and beg me for it himself.” Half an hour later, the estate doors were thrown open from outside. Dante entered with more than a dozen senior bridal consultants, each carrying two or three custom gowns in different styles. He sat down on the sofa and idly wound a strand of my hair around his finger. “Elena, our wedding can wait. Bianca is younger than you, and this is the first time she has ever asked me for anything. Let her have this one.” He tipped his chin toward the consultants. “Do you like any of these? If not, I’ll have new ones flown in from Paris overnight.” “Of course, you can still wear your original gown after Bianca is done with it. I don’t mind.” He did not mind. I did. Bianca laughed beside him, threw herself into Dante’s arms, and traced a finger along the opening of his shirt. “Dante, you’re awful. Everyone in New York society knows Elena would never touch a gown another woman had worn.” “And now you want her to wear a wedding dress after me. She’s going to hate me.” Dante stroked her hair indulgently. “She isn’t that petty.” “Besides, she’s been with me for ten years. Who else could she possibly marry?” I lowered my eyes and said nothing. On my phone, the men in the group chat were competing to send me photographs of themselves at their most presentable. One posted the black tuxedo he had just tried on. Another ordered his private tailor to deliver cuff links overnight. Someone else displayed the heirloom wedding ring his grandmother had left him. Every one of them seemed genuinely nervous about tomorrow. Then Adrian Bellandi’s name appeared on the screen—the current Don of the Bellandi family, a man no one in New York’s underworld dared provoke lightly, Dante included. The stream of messages stopped almost at once. Adrian wrote: Me. Leave every detail of the wedding to me. Tomorrow, all you have to do is walk toward me. An image of Adrian rose in my mind—his tall, powerfully built body encased in immaculate black suits, his broad back and solid chest suggesting the strength concealed beneath the severe fabric, strength capable of trapping someone completely in his arms. I replied with a single word. Okay. “Elena, what are you looking at?” Dante’s impatient voice sounded beside me. I came back to myself and turned off the screen. Dante had Bianca in his arms and had shifted into a more comfortable position. He held out one hand to me carelessly. “Where do we keep the protection? Bianca is clingy, and she’s younger than you. She has far too much energy in bed.” I answered coldly, “The butler knows where it is. Ask him.” “Look at you, getting jealous.” He laughed. “Relax. I promised you that the future heir of the Valenti family would come from you and no one else.” My lips curved in a cold smile. Ten years earlier, when Dante was twenty, he had sworn beneath a sky full of fireworks that I would be the only woman he ever married. Ten years later, there were more and more women around him. Those old vows had long since been discarded, and in his eyes I seemed to have become nothing more than the vessel expected to produce his heir. When he saw me smile, Dante paused and looked at me properly for the first time in a long while. “You should smile more, Elena. You smiled all the time in your early twenties. Now you always look so cold. It doesn’t suit you.” I let the smile fade and told the butler to send an entire box of condoms to Dante’s room. Dante was pleased by my obedience. He did not realize that I was not yielding for his sake. I simply no longer cared about him, so none of it mattered. He still believed I was as compliant as ever, that I would continue cleaning up every mess he made. He lifted Bianca into his arms and started upstairs. “Oh, and you’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” “The wedding is tomorrow, and Bianca insists I spend the night with her. She’s irritable when she wakes up, so tell the hair and makeup team to wait outside my bedroom. They can start whenever she gets up.” “Dante.” I called after him from the sofa. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned, brow furrowed, signaling for me to speak quickly. I looked directly into his face and enunciated every word. “My wedding will go ahead tomorrow. If you replace the bride, I’ll replace the groom.”

Dante clearly did not believe me. He scoffed and shook his head. “Elena, this isn’t the time to compete for my attention. I’ll make Bianca happy first. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, she may even let you be her bridesmaid.” Bianca pouted from his arms. “I don’t want her.” At her urging, Dante carried her upstairs without looking back. Before long, suggestive sounds began drifting from the master bedroom. The butler hesitated several times before finally forcing out the words. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti has never intended for Miss Russo to become the true mistress of the Valenti family.” I glanced at the box of contraceptives in his hands and tilted my head toward the stairs. “Take it up.” The true mistress of the Valenti family? I no longer wanted the title. That evening, my friend Claire called me, her voice full of shock and confusion. “Elena, what is going on? Why did Dante suddenly notify everyone that the wedding was canceled?” “You’ve been planning this for a year. The estate and hotel decorations alone cost tens of millions, and you personally designed everything from the silverware to the floral arrangements. What gives him the right to cancel it on a whim?” I sat up, rubbing my ear, fully awake now. I was about to tell her that my wedding was not canceled when her voice suddenly rose. “Wait! He just sent another invitation. The ceremony is still happening, but the bride has been changed to Bianca Russo. Who is this mistress? Has Dante lost his mind?” Dante had always been like this. When he loved someone, he gave her everything—power, money, and all his favor. When he stopped loving her, he withdrew it all without hesitation. Headlights swept past the window, briefly illuminating the room before darkness returned. “Claire, don’t worry about any of this. Be at the venue on time tomorrow. If Dante can replace the bride, why can’t I replace the groom?” The other end of the line went silent for several seconds. Claire had clearly understood what had happened. Her voice shook with anger. “Replace him. Of course you should replace him! That bastard acted more devoted than anyone before the wedding. He traveled through more than twenty countries with you for engagement photos, rented an entire coastline, and used drones to announce your wedding date to the whole city. And now he betrays you just like that? He’s a complete bastard!” By the end, tears had entered her voice. “Elena, wait there. I’m sending my husband to deal with him right now.” I laughed helplessly. I was about to tell her things were not quite that bad, and that every one of my prospective grooms was reliable, when someone knocked at the door. The butler stood outside, looking pained. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti requests that you come to the master bedroom.” I knew that if I refused, Dante would take his anger out on the butler. I told Claire to change into her bridesmaid dress and wait for me directly at the venue tomorrow, then went upstairs. The half-open bedroom was in disarray, the air still thick with the unmistakable scent of sex. They had obviously just finished. Water dripped from the ends of Dante’s wet hair into the collar of his robe, sliding over a neck covered in kiss marks. I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to ignore the dense ache spreading through my chest. “Elena, I know how much work you put into this wedding.” He pointed carelessly at a soiled bridesmaid dress on the floor. “Wear that tomorrow and stand beside Bianca. That way, your year of preparation won’t be completely wasted.” Bianca lay wrapped in the sheets, malice curling at the corners of her mouth. She leaned toward Dante and deliberately spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “Dante, Elena is a top jewelry designer. The wedding rings she designed for you must be beautiful. I want them too.” I looked at them without expression. Like the gown, those rings had been created by my own hand. I had drawn the designs, chosen the stones, and supervised the craftsmen myself. Dante could not possibly have forgotten. Yet he said lightly, “Elena, they’re only rings. If Bianca likes them, let her use them first.” “We haven’t set a new date for our wedding. You’ll have plenty of time to design another pair.” His entitlement extinguished the final trace of attachment I still felt for him. I looked into his eyes and said, one word at a time, “I told you. Tomorrow’s wedding will continue.”

Dante paused, then laughed under his breath. “How? I won’t be there as the groom. Who exactly do you plan to marry?” His voice softened as if he were coaxing a stubborn child. “Elena, you’ve never been the kind of woman who clings or makes scenes. I said I would marry you, and I will keep my word. You only need to be patient for a few more years. Be a good girl and serve as Bianca’s bridesmaid tomorrow, all right?” Wait. Again, he wanted me to wait. I had waited ten years for him and had finally reached our wedding day. Then, just before the ceremony, I discovered that he had been betraying me for three entire years. Now he wanted me to wait again—to stand there and watch him hold a ceremony with another woman, then wait until he tired of her and condescended to return and marry me. “I’m not waiting for you anymore, Dante.” He either did not hear me or simply did not care. He glanced at his watch, pulled Bianca back beneath the covers, and tossed out a careless remark. “It’s still early. We can sleep a little longer.” “Don’t worry. The true heir to the Valenti family will come from your body and no one else’s.” I lowered my eyes, calmly threw the bridesmaid dress back onto the floor, and returned to the guest room. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Adrian. I’m ready. A photograph followed. A black suit lay perfectly arranged on a bed, beside an antique wedding ring engraved with the Bellandi family crest. The marriage license has been handled. The waiver of the waiting period will be delivered before dawn. You don’t need to prepare a gown or a ring. My people will take everything directly to the hotel. I stared at the screen for several seconds before replying. Are you certain you want to marry me? Adrian answered at once. Elena, I never joke about marriage. Tomorrow, all you need to do is arrive on time. Leave everything else to me. … The next morning, the hair and makeup team waited awkwardly outside the master bedroom. Dante and his mistress were obviously still asleep. I walked toward them from the far end of the corridor. “I’m today’s bride. Get me ready.” I had personally handled every pre-wedding discussion, fitting, and detail with them. Of course they recognized me. My makeup was nearly finished by the time Dante and Bianca finally came downstairs. Morning light poured through the tall windows, making my brown hair gleam. Dante stopped when he saw me. For a moment, he simply stared. The stylist secured the final layer of my veil. I rose, gathering my skirts, and turned my face toward him. He finally recovered and sighed helplessly. “Elena, I told you I’ll make the wedding up to you later. Let Bianca have this one. Be good and take off the dress. She’ll be upset when she sees it.” Rapid footsteps sounded from the stairs. Bianca rushed down and clung to Dante’s arm. The moment she saw my wedding gown, her expression changed. “Today is supposed to be my wedding. Why is she still wearing a bridal gown?” “My mother was a mistress. I swore as a child that I would never become a woman like her. But for you, I’ve carried that shame for three years.” Tears quickly filled her eyes, making her look pitiful. “And now you want me to share even my wedding with her?” Dante immediately bent his head to comfort her. His helpless panic reminded me of ten years earlier. After the explosion, he had pulled me from the ruins. When he learned that I had lost both my parents, he had held me just as anxiously and sworn with awkward sincerity, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” Memories were always the sharpest knives. I gave a soft laugh and tossed a small, worn booklet onto the floor. “Dante, I don’t want this anymore.” If he had bothered to open it, he would have recognized the wish book we made together ten years ago. Back then, he said that once we completed one hundred wishes, we would never separate. Ten wishes remained unfinished. I no longer wanted to complete them with him. “Elena, perfect timing.” Dante bent down, picked up the pink booklet, and handed it to Bianca. “Babe, this is a couples’ wish book. If we complete one hundred wishes together, we’ll never separate. The dress is yours. The wedding is yours too.” Bianca finally smiled through her tears. She leaned against Dante and looked at me with open provocation. “Make her take off the dress. What right does a bridesmaid have to wear the bride’s gown?” Dante crooked one finger. Several maids immediately approached me. “Elena. Take it off.” The makeup artists looked embarrassed and tried to speak for me, but the guards stopped them and forcibly escorted them to another room. The gown was heavy. Beneath it, I wore nothing but lingerie. I looked around at the room full of people, then finally met Dante’s eyes. “Are you sure you want me to undress here?”

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I was the only she-wolf in the pack with two mates—a pair of twin Alphas, Caleb and Cillian. They adored me, loved me, and would shift into wolf form just to carry me on their backs. Until a healer named Elowen arrived at the pack, with a pup in tow. My mates started coming home smelling like her. After one fight, Caleb severed our mate bond without a second thought and walked away. Cillian held me close, swearing he’d never leave—even as Elowen’s scent clung heavier and heavier to his skin. I didn’t dare confront him. Not until I saw Cillian step out of Elowen’s cottage with claw marks of pleasure raked across his back. My soul ripped in two. I turned and ran, straight to my Alpha father’s house. “Father, the marriage alliance with the vampires—let me be the one to go.” … “Lyra, have you lost your mind?!” My father—Gideon, Alpha of our pack—shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped against the floor. His amber eyes burned faintly red with shock. The wolf was close to the surface. “They’re vampires!” His voice rang off the study walls. “Wolves and vampires have been at each other’s throats for a thousand years! Nobody knows what the hell will go wrong with this first-ever alliance marriage!” I stood before him, fists clenched in the fabric of my skirt, fighting to look composed. But I knew the two faded marks on my neck gave me away. They were the scars left behind when a mate bond breaks—like two dead brands, reminding me of what I’d once had and what I’d lost. “Father, I’ve made up my mind.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. Gideon drew a deep breath. The wolf receded from his eyes. He crossed to me and placed both hands on my shoulders. Alpha hands—warm, strong, full of the instinct to protect. “What did they do this time?” His tone went cold in an instant. “Was it Caleb or Cillian? I’ll go settle the score right now—” “Don’t!” The word tore out of me almost as a shout. “Father, please don’t!” I grabbed his arm in a panic. Last time—when Caleb severed our bond and left me for that newcomer Elowen—I’d gone to my father in tears. He’d been furious, nearly drove Elowen out of the pack altogether. It only made everything worse. The look in Caleb’s eyes shifted from tenderness to disgust. “Lyra, do you have any idea what you’re doing? Elowen hasn’t done a single thing wrong. She’s just a mother who fled here with her pup, and you want to throw her out?” “Take away your father’s protection,” he said with a cold smirk, “and what do you even have left? A she-wolf who can’t even take care of herself—what makes you think you deserve to be this pack’s future Luna?” Those words hit like silver bullets through my heart. And worse still, Cillian had grown distant. He no longer brought me blueberry muffins every morning, no longer ran beside me through the forest on full-moon nights, no longer whispered sweet things in my ear. “Lyra.” My father’s voice pulled me back. “You’re my only daughter. I can’t bear the thought of sending you so far away—to those cold-blooded vampires.” He paused, his amber eyes heavy with heartache. “But I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer, either. The alliance roster is due in three days. Give yourself three more days to think it over. Will you do that?” I nodded, though I already knew I wouldn’t change my mind. I stepped out of the study into a hallway lined with torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. Our pack lived in an old manor—once a nobleman’s castle, long since claimed by wolves. Soaring vaulted ceilings, Gothic windows—every inch of it steeped in age. I walked slowly, because my soul was still writhing inside those two severed marks. A mate bond was the most sacred connection between wolves. When two wolves recognized each other as fated mates, they marked each other’s necks. The mark gave off a unique pheromone that told the world: *this one is taken.* But when a bond is broken deliberately—the pain is like someone carving into your soul with a silver blade, cut by agonizing cut. I reached the front courtyard. A night breeze carried the chill of late autumn. Oak leaves crunched beneath my feet. And then I saw him. Cillian. He stood at the bottom of the courtyard steps, moonlight silvering his brown hair into a pale halo. He wore a dark gray sweater, hands shoved in his pockets, as if waiting for someone. My heart hammered all over again. Even though he’d severed our bond just last night. But here he was. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he’d come back for me—after all, he had loved me so fiercely once. Hope swelled in my chest. Wretched, burning hope. Even after he’d hurt me. Even after he’d abandoned me. I would have forgiven him in a heartbeat, if only he’d come back. That was the curse of the mate bond—even shattered, the love stayed carved into your soul. I took a step toward him. Then I heard a child’s laughter. A little boy darted out from a side door—five or six years old, at most. He giggled as he ran straight for Cillian and threw himself at him. “Cillian! Cillian! Mommy said you promised to take me to see the fireflies!” Cillian crouched down, and his smile was so gentle it broke my heart. I hadn’t seen that kind of tenderness on his face in a long time. “Of course, little guy.” He grinned. “Hop on my back.” Then, as I watched, his body began to change. Bones cracked and shifted. Skin rippled beneath a coat of dark gray fur. His frame expanded under the moonlight. In seconds, a massive wolf stood in the courtyard, amber eyes deep and warm. That was Cillian’s wolf form. The little boy let out a whoop and scrambled onto the broad wolf’s back. I stood frozen. The world spun around me. That was… that was the spot that had belonged to *me*. On countless full-moon nights, Cillian would shift and let me ride on his back as we tore through the forest, chasing starlight. He’d carry me to mountaintops for the sunrise, to streams where we’d catch fish, to patches of the sweetest wild blueberries. “Only my mate gets to ride on my back,” he’d once murmured against my ear. “And you, Lyra, will always be my mate.” But now, another woman’s child sat in that place. Elowen’s child. The great wolf bounded toward the forest with the boy on his back. Their silhouettes melted into the dark. I stood where I was, feeling the last trace of warmth drain out of my soul. Cold. A cold that went straight to the bone. I turned and stumbled back to my quarters. It was time to leave. Off to the Blood Kin. To those cold-blooded vampires. Could it really be any colder there than it was here?

The moment I stepped back into my room, I realized how foreign the space had become. Once, it had been full of life. Every morning, Caleb would set my favorite tea on the nightstand—a rare silver needle white tea he had to travel a hundred miles to a mountain valley to find. Cillian would light the fireplace at dusk, adjusting the heat to the exact temperature I liked, then lean against me and read aloud. But now… I looked around. Clothes lay scattered across the floor. The bed was a wreck. Unopened letters piled high on the desk. The fireplace held nothing but cold ash, and the air smelled stale. No one took care of any of this for me anymore. I sank down on the edge of the bed and wrapped my arms around myself. The two scars on my neck ached faintly, like two dead serpents gnawing at my soul. Memories rushed in like a tide. It had started three months ago, when Elowen first arrived at the pack. She had a five-year-old son named Toby, a body covered in scars, and a pair of eyes that were exhausted but fierce. Her husband had lost a power struggle and been killed by the new Alpha. She’d fled with her child. “She just needs a safe haven,” my father had told me. “As a healer, she can be useful to the pack.” I hadn’t objected. I thought I was generous enough, kind enough. I never imagined that within a single month, everything would change. Elowen truly was exceptional. She cured long-standing ailments for several key members of the Elder Council. She taught the children how to identify herbs in the forest. She never troubled anyone, always solving her problems quietly on her own. “Look at Elowen,” people in the pack started to say. “Raising a child alone, no mate, and she still has her life together.” “Not like *some* she-wolves—two Alpha mates and still never satisfied, throwing tantrums left and right.” Those words found their way to my ears, and I went crying to Caleb. “How can they say that about me?” I sobbed. “I just… I just want you two to spend more time with me.” Caleb held me, but his gaze had already lost that old focus. “Lyra, don’t you think you’re being a little… oversensitive about Elowen?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I stared at him. “She’s just a she-wolf who needs help,” Caleb said. “And honestly, you leave everything for us to handle and never try doing things on your own. Maybe you could learn from her. Try being a little more independent.” That was the first time Caleb told me I should “learn from another she-wolf.” After that, things spiraled out of control like an avalanche. Caleb started coming home later and later, claiming he was helping Elowen repair her cottage—the little place was falling apart. Cillian began visiting her frequently too, saying he was helping her adjust to pack life. And me? I became hysterical. A caged animal. I’d stay up deep into the night waiting for them, demanding to know why they reeked of another she-wolf. I’d cry. I’d rage. I’d threaten. “If you dare betray me, I’ll have my father drive her out of the pack!” That was the most foolish thing I ever said. Because the very next day, Caleb severed our mate bond. The pain… I can’t even put it into words. It felt like someone had wrapped silver chains around your soul and ripped them apart in one vicious pull. You could hear the scream rising from some place deep inside yourself, feel your blood boiling in your veins, watch the entire world shatter into fragments before your eyes. I lay in bed for three solid days, burning with fever, slipping in and out of consciousness. When I finally woke, Cillian was sitting at my bedside, his eyes red and swollen. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding my hand. “I’m so sorry, Lyra. I didn’t know it would hurt this much…” “Then don’t leave me.” I was crying. “Cillian, please don’t leave me.” He was silent for a long time. Finally, all he said was: “I’ll stay.” But what stayed was only a shell. He stopped gathering the things I loved. He stopped sharing his thoughts with me. He stopped loving me the way he once had—wholly, completely. He was just… fulfilling an obligation. Like tending to a fragile patient. Until last night, when I caught Elowen’s scent all over him. The pain and the fury finally broke the dam. “You’re going to leave me too, aren’t you?” I demanded. “You think she’s better than me too?” “Lyra—” “Don’t explain!” I screamed. “You’re just like Caleb! You both think I’m nothing but dead weight! A spoiled, useless she-wolf!” Something shifted in his eyes then. Guilt turned into something that looked almost like… relief. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe you’re right.” Then he raised his hand and pressed it to the mark on my neck. “No—” I tried to fight him, but his strength far outmatched mine. The pain hit again, worse this time—because it was the second time. I screamed. I convulsed. I felt my soul tear clean in half. When it was over, Cillian was gone from the room. He left me alone, thrashing in the wreckage of my own soul. Now, sitting in this disheveled room, I made a decision. I would go to them. One last time. If they turned me away—if they had truly, irrevocably chosen Elowen—then I would let go for good. I would go to the Blood Kin, leave this place and all its agonizing memories, and never come back. But before that, I’d fight for them one final time. I got to my feet, pulled myself together quickly. A clean dress. Hair brushed smooth. I even spritzed a bit of perfume on my wrists—a gift Caleb had given me once. He’d said the scent of lily of the valley suited me. Then I walked out, heading for Elowen’s cottage. Elowen lived on the western side of the manor, in a small standalone stone house. It had originally been a tool shed, but my father had it renovated as temporary housing for her. I hadn’t even reached the door when I heard voices inside. Caleb and Cillian. “Did you go see her today?” That was Caleb—low, serious. “Just ran into her by chance.” Cillian’s reply. “She went to see the Alpha King.” My footsteps halted. They were talking about me. “How did she look?” Caleb asked. A beat of silence. Then Cillian said: “Not good.” “Going soft?” Caleb’s voice sharpened. “If you’re going soft, walk out now. Cillian, we’ve been over this. If we’re going to lead this pack as dual Alphas, if we’re going to carry it into the future, we need a Luna who is truly strong. Not a she-wolf whose only skills are crying and clinging.” “I know.” Cillian sounded tired. “I just… worry she might do something to Elowen again. Last time she nearly got Elowen expelled from the pack.” “If she tries that again, I won’t hold back,” Caleb said, his tone glacial. “Elowen is the kind of asset this pack needs. And Lyra… she needs to learn what responsibility means. What sacrifice means.” I stood outside that door, and the entire world came crashing down around me. So this was what they really thought. I wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t independent enough. Wasn’t *worthy* of being their Luna. And Elowen—the outsider—was their idea of the perfect mate. Grief, rage, humiliation—it all churned together, igniting into a blaze inside my chest. I turned to leave—and then a child’s furious shriek split the air. “You bad wolf! Don’t you dare hurt my mommy!” Then I saw water flying toward me, and a piercing hiss tore itself from my throat.

That hiss was mine. Burning. Searing, vicious burning. I looked down at my arm. My skin was smoking, giving off the stench of scorched flesh. It was— *silverleaf sap*. The plant that’s toxic to werewolves. The pain ripped away my control. My body began to shift on instinct. Bones cracked. Teeth sharpened. Nails lengthened into claws. My wolf surged awake under the onslaught of agony, desperate to protect me, desperate to strike back. The door slammed open. Caleb and Cillian burst out. Toby cowered behind them, still clutching an empty bottle, his face white with terror. “Lyra!” Cillian cried. But what they saw wasn’t my pain. They saw me mid-shift—fangs bared, claws out, facing a five-year-old child. In their eyes, I must have looked like a monster. A monster about to hurt a pup. “What the hell are you doing?!” Caleb’s roar was deafening. The next instant, a wall of force slammed into me. Caleb had already half-shifted; he drove his shoulder into my body and sent me crashing to the ground. I hit the flagstones hard. Pain exploded through my back. But it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Cillian had already scooped Toby into his arms and was shielding the boy with his body, eyes locked on me like I was a threat. “I—” I tried to speak, but my throat would only produce a ragged croak. I fought to rein in the wolf rampaging inside me, forcing myself back into human form. The process was excruciating and slow, every bone grinding back into place like a separate torture. Finally, I was human again, crumpled on the ground. The wound on my arm was ghastly—skin charred black, flesh torn and raw. I was in too much pain to speak, but Caleb and Cillian weren’t looking at the wound. They just stood there, eyes cold, staring at me like a stranger. “You’d go after a *child* now?” Caleb’s voice was ice. “Lyra, I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He stepped forward, seized my throat in warning. “I’d suggest you leave. Now. Before I call the enforcers and have you dragged in for assaulting a pup.” “The one who’s hurt… is me,” I managed to choke out. “Still making excuses!” His glare hardened further. “Looks like you need a lesson.” His grip around my throat tightened. “No—” I struggled weakly, but there was no fighting an enraged Alpha. “Wait!” A voice cut through the suffocating standoff. Elowen emerged from inside. Her eyes—bright emerald green—went wide the moment they fell on my arm. “Oh God,” she gasped. “That’s a silverleaf burn!” She rushed toward me, but Caleb blocked her path. “Elowen, careful. She just tried to attack Toby.” “No.” Elowen shook her head, her gaze darting between me and Toby. “Toby, what’s that in your hand?” The little boy held up the empty bottle, trembling. “It’s… it’s silverleaf sap. I saw this bad lady sneaking over here, and Mommy always says I should protect myself…” “So you threw it on her?” Elowen’s voice turned stern. Toby flinched and nodded. Elowen took a deep breath and looked at Caleb and Cillian. “Can you not see? Her wound? Silverleaf is severely corrosive to werewolf skin. She didn’t shift to attack—she shifted because of the *pain*. It’s a reflexive response.” Silence. Dead silence. Caleb and Cillian finally turned their eyes to my arm. In the moonlight, the wound looked even more horrific—blackened skin, curling flesh, the pale gleam of bone visible beneath. “Lyra…” Cillian’s voice wavered. I smiled. It must have been an ugly smile. “So you finally see it?” My voice was raw. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I just… I came to find you. One last time.” I struggled to my feet, swaying with pain. Elowen stepped forward. “Let me look at that wound. I can—” “No need.” I cut her off and took a step back. I looked at her—this perfect she-wolf. Strong. Independent. A healer. She had every quality I lacked. “You’re remarkable, Elowen,” I said. “You really are stronger than me, more independent, more suited to be Luna.” “Lyra, that’s not—” Cillian tried to say something. “But,” I raised my voice, cutting him off, “I still have my dignity.” I turned to Toby, the five-year-old hiding behind Cillian, eyes wide with fear. “Toby,” I said. “You threw that on me. You owe me an apology.” “Lyra!” Caleb’s tone was pure warning. “He’s just a kid!”

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The night before my wedding, I drive forty miles to pick up my fiancé’s mistress and bring her home myself. “Addie, let Cass have the wedding tomorrow. ” When Julian sees us, he actually exhales in relief. “Addie, I promise you’re still my wife, legally. Cass can’t handle stress. She needs it. Once she’s settled, I’ll marry you properly.” Julian takes my silence for a yes. He doesn’t even look back as he leads Cassidy upstairs to pick out a wedding dress. I don’t get angry. I just calmly pick up my phone and drop one line into a group chat. [I’m short a groom for tomorrow. Any takers?] My phone explodes. Every one of Julian’s so-called best friends is in there, fighting to be the one to walk me down the aisle. I smile. See, Julian? If you won’t marry me, plenty of men will. I mute the chat and set the phone down. “Miss Whitlock.” Mr. Brennan, our butler, clears his throat. “Mr. Hayes is asking you to bring out the wedding gown.” He pauses, then forces himself to finish. “He said you won’t need it tomorrow. Let Miss Lane wear it.” That gown. Six months of sketching. A year of flying around the world. Every stitch, hand-finished by me. No one knows better than Julian how much of me is sewn into that dress. And now — because Cassidy wants it — I’m supposed to just hand it over? “Tell him,” I say evenly, “if he wants it, he can come down here and beg me for it himself.” Thirty minutes later, the front door slams open. Julian walks in with a dozen bridal consultants trailing behind him, each holding two designer gowns. He drops onto the couch, lazily twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Addie. Our wedding can wait. Cass likes your dress — just let her borrow it.” He gestures at the consultants. “Pick one you like from these.” “Or don’t. After Cass is done with yours, you can wear it for our wedding. I don’t mind.” Cassidy bursts out laughing. She throws herself into Julian’s lap. “Julian, you’re awful. You’re the one who told all of Manhattan Addie’d never wear secondhand. And now you want her in a dress I’ve already worn? She’s going to hate me.” Julian doesn’t even blink. He smiles and pats her head. “She’s not that petty. She’s been with me ten years. Who else is she gonna marry?” I keep my eyes lowered. In the group chat, the men are still going at it, each posting Instagram Stories about the wedding tomorrow — captioned with photos of suits, cufflinks, custom shoes. Julian sees it too. He laughs under his breath. “I’m the one getting married tomorrow and these idiots are pulling all-nighters with their tailors. More dressed up than the groom.” He casually drops a voice note into the groomsmen’s chat: [Relax, boys. Tomorrow’s casual. Eat, drink, have fun. Just one thing — make sure you call Cassidy by her name, with respect.] He doesn’t notice that no one replies. He shifts Cassidy in his arms, then lazily reaches a hand toward me. “Addie, where the condoms? You know how clingy Cass is — she wants me every night. And if she doesn’t get her way, she loses it.” “But I promised you. My first child will come from you.” I pull the corner of my mouth into something like a smile. That promise. He remembers only half of it. Ten years ago, under a sky full of fireworks, twenty-year-old Julian had sworn he would marry only me. That my wedding would be his first. That my child would be his first. Ten years later, everything has changed. I drop the smile quickly. Tell Mr. Brennan to go pick up a box of condoms for him. Pleased with my obedience, Julian scoops Cassidy up and heads for the stairs. “Oh, and Addie — sleep in the guest room tonight. Cass wants me all to herself. She’s a nightmare in the morning, so have the MUA wait outside the door. She can start once Cass wakes.” “Julian.” He stops on the staircase, turning his head with a faint frown. Make it quick. I look him in the eye, one word at a time. “The wedding’s still on tomorrow. If you won’t be the groom — I’ll find someone who will.”

Julian doesn’t believe me. He scoffs and shakes his head. “Addie, this isn’t the time to fight for attention.” “Let me handle Cass first. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, maybe she’ll let you be a bridesmaid.” In his arms, Cassidy pouts and tugs his sleeve. Julian doesn’t look back. He heads upstairs. A minute later, the sounds start. Mr. Brennan opens his mouth several times before he finally speaks. “Miss Whitlock… for Mr. Hayes, there’s never been another Mrs. Hayes. Only you.” I glance at the box of condoms in his hands. Tilt my head toward the stairs. … In the middle of the night, my phone rings. Brooke is screaming so loud my ear hurts. “Addie, what the hell? Why is Julian telling everyone the wedding is off?!” “You’ve been planning this for a year! The venue alone cost a couple million! Half of it is your designs! He can’t just call it off!” I sit up, rubbing my ear. Sleep is gone. Before I can answer, she shrieks again. “Wait — wait. He just sent me a new invitation. Same wedding. Same time. Different bride — some girl named Cassidy. Says we better show up.” “Who the hell is Cassidy?!” I close my eyes. Julian has always been like this. When he loves someone, he gives them the world. When he stops loving them — he takes everything back. “Brooke. Don’t worry about any of it. Just come tomorrow. The wedding is still on.” “He’s swapping the bride. So tomorrow, I’m swapping the groom.” Silence on the other end. Then Brooke pieces it together, and her voice goes raw with fury. “That son of a bitch. Swap him. Swap his sorry ass and don’t look back.” “He played the perfect fiancé for ten years. Twenty-eight countries for engagement photos. Renting out drones to announce your wedding to the whole city. And now he’s cheating?! I knew it — men are bastards!” I laugh, helpless. I want to tell her — it’s not that bad. My backup grooms are all impressive in their own right. But before I can speak, Mr. Brennan knocks. His face is pained. “Miss Whitlock… Mr. Hayes is asking for you in the master bedroom.” I know if I don’t go, he’ll take it out on Mr. Brennan. I tell Brooke to put on her bridesmaid dress tomorrow and meet me at the venue. Then I head upstairs. The bedroom door is half-open. The room is a wreck. The smell hits me first. Julian’s just stepped out of the shower, droplets running from his hair down the open collar of his robe — past a neck covered in marks. I dig my nails into my palm and force myself not to feel it. He sees me and lazily points at the floor. A bridesmaid dress. Crumpled. Stained. “Addie. I know you put a lot into this wedding. Wear that tomorrow. Be Cass’s bridesmaid. Call it closure for the past year.” Cassidy smiles, naked under the blanket. She leans up and whispers something sweet and venomous in Julian’s ear. “Julian — Addie’s the designer, right? The rings she makes must be stunning. I want one.” My face stays blank. That ring — like the dress — is mine. Sketched by me. Flown around the world for. Hand-finished by me. Julian knows. He just raises an eyebrow. “Addie, it’s just one ring. She wants it. Let her have it.” “We’re in no rush, Addie. You’ll have plenty of time to design a new one.” He says it like it costs him nothing. And just like that — the sharp, splintering ache in my chest disappears. I don’t feel a thing anymore. I look him in the eye and say it again. “I told you. The wedding’s still on tomorrow.”

Julian freezes. Then he laughs — confident, certain. “The groom won’t be there. Who exactly are you marrying?” “Come on, Addie. You’re not the desperate type. I said I’d marry you, and I will. You just need a little more patience. Mm?” I waited ten years. I finally got to the wedding. Only to find out he’d been cheating for three. And now he wants me to wait again — wait for him to marry another woman, then come back to marry me like he’s doing me a favor? I’m done waiting. Julian glances at the Rolex on his wrist, pulls Cassidy back into the bed, and tosses one last line at me without looking up. “Plenty of time for another round. Don’t worry, Addie — the Hayes heir is still coming out of you.” I lower my eyes. Nothing in them. I drop the bridesmaid dress on the floor and walk back to the guest room. … The next morning, neither of them gets up. The MUA waits awkwardly outside the master bedroom. I walk over. “I’m the bride. You’re doing my face.” She’s been working with me for months — the consultations, the fittings, all of it. She recognizes me instantly. By the time my makeup is almost done, the two of them finally come downstairs. Sunlight spills in through the windows, falling across me. Julian stops dead. The artist pins the last piece of veil into my hair. I gather my skirts and stand, turning to face him. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Addie. I said I’d give you a wedding. Later.” “For now, let Cass have it. Be a good girl and take that dress off — you’re going to upset her.” Then footsteps on the stairs. Cassidy comes running down. She grabs Julian’s arm — and the second she sees my dress, she snaps. She jabs a finger at me. “Julian! I’m the one getting married today. Why is she in a wedding dress?!” Her eyes well up. “My own mother was a mistress. I swore I’d never become her. But for you, I was willing. Three years, Julian — and you’d make me share my wedding with another woman?!” Julian’s face changes instantly. He bends close, voice soft, hands fluttering to comfort her. I let out a small laugh and toss a small pink notebook onto the floor. “Julian. I don’t need this anymore. You can have it back.” If he’d looked — really looked — he’d recognize it. The bucket list we made fifteen years ago. He’d said it himself: Once we finish all 100 wishes, we’ll never be apart. Ten wishes left. I don’t want to finish them with him anymore. “Addie, perfect timing.” Julian picks up the notebook and hands it straight to Cassidy with a soft laugh. “It’s a couple’s bucket list, baby. We finish all 100, and we’ll never be apart.” “Don’t cry. The dress is yours. The wedding is yours.” Cassidy laughs through her tears. She leans into him and shoots me a look. “Julian. Make her take the dress off. She’s a bridesmaid. Why does she get to wear it?” Julian crooks a finger. Maids swarm me from every side. “Addie. Take it off.” The MUA looks around, stricken. She tries to speak — bodyguards drag her into a separate dressing room. The dress is heavy. Underneath it, I’m wearing nothing but my underwear. I glance around at the room. At every staring face. “Julian. You sure you want me to take it off — right here?”

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I was on the phone canceling my custom gown with Camille, the Paris-based wedding dress designer, when my assistant asked again, “Ms. Mitchell, are you absolutely sure? You waited three years for this slot. The deposit is non-refundable.” I nodded. “I’m sure.” I had loved Camille’s work for years. She only took eight brides a year. I’d pulled all-nighters writing emails to get on her list, asked people to pass along my portfolio, even pushed back the wedding date twice to make the timing work. Christopher Harrington curated luxury brand exhibitions. His connections in the industry ran deep. When I asked him to reach out on my behalf, all he said was, “Camille only works with clients whose aesthetic aligns with hers. Me stepping in would actually make things worse. Besides, my fiancée looks gorgeous in anything.” Then last night, I came across Blair’s Instagram Story. Her Bichon Frise, Cotton, was sitting in front of a three-tier cake, wearing a miniature couture wedding gown. The caption read: “Thank you Chris for connecting me with Camille’s atelier so Cotton could have her own custom gown. My little princess deserves nothing but the best.” I stared at that dog’s dress for a long time. Then I took a screenshot. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t pull strings. It was that I wasn’t worth pulling them for. Christopher called, irritation already bleeding into his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a dog.” I hung up and dropped my engagement ring into the trash. Paris was too far away. Three years was too long. I wasn’t wearing the dress anymore. I wasn’t having the wedding either. *** It was midnight when Christopher got home. By then I had already left the wedding planning group chat. The planner texted: “Nora, are we still confirming the bouquet tomorrow?” I typed back, “No need,” and left the group. Christopher walked in, smelling of whiskey. He tossed his car keys onto the entryway console table. “I found another designer. Not Camille, but she’s talented. Good enough for your wedding.” I sat at the dining table. Didn’t look up. “It’s off.” Christopher frowned. “Nora, the wedding is next month. If you pull the plug now, all of Manhattan will laugh at us. What am I supposed to tell the board?” The email from Paris had just come through. Cancellation confirmed. The dress I’d waited three years for no longer belonged to me. He moved closer. Scotch breath hit my face. “All of this because Blair threw Cotton a birthday party?” I closed my laptop. “You helped Cotton get Camille. For me, you offered ‘good enough.’” A flicker of genuine impatience crossed his eyes. “You cannot seriously be competing with a dog.” I didn’t answer. It wasn’t about competing with a dog. He was the one who ranked me below Blair’s dog. I got up to get water. Passing the entryway, I noticed the shoe closet door wasn’t fully shut. Inside sat a pair of tiny pink dog rain boots. A sticky note was stuck beside them: “Chris, make sure Cotton wears these when you walk her in the rain. Her little paws get cold. —B” Chris. I’d known Christopher for five years. Even at our most intimate, I’d never dared call him that. Inside the drawer was a dog tag. Cotton’s name was engraved above Christopher’s phone number. Last month, my stomach pain got so bad I was crouched outside my office building. I called him. He said he was at a gallery viewing in Chelsea and told me to take an Uber to the ER. That same night, Blair posted on Instagram. Cotton was lying in a pet emergency hospital. Christopher’s hand was resting on her paw. The caption read: “All thanks to the one and only Mr. Harrington.” So he did know how to take care of someone. My phone buzzed. The wedding venue manager. Christopher hit speaker. “Mr. Harrington, Miss Tinsley just called. She wants the appetizers switched to a vegan cold platter. All nut-based sauces removed. The dessert bar stripped of chocolate. In case Cotton accidentally eats something toxic.” My hand stilled on the water glass. The manager kept going. “She also wants the signature cocktail replaced with organic cold-pressed celery juice. She said Cotton could drink it too.” I looked up at Christopher. “Why does Tinsley get to change our wedding menu?” Christopher reached to turn off speaker. I pressed my hand down on his. He lowered his voice. “She knows event planning. She’s just helping out.” I pulled in a breath. Kept my voice steady. “It’s our wedding. Why are we accommodating her dietary restrictions? My parents eat steak. My grandmother needs gluten-free options. Those were already in the original menu. Cotton can’t have chocolate. What does that have to do with our wedding?” Christopher’s expression hardened. “Tinsley’s bringing Cotton. If she eats the wrong thing, she could go into shock.” I let out a quiet laugh. A dog’s allergy mattered more than my family’s health. Christopher rubbed his temples. His tell. Extreme impatience. “Nora, it’s just one meal.” Something inside me snapped quiet. If I wasn’t happy, I was the one being difficult. If Tinsley opened her mouth, she was professional. She was just helping. I spoke into the phone. “Don’t change the menu.” The manager exhaled. “So we’re keeping the original plan?” “No.” I looked Christopher in the eye. “Cancel everything.” Christopher’s head jerked up. “Nora!” I set my water glass down. It landed with a soft but definite thud. “Since every dish has to accommodate Tinsley and her dog’s dietary needs, let them throw the wedding instead.” Christopher’s face went stone cold. “Nora, that’s enough. What exactly are you trying to prove?” His phone screen lit up. A voice message from Tinsley. “Chris, Cotton won’t eat anything today. I’m really worried.” Right in front of me, Christopher replied. “Don’t panic. I’ll come by in the morning to check on her.” His voice was gentle. The kind of tone you use to soothe an anxious mother. I looked at him. The last trace of warmth inside me went cold. “Christopher, why exactly do you want to marry me?” He didn’t even glance up. “You’re steady. You don’t cause drama. You carry yourself well. You’ll make a perfect Mrs. Harrington.” I nodded. Pulled my engagement ring out of the trash. Set it on the dining table. “Then go find yourself a better one.”

My phone woke me up the next morning. Christopher had added me back into the wedding planning group chat. The one I’d left last night. Inside, everyone was acting like nothing had happened. The planner sent over a preview link for the wedding website. “Nora, Mr. Harrington says the site goes live this afternoon. All guests will get the link. Let me know if the homepage needs any changes.” I clicked it open. The homepage had a scrolling photo gallery. The first three images were our engagement photos. The fourth was a close-up of Cotton in her custom Camille gown. Beneath the photo, a handwritten-style caption read: “Our very special flower girl: Cotton.” Tinsley posted a smiley face in the group chat. “Is Cotton’s photo too prominent? Nora won’t mind, right?” Christopher replied instantly. “She won’t. She was just tired yesterday. She’ll be fine today.” I stared at that message. The corner of my mouth curved into a smile with no warmth behind it. He didn’t even let me speak for myself anymore. Ten minutes later, Christopher walked in. He was already in his suit. In his hand was the ring I’d left on the table last night. “The site goes live this afternoon. Stop making this a thing.” He grabbed my hand and started forcing the ring onto my ring finger. I pulled back. “Christopher, I said no.” His grip tightened. He shoved the ring all the way down. The metal edge scraped my knuckle raw. This ring. A hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Wrong size. I’d told him. Multiple times. He said my fingers would swell during pregnancy. It’d fit perfectly then. His phone lit up. Tinsley sent a photo. Cotton was curled on a pink cushion, wearing a crystal collar. “Chris, is this one too expensive? Cotton seems really comfortable in it though.” Christopher texted back one-handed. “Not expensive. Her skin is sensitive. Cheap ones chafe her neck.” I recognized the brand. Three thousand eight hundred dollars. A new message popped into the group chat. The planner sent the ceremony schedule. After the bride and groom’s entrance, a new item had been added: “Flower dog delivers rings. Cotton, wearing custom Camille gown, escorted by Miss Tinsley.” My wedding dress was gone. And the dog wearing my dream dress would be delivering my ring. I typed: “Who added this?” The group went silent for a few seconds. Tinsley sent a voice message. That signature, trembling nasal tone. “Nora, Cotton is really well-behaved. And that little gown turned out so beautiful. It would be such a shame not to let her walk in the wedding. Chris agreed. He said it would make our wedding one of a kind.” Christopher followed up in the group. “It’s just a small moment. Don’t overthink it.” I looked up at him. “Christopher, this is my wedding.” He frowned. “I know.” “Then why is the homepage and the ceremony schedule all about Tinsley and her dog?” His face iced over. “Tinsley has put a lot of time and energy into this wedding. Instead of thanking her, you keep attacking her?” I stopped talking. Because if I kept going, I’d be the emotional one. The one who couldn’t see the big picture. The one making unreasonable demands. I looked down at the ring. Too big. I lifted my finger. It slipped off, hit the table with a small clink. I placed it back in the jewelry box in front of him. The planner was still asking in the group: “Can we take the website live now?” Christopher grabbed his phone to reply: “Go live.” I typed into the group: “Don’t.” Christopher’s face twisted. “Nora!” I didn’t look at him. Sent another message. “The wedding is canceled.” Another voice message from Tinsley. This one thick with tears. “Nora, did I do something wrong? Please don’t be mad at me and Cotton. If you cancel the wedding, I’ll feel like it’s all my fault.” Christopher seized my wrist. Looked me dead in the eye. Spoke one word at a time. “You have to make all of society laugh at the Harrington family?” I met his stare. “You turned my wedding into a showcase for her and her dog.” I pushed the ring box against his chest. “If Cotton delivering the rings is that important, let her deliver them to Tinsley instead.”

While Christopher and I were locked in stalemate, his mother Linda Harrington called. “Nora, sweetheart, I know you’re upset. I’ve invited your parents and grandmother to dinner at the club tonight. Let’s all sit down and talk things through, alright?” My mother called right after. “Nora, what’s going on? Your grandmother heard the wedding might be canceled. She didn’t touch her lunch.” I could ignore Christopher. I couldn’t ignore my grandmother. The moment I walked into the private dining room at the club, I saw Tinsley. She was pressed right up against Linda, Cotton cradled in her arms. Evan, Christopher’s business school friend, was there too. He spotted me and flashed a grin. “Nora, heard you and Chris hit a rough patch. Aunt Linda called us all in as peacemakers.” Tinsley stood up. Her face was a mask of guilt. “Nora, please don’t misunderstand. I didn’t want to come. But Linda said since I’d been involved in the wedding planning, some details might need clarifying. She asked me to come help explain.” Her eyes welled up, like she’d been dealt the greatest injustice. My mother’s expression darkened. My grandmother took my hand. Her palm was cool. Trembling slightly. The food hadn’t even arrived when Linda started talking. “Nora, let me be fair here. A wedding isn’t a game. You can’t just call it off on a whim. Chris is swamped with work. Tinsley knows the industry. Her helping out is for your own good.” Evan jumped in right on cue. “Yeah, Nora. Chris is going to marry you. What more could you possibly want? Don’t get hung up on the small stuff.” I looked at Christopher. He was buttering a bread roll. Head down. Like he didn’t hear a thing. Linda scrolled through her phone. Didn’t even look up. “Nora, Chris told me about the menu situation. You don’t need to stress over it anymore. I’ve already confirmed everything with the venue. They’re going with the version Tinsley finalized the day before yesterday.” My mother froze. “But we have guests with nut allergies. I specifically arranged a nut-free menu. Nora’s grandmother also needs gluten-free options.” Linda finally lifted her head. Fixed my mother with a polite, distant smile. “It’s just one meal. Everyone can make do for a few hours.” Right as she finished speaking, the private room door swung open. The restaurant manager walked in carrying an elegant French dessert plate. Mango mousse cake. Tinsley’s eyes lit up. She clasped her hands over her mouth, laughing. “Chris! I mentioned I was craving this once, and you actually had them prepare it?” She caught herself, suddenly remembering I was in the room. Hurriedly pushed the plate toward me. “Nora, this must be for you. You should try it first. Don’t let Chris’s thoughtfulness go to waste.” Linda looked at me too. Her voice coated in that gentle, unyielding authority. “Nora, Tinsley is offering you the first taste. Don’t keep that sour look on your face.” I lifted my head. Looked at Christopher. “I’m allergic to mangoes.” Christopher frowned. Genuine confusion. “Since when are you allergic?” “Four years now.” My voice stayed flat. “My throat swelled up. I almost went into anaphylactic shock. I called you. You said you were at a gallery opening with Tinsley. Told me to go to CVS and get antihistamines myself.” Christopher’s fingers finally went still around his water glass. The smile on Tinsley’s face froze for a second. Then she dropped her eyes. Her voice went soft. “Nora, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I looked at her. “It’s not your fault. He’s the one who never bothered to remember anything about me.” Evan frowned. Tried to smooth things over. “Nora, could this just be pre-wedding jitters? Tinsley means well. Do you have to snap at everything she says?” Linda set down her napkin. Her expression hardened. She looked at me the way you look at an ordinary girl about to marry into a prestigious family. A girl who doesn’t know the rules. “Nora, marrying Christopher means understanding the importance of protecting this family’s reputation and knowing your place. If you’re this petty, how is Chris supposed to focus on growing his career out there?” My grandmother finally put down her fork. She looked at Christopher. Her eyes were red. Her voice shook. “You’re supposed to marry my Nora. Why do you always side with outsiders?” Christopher’s face went rigid. His voice came out low but seething. “Grandmother, Tinsley is not an outsider. She put a lot into this wedding.” My father slowly set his wine glass down. In that moment, the thing that stung most wasn’t my own humiliation. It was watching my parents see with their own eyes how small I’d made myself for this man and his family. Year after year. I stood up. Helped my grandmother to her feet. “We’re the outsiders. We won’t keep you from your family dinner.” Christopher’s brow furrowed hard. “Nora, not in front of the elders.” I ignored him. “Grandma, let’s go home.” Linda shot to her feet. That elegant mask finally cracked. “Nora! If you walk out that door right now, what happens to the wedding?” I glanced back at her. “The wedding? Let Tinsley handle it. She’s already arranged everything, hasn’t she?”

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I was trying on wedding dresses when my best friend Avery asked me: “Ten years with Cole. Why are you marrying someone else all of a sudden?” My fingers went still on the veil. “Because of a high school reunion.” Three days earlier, Cole had texted me before the reunion. *No one knows about us yet. I don’t want those guys making a scene. Let’s go in separately.* I texted back, *Okay.* Then I watched him walk in with Madison on his arm. She’d been our high school cheerleading captain, the kind of blonde so golden she could’ve stepped off the yearbook page. Her smile hadn’t changed at all. All night, everyone gossiped about them. “Cole, you two finally hooked up?” “I always knew they’d end up together.” Faced with all that noise, he didn’t explain. Didn’t deny a thing. He just waved them off with a smile. “Cut it out. Madi gets embarrassed easy.” Every laugh, every wolf whistle echoed through that banquet hall and straight into my chest. I stared at them for a long time. Then I pulled out my phone and deleted the message I’d never sent. *Actually, I’m his girlfriend.* Ten years together, and our relationship had always been underground. His coworkers didn’t know. His basketball buddies didn’t know. His family had never even heard my name. He couldn’t give me a real title. But he had no problem letting someone else think she could have one. In that moment, I suddenly realized that a love where simply standing beside him in public felt like asking too much… probably wasn’t worth holding onto anymore. I sent my family a text. **I’ll do it. I’ll move back to Nashville. I’ll meet this Nathan.** Avery listened. Tears welled in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around me, her voice thick. “Elena, that’s all behind you now. You’re about to be the most beautiful bride.” I looked at myself in the mirror, draped in white silk. She was right. I looked beautiful. Just not for Cole. *** By the time Avery and I said goodbye outside the bridal shop, the sky had gone fully dark. A Chicago winter. The wind off Lake Michigan cut straight through my collar, wet and bone-deep. I pulled my coat tighter and stood at the curb waiting for an Uber, my fingers going numb. The little car icon on my screen barely moved. *Beep.* A horn behind me. A black Range Rover pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. Cole’s face. “Get in.” His voice was flat. No emotion I could read. I didn’t move. Just stood there looking at him for two seconds. His brow creased. “It’s ten below out here. How long are you planning to stand there?” I glanced down at my ankles, already red from the cold. No point hesitating. I opened the door and climbed in. The second the door shut, I regretted it. The passenger seat was reclined way back, almost lying flat. I’m not tall. Every time I got in his car, the first thing I’d do was pull the seat forward. Over time, his passenger side had molded itself to me. Now the seat was set for someone else. And there was a scent in the car I knew too well. Chanel. Floral. The most expensive one at the department store counter. The same fragrance that had swept past me at the reunion when Madison walked by. Something I thought I’d already numbed myself to twisted in my chest all over again. “Where were you?” He cranked up the heat as he asked. I didn’t answer. I forced the thoughts down and reached for the seat adjustment lever. This time, my fingers closed around a lipstick. YSL. Bold red. Loud as hell. Not my style. I looked at it, then dropped it in the glove compartment. Cole’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Madison wasn’t feeling well today. I took her to Northwestern Immediate Care.” “Mm.” I fastened my seatbelt. “We were classmates for three years in high school. She just moved back from the West Coast, doesn’t know anyone. It’s normal for me to help out a little.” He was explaining himself. Ten years ago, I might have actually believed him. Too bad we’d been together too long. I knew exactly who Cole was. He couldn’t even be bothered to visit his own brother in a Milwaukee hospital because he hated the smell of disinfectant. When his buddy landed in the ER with alcohol poisoning and called him, he made excuses. He was never the caring type. Anything that didn’t involve him directly, he didn’t spare a second glance. And now he was telling me he wanted to take care of an old classmate. The irony. Ten years with me. How many times had he taken care of me? The corner of my mouth tugged. My voice came out quiet. “What about me?” “What?” I stared at the streetlights sliding past the window. Michigan Avenue. One after another, stretched into ribbons of light. Not a single one was lit for me. “What are we?” No answer. The car went silent. Just the hum of the heater blowing warm air. I waited. One second. Two. Three. Then he hit the gas. Like speed could leave the question behind. But some things you can’t outrun by stepping on a pedal. He pulled up to his apartment building in Lincoln Park. Killed the engine. Everything went quiet. He was silent a few seconds before he spoke. “I know you weren’t happy about the reunion. But there’s no point dragging it out.” “Then why didn’t you deny it that night?” “It wasn’t necessary. And Madi didn’t mind.” I laughed. His jaw tightened. His voice sharpened. “Elena, what the hell is going on with you today? Can we not do the drama thing?” Ten years. I spent ten years molding myself into the perfect, never-complaining cool girl. I didn’t fight. I didn’t check up on him. I didn’t demand a title. And now, after asking two questions, I was the one making a scene. I suddenly felt exhausted. I rolled down the window. Cold air rushed in, snowflakes stinging my face, sharp as a slap. It jolted me completely awake. I turned to look at him. His expression had settled back into that calm, unbothered mask. I knew what he was thinking. That I’d let it go. That I’d do what I always did. Be upset on my own, get over it by morning, make his breakfast like usual, walk his dog like usual. Show up when he needed me, disappear when he didn’t. But this time was different. “Cole.” “Yeah?” “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I opened my mouth. His phone rang. The name on the screen: Madison. Cole grabbed it and answered. I couldn’t make out the words on the other end. Just a woman’s voice, muffled and tearful. Cole’s face went visibly pale. “Okay. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” He hung up without once looking at me. “Madi’s fever got worse. I have to go. You head upstairs.” He was already unbuckling my seatbelt as he said it, already pushing my door open. He didn’t give me a chance to speak. The door slammed shut. The engine roared. The taillights dragged two red arcs through the dark. They shrank smaller and smaller until they turned the corner and vanished. I stood at the foot of the apartment building, watching until the last trace of light disappeared. I’d wanted to exercise my girlfriend rights one last time before I left. To look him in the eye and end things properly. He couldn’t spare me three minutes. I dragged my leaden legs upstairs and collapsed onto the couch. The living room was dark. The only light came from his MacBook, still glowing on the coffee table. I glanced over. The computer was awake. An iMessage window open on the desktop. Madison. Two lines sat there quietly. *Cole, Jake and the guys are all over the comments saying we’re a thing. They want you to take everyone out for drinks.* The message was timestamped half an hour ago. His reply right below it. *No big deal. I’ll book a table at RPM sometime and buy them a round.* I stared at those two lines for a long time. My eyes started to sting. What was I doing half an hour ago? I thought about it. I’d been at the bridal shop, confirming the satin gown. My gaze caught a folder on the desktop. One word: “Madi.” My heart skipped. My hand moved on its own. Double-clicked. A password prompt. My fingers trembled as I typed in Madison’s birthday. It opened. The folder spread across the screen. Album after album. Madison in Iceland. The aurora behind her, green ribbons falling from the sky. She was wrapped in a white parka, smiling like a snow angel. His caption in the corner: *Iceland, December 2016. She said she had to see the Northern Lights at least once in her life.* Madison in Paris. An apron around her waist, standing at an oven, holding a tray of croissants. Golden and flaky. Caption: *Paris, August 2020. She’s taking a baking class. Said she wants to make breakfast for the person she loves someday.* Madison holding an orange cat, pressing her cheek to its forehead, eyes crinkled in a smile. Caption: *May 2021. Her cat, Lucky. He ran away later. She cried for a whole week.* Madison’s finger wrapped in a Band-Aid. Next to it, a fruit knife and an apple, half-cut. Caption: *March 2022. Cut herself slicing fruit. She’s always so clumsy.* Every photo had a watermark from a different social platform. Instagram screenshots. Facebook saves. Some pulled from her VSCO. He’d saved them all. Labeled every one with dates and locations. Some photos had clearly been cropped. The people beside her cut out. Only she remained. I scrolled down. My hands shook harder and harder. My fingers froze on the trackpad. Then I did something I didn’t expect. I opened my own photo album and started scrolling through ten years with Cole. No Iceland. No Paris. The furthest we’d ever gone was a drive to watch the sunrise on the shore of Lake Michigan. I’d woken up at four in the morning to make sandwiches and coffee. He complained the whole drive about waking up too early. When we got there, he slept in the car for two hours. I sat alone on the rocks by the water and watched the entire sunrise. I didn’t even have a single photo of us together. The only one I had was a shot I’d taken in secret, his profile while he slept. In the kitchen trash, the Eggs Benedict I’d made him that morning. He’d taken one bite, said the hollandaise was too heavy. The time my acute gastroenteritis had me doubled over in pain and I called him. He said he was playing ball. Told me to drink more hot water. I looked back at the last photo on the screen. Three days ago. The reunion. A picture of the two of them together. He stood beside her, head tilted toward her, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a big smile. But there was light in his eyes. A line of text underneath, dated that day. No extra words. Just four. *She’s back.* That’s when I understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to love someone. He just didn’t want to love me. Tears hit the keyboard with a dull thud. No warning at all. I buried my face in my hands, fingers digging into my scalp, curling into myself. A laugh clawed out of my throat first, short and ugly. Then the laugh broke into sobs I couldn’t hold back. I wasn’t crying for our ten years. I was crying for the girl who didn’t even have a name in his story. Silence. Just the sound of my own strangled crying. The computer screen was the only light in the room. That folder sat right in the center of his desktop, like he hadn’t even thought to hide it. Or maybe he thought I’d always be obedient. That I’d never touch his things. After all these years, I never looked through his phone. Never read his messages. Never asked where he went or who he was with. I thought that was trust. Respect. The most basic boundary between two people. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t trust. It was stupidity. I don’t know how long I sat there. Long enough for the screen to dim to black again. Long enough for the weight of it to stop mattering. From downstairs came the sound of a car pulling into the underground garage. Cole was back.

The living room lights snapped on. I squinted. “You’re still awake?” Cole glanced at me. I didn’t look up. I just sat there, frozen. He changed his shoes. Stood there a moment in silence. Then walked over. “Madi’s fever hit a hundred and three. She’s in rough shape. Her parents retired to Florida. She’s alone in that high-rise in Lincoln Park. No one to take care of her.” I said nothing. “I want her to stay here for a while,” he went on. “Just until she’s better.” A pause. Then he added, “What do you think?” I knew what this was. He wasn’t asking for my opinion. He was telling me. “I’ll move out tomorrow.” He frowned. “That’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” I lifted my head and looked at him. “You want me to live with her? Three of us under one roof? As what? Roommates? Or are you just taking care of two women at the same time?” When he saw my red, swollen eyes, he paused for half a second. But he didn’t ask. He pressed on about Madi. “She’s just staying temporarily—” “What’s the difference?” I cut him off. My voice had gone cold. The living room sank into dead silence. After a long moment, he pulled a credit card from his pocket and set it on the coffee table. A black Amex. His supplementary card. “Go stay at a hotel for a few days. A month at most. Just until she’s feeling better.” As he said it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. An email from United Airlines. Booking confirmed. Tomorrow morning. O’Hare to Nashville. I remembered my hands shaking when I’d bought that ticket, my heart pounding. But now, holding my phone, I felt calm. Like a drowning person finally grabbing hold of driftwood. “Okay.” I drew a breath. “I’ll pack my things and move out tomorrow.” Cole looked at me for a few seconds. Then he turned toward the bedroom. “Cole.” He stopped. “I’m getting married.”

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