Category: English

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

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

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

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I was born with a large chest. My body was cursed. That’s what the wood nymphs whispered behind my back, my breasts like ripe figs, so full they looked ready to burst, my waist thin as a grapevine you could snap with one hand. When I walked, those two soft mounds would sway, and even the wind stopped to stare. My mother was a priestess in the Temple of the Moon. She got pregnant at the sacred altar and died giving birth to me, refusing to the very end to name my father. The night she died, twelve laurel trees bloomed silver outside the temple. By dawn, every last petal had fallen. The priestess gathered around my cradle and called me an omen. A nymph too beautiful, they said, in the sacred grove of Artemis, was a disaster waiting to happen. I grew up in that grove, treated like a slave. They wrapped me in thick wool robes from neck to ankle, made me hunch my shoulders and lower my head, forbade me from ever looking a man in the eye. “Thena,” the high priestess Teya said, jabbing her finger into my forehead. “You think that body of yours is for seducing men? This is Artemis’s sacred grove. Step out of line, and I’ll feed you to the sea monster Scylla myself.” I didn’t know what stepping out of line meant. All I knew was the ache in my chest from the bindings they made me wear. In summer, the fabric rubbed my skin raw. In winter, the cold turned my fingers blue. But no matter how tight I wrapped, those two stubborn mounds pushed through, refusing to disappear. I cried into the spring more times than I could count, begging my mother to tell me why she gave me this body. The spring never answered. Only the wind rustling through the laurel leaves. Everything changed on a spring evening. Helios’s chariot had just crossed the sky, painting the grove gold and rose. I was walking back from the stream with a clay jug on my shoulder, water sloshing, when I heard sounds coming from the olive grove behind the temple. Muffled sounds. The kind you’re not supposed to hear. I put down the jug and crept closer. Teya was on her knees. Her robe had slipped down to her waist, exposing the dry, wrinkled skin of her back. And standing in front of her was a man I’d never seen before… No. Not a man. A god. He was shirtless, his body carved like a statue, every muscle holding enough force to level a city. Dark brown curls hung past his shoulders. His eyes were amber, burning like twin fires in the twilight. He had Teya by the chin, tilting her old face up to his. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low, like a blade dragging across a shield. “Who’s the most beautiful nymph in this grove?” Teya trembled. “The… the moon goddess’s handmaidens…” “No.” He let her go, his gaze sweeping past her, past the olive branches, past the floating dust motes in the golden light, and landing straight on me. My blood turned cold. His eyes moved down my face, past my trembling lips, and stopped at my chest, pressed tight against the edge of the clay jug, rising and falling with every panicked breath. “You.” He walked toward me, and with every step, the leaves on the ground seemed to shrink back. “What’s your name?” “Thena…” “Thena.” He rolled the name across his tongue like he was tasting it. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you afraid of me?” I nodded. Then shook my head. His scent was too much, iron and blood, the smell of a battlefield. It made my knees weak. “I’m Ares,” he said. “God of War.” I knew who he was. Son of Zeus and Hera. Every nymph knew the stories, once a god like him set his sights on you, there was no escape. My knees buckled. The clay jug slipped from my fingers. Ares reached out. His fingers hooked the strip of fabric binding my chest, moving so slowly I had all the time in the world to run. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. He pulled.

The linen tore like butterfly wings. My body, bound and hidden for seventeen years, broke free and stood naked in the twilight, bare to his eyes, to the fading sunlight, to the wind. I gasped. Tried to move back, but my feet wouldn’t obey. His gaze dropped to my chest. His pupils flared. His amber eyes filled with something I didn’t understand, something hungry and wild, like a man who’d been walking through a desert for a thousand years and finally found water. “Teya,” he said, his voice gone rough. “You were right. This body really is cursed.” He paused, bent his head, and brought his nose within a breath of my collarbone. “Cursed by me.” He inhaled. The warmth of his breath hit my skin, setting off a ripple of goosebumps down my neck, my arms, my spine. “You smell like…” His lips brushed my earlobe. “Spring.” I shoved him. I don’t know where the strength came from, but my palms hit his chest solid. I felt his heartbeat, loud and fast, just like a mortal man’s. I staggered back, stumbling over shards of the broken jug. Blood welled from my foot, but I didn’t feel it. “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. Ares didn’t follow. He stood there, watching me flee, watching my hair whip in the wind, watching my bare shoulders disappear into the trees. Then he bent down and picked up the torn strip of linen, still warm from my skin. He lifted it to his nose. “Thena,” he said, like a spell. The sound followed me through the olive grove, through the laurel trees, through the dying light. It sank into my bones. That night, every nymph in the grove heard me crying. I curled up in the darkest corner of the moon temple, moonlight falling cold through the high windows. I tried to wrap my chest again with the torn cloth, but my fingers shook too badly to tie the knots. Tears soaked my knees, my dress, the stone floor. Teya found me. The marks from Ares’s fingers were still fresh on her cheek, purple and swollen. She looked down at me with eyes that held nothing but disgust. “You think you can run from this?” Her voice echoed off the temple walls. “When a god like Ares wants something, no one stops him. No one.” I looked up through my tears. She bent down, close enough that her lips almost touched my ear. “I heard Ares was badly wounded at Troy. A spear went through his thigh. Right through the tendon.” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. A god who couldn’t perform. “Lucky you,” she said, her voice turning light, almost cheerful. “Better a broken god than a beast. At least you won’t have to bear children.” She patted my cheek. “Besides, they say men who can’t do it in bed make up for it in other ways.” “I don’t want to marry him…” “Don’t want?” Teya’s face went dark. “Who do you think you are? A bastard with no father. Ares wants you, that’s more than you deserve. If it weren’t for that body of yours, that slut’s body, a war god wouldn’t even look at you.” She spat the word slut like it was poison. I cried again. That night I dreamed. Ares’s hands moved up my legs, and everywhere he touched, my skin caught fire. His lips pressed against my stomach, and I heard his voice, low and shaking, like the ground opening up beneath me: “Thena. You can’t escape me.” I woke soaked in sweat. My hair was plastered to my face, my neck. The blanket had slid to the floor. Between my legs, a heat I’d never felt before, spreading through me like spring floods breaking through ice. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Shame shook me down to my bones. Outside, the moon hung cold in the sky.

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At the Manhattan’s elite gala, Father told me to lead the opening dance. The three childhood friends who’d promised me weeks ago—all of them avoided my eyes and walked straight toward the fake heiress, Fiona Foster. “Fiona’s position is awkward. If no one picks her, it’d be humiliating.” I stood there, watching Xavier—heir to the Sterling family—approach. I thought he’d finally announce our engagement publicly, but he leaned in and whispered an apology. “You’re calculating, Evelyn. You have means. You’re the Foster family’s true heiress—you don’t need my protection. But Fiona’s different.” I grabbed his hand. He pulled away, walking toward Fiona anyway. When Fiona looked past everyone else and took Xavier’s hand, the crowd started their commentary: “So she was waiting for Mr. Sterling all along. No wonder she ignored everyone else.” “The Foster heir and the Sterling heir—two future powerhouses. A match made in heaven!” Everyone congratulated my father. But his face went black. They didn’t know—everyone in the Foster family was hoping I’d fall in love, so they could hand my inheritance to the fake heiress without a fight. … This opening dance represented the Foster family’s reputation. I’d been lost for twenty-two years. Found and brought home only three years ago. This was the first time the Foster family hosted a gala where I was asked to lead—a recognition of my identity. Xavier knew exactly how much this meant to me. But he still walked toward Fiona without looking back. The atmosphere turned strange. I stood rooted, throat tightening. Watching Xavier take Fiona’s hand and step into the center of the dance floor. The spotlight followed them. The mockery chased after me: “I heard the Sterling and Foster families were planning an alliance. Guess we know who the real match is now. We all thought it’d be the noble true heiress…” “Looks like Mr. Sterling came tonight to back his future fiancée…” The music started. Xavier lowered his head slightly, listening to something Fiona was saying. His gaze—tender in a way I’d never seen before. Turns out when someone truly cares about another person, even their eyes soften involuntarily. And me? I only ever got to see the ruthless business king side of Xavier Sterling. After all, in his eyes, I was the daughter who clawed her way back into the Foster family halfway through— Scheming. Calculating. Even my sadness looked performative. My aunt swayed over with a wine glass, half the ballroom watching. “Well, well. Our legitimate Foster heiress standing all alone?” “Some people just aren’t born with that kind of luck, you know.” “Your grandfather gave you the best of everything the second you came back, but Fiona—she’s naturally blessed. Even after you pushed her aside, she still manages to take everything.” Aunt’s words scraped past my ears like blades. I tightened my grip on the wine glass. Before the gala, Xavier had told me—his position was delicate. Every move he made sent a signal for his family. Unless the Sterling elders gave a clear stance, he wouldn’t dance with me publicly. I was anxious, but I understood his difficulty. After all, in Manhattan, the balance between the Sterling and Foster families was fragile. If he asked me for the first dance, it would be picking a side. So I’d prepared ahead of time. I’d asked each of my three childhood friends separately to dance with me at this gala. They’d all agreed. No hesitation. But when the lights came up, they all walked toward Fiona instead. I’d guessed the beginning. I just didn’t guess the ending. Xavier did avoid dancing with me, the Foster heiress. He just walked toward a different member of the Foster family instead. Turns out there was no family signal. He just didn’t want to protect my dignity. He wanted to give someone else security.

Applause erupted. The first dance ended. Xavier’s hand rested naturally on Fiona’s waist. The three childhood friends who came for me were now busy crowding around them with champagne glasses. Xavier crossed through the crowd toward me. He lowered his head to look at me: “Fiona’s had it rough these years. You came back and easily slid into the heir candidate pool. She worked for years—lost everything because of bloodlines.” “It’s just one dance. You’ve always been generous.” “If tonight gets out,” I cut him off, “what will people say? That the Foster heiress is a joke who can’t even hold her own event?” His brow furrowed. “You overthink everything. Who’d dare laugh at you?” Seeing my silence, his voice dropped. “Evelyn, you’re strong. You can stand on your own. But Fiona’s different!” “If I don’t choose her tonight, if I don’t show I value her, she becomes the Foster family’s abandoned child.” I looked down at the wine swirling in my glass. He didn’t know—the Foster inheritance battle had reached a life-or-death point. Father’s message was clear: Either marry someone from a family equal to the Fosters, like Xavier Sterling, and let Grandfather kick me out of the running. Or he’d “arrange” me to some borderland upstart and eliminate the problem permanently. I’d wanted to stay outside the game a little longer. But this one dance shattered all my room to maneuver. Fiona trotted over, eyes hopeful as she looked at Xavier: “Xavier, could you introduce me to some of the guests?” “I’m not as thorough as Evelyn.” “She always keeps this little notebook—records which young heirs are rising, which uncles control rare resources…” She covered her mouth, frowning with self-reproach. “I—I don’t mean she’s opportunistic. She’s just… diligent.” Nearby, two ladies’ smiles faded. “Recording everyone’s value? This Foster heiress… quite the schemer.” “No wonder she made heir candidate in just three years.” Whispers drifted over. My blood ran cold. That notebook was homework assigned by Grandfather. When I first entered the circle, he told me to study the merits of each family’s elders… Xavier had even coached me on it. But he didn’t say a word in my defense. Let me become the center of the storm instead. Fiona looked at Xavier regretfully: “Did I say something wrong again? I just admire how capable Evelyn is…” He patted her hand. “It’s fine. Evelyn has a big heart—she won’t be mad at you.” Then he led Fiona away to greet others. “Xav—” Surrounding whispers drowned out my voice: “I felt bad for her getting her spotlight stolen, but ugh… turns out she’s that calculating.” “…” I stood in place, freezing from the inside out. Suddenly remembering that rainy day three years ago when I first returned to the Foster family. My adoptive parents were considered upper class. But compared to top-tier families like the Fosters, they weren’t truly seen as equals. The day I was brought back to the Foster estate, Manhattan was drowning in rain. I stood alone outside the ancestral home. Grandfather deliberately tested me, refusing to let anyone open the door. That’s when I met Xavier. He walked over with an umbrella and said: “Just got home? I’ll protect you from now on.” Now, his umbrella was over someone else’s head. I set down my glass and turned toward the terrace. The night wind was cold against my face. The composure I’d forced earlier cracked at the edges. Grandfather returns in seven days. If tonight’s events spread, it would definitely cost me points in his eyes. … After standing there for a while, I walked back into the ballroom. Caleb suddenly hurried toward me. “Evelyn, don’t go over there.” I followed his gaze. Those two were still spinning in the dance floor. He thought I was going to make a scene. Can’t blame him. Of the three childhood friends, he was the only one who’d survived years with me at the orphanage before I was adopted. Back then, whenever they handed out apples, I’d fight for the biggest, reddest one. Once I got it, I’d shove it at him first. Because he was slow at everything, and I was afraid he’d starve. Later, my adoptive parents took me in. I saved every bit of allowance, begged them to pull strings. Sponsored his expensive art school tuition. Did everything I could to lift him up into the influential appraiser he is today. But I was just a wild vine that clawed out of the mud alongside him. No matter how much support and nourishment I gave— I’d never compare to that untouchable sun high in the sky. I stepped around him to leave. He grabbed my wrist from behind. “Evelyn, if Xavier already chose, going over there now will just humiliate you more.” “Let go!” I tried to pull my hand back. He gripped tighter. In the struggle, my already-injured ankle twisted. I lost balance and fell backward. My back slammed against a pillar and I dropped to my knees, the impact echoing dully. Searing pain exploded. Caleb froze. “Why are you doing this? You’ve had everything at the Foster house these three years. What does Fiona have left?”

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I got my miracle on Christmas Eve: my vision came back. But I wish with every broken piece of my heart that I was still blind. I run through the hospital hallway, grinning like crazy. I can’t wait to tell my boyfriend and my bestie. Then I stop cold. A few nurses are huddled around a phone, scrolling through a post. “Have you seen this post? It’s blowing up right now.” “My best friend lost both her parents and her sight overnight. I gave up my job abroad to come back and take care of her with her boyfriend for three years. But I fell in love with him. We’ve done everything together—carefully, secretly. I know I can’t keep doing this. I can’t betray her. So I have to leave. If this post gets 100,000 votes for me to go, I’ll spend the holidays with him one last time—then fly away and never come back.” My eyes lock on the profile picture. It’s a photo I took of my bestie. Senior year. I was leaning over a classroom windowsill to catch her from behind.Changed every single one of her profile pictures to that shot. “Babe,” she said. “I’m keeping this photo until I’m eighty.” Now she’s using it while doing something that shatters me. The votes are split. Blue for “stay and fight for him.” Red for “leave and end this.” Blue is winning. By ten thousand votes. I stare at the screen. My lungs stop working. I waited three years for this miracle. I wanted to see again more than anything. And the first thing I see is this. A tear drops onto the nurse’s phone. They all look up at me. “Right? This love triangle is so messed up but also so sad.” “What would you do? Vote for her to stay with the guy or leave?” “Honestly? Stay. Who wants to be stuck with a blind girl forever? That life looks miserable. So yeah—team blue.” My hands won’t stop shaking. They’re right. I’m blind. I’m a burden. Of course he’s choosing her over me. Even though my eyes just healed—what right do I have to ask him to come back? I’m not that selfish. I swallow the pain and force a smile. “Yeah,” I say. “You’re right. A guy shouldn’t be tied down to a blind girl for life. He should be with her best friend. True love deserves a blessing. I vote blue too.” I turn and walk out the hospital’s main doors. And there they are. Ethan and Lauren rush toward the entrance. His arms are wrapped tight around her body. Three years changed him—his shoulders are broader now. Safer. She looks prettier than ever, light spilling out of her smile. It’s freezing. He drapes his big coat over her shoulders. They look like something out of a movie. As they get closer, Lauren tries to pull away from him. But Ethan pouts. Holds on tighter. Bends down and kisses the corner of her mouth. She kisses him back hard, then pulls away, breathing fast. Glaring at him. Like she’s saying: She’s right there. Be careful. If I couldn’t see, I’d never know. I push the hurt down and smile. “Ethan? Lauren? Is that you coming to pick me up?”

Lauren hooks her arm through mine and kisses my cheek. “Of course we came to get you. We were worried sick.” “Work stuff came up for me today, and Ethan’s lab had some emergency. That’s why you had to come alone. So sorry about that.” Ethan talks to me, but his soft eyes are on Lauren. “Mia, what did the doctor say about your eyes?” I clutch the report in my pocket and shove it down deeper. “Same as always. Maybe in a few years, if I’m lucky.” I catch it. The quick flash of relief in Ethan’s eyes. It slices through my chest. He doesn’t want me to get better. Because if I stay blind, he can keep sneaking around with Lauren. He reaches out and pets my hair. “Don’t be scared, Mia. You still have us. Lauren and me. We’re not going anywhere.” “One day, one year, ten years—we’re never leaving you.” A year ago, I would’ve sobbed hearing those words. But now? I can’t believe he just kissed Lauren ten minutes ago and now he’s feeding me promises like this. Lauren suddenly wipes a tear off my face. “Mia, why are you crying?” “Did someone mess with you while we weren’t here? Tell me who. I’ll rip them apart.” Her panic is real. And it only makes it hurt more. I shake my head. “I’m fine. Wind got in my eyes. Don’t worry.” She pulls off her jacket and wraps it around me. “It’s freezing. Take mine. Let’s go to the store.” I grab her coat like a robot. I don’t feel any warmth. Ethan frowns. He takes off his own coat and slips it over Lauren’s shoulders like it’s second nature. She lifts her arms without even thinking. Like they’ve done this a thousand times. Because they have. Three more days until Christmas. They take me to the grocery store. They’re planning a big holiday dinner. Our eighteenth Christmas together. Lauren holds my arm, her voice bright. “Hey, grab some extra mushrooms. You know Mia loves those.” “Ethan, did you get the chicken? I’m making honey garlic chicken for her!” Ethan smiles at her—that soft, private smile. “Already got it. She’s my girlfriend. You think I don’t know what she likes?” My blood runs cold. Because before Lauren even told him to get my stuff, his cart was already full of her favorite meats, her favorite drinks, her favorite snacks. I’m not first anymore. The guy I’ve loved for ten years? His whole heart belongs to someone else now. They don’t notice me. They keep planning the Christmas menu. And then— Boxes tumble from the top shelf. I don’t even have time to react. But Ethan does. My hand shoots out for him on instinct. But he’s already moving. Grabbing Lauren. Pulling her out of the way. “Lauren—watch out!” My hand grabs nothing. The boxes slam into me. My head cracks against the corner of the shelf. Sharp pain. Then warm blood drips down my forehead, into my eyes. Across the aisle, Ethan is frantically checking Lauren from head to toe. “Are you okay? Did anything hit you? Are you hurt?” Lauren’s shaky. “I’m fine. You got me out just in time.” They both forgot about me. A store employee runs over and grabs my arm. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding a lot. We need to get you to a hospital.” Lauren and Ethan whip around. Then they rush to me. “Mia—why didn’t you move?!” “Don’t be scared. We’re taking you to the hospital.” I shake my head. “It’s not that bad. Just take me to the pharmacy down the street. I don’t want to go back to the hospital.” I don’t want them to know I can see. So they take me to a little clinic. Stitch me up. Drive me home. Now I’m not just blind. I’m blind and scarred.What a joke.

I step inside the apartment, and my chest just aches. There are safety bumpers on every corner—leftover from when I was blind. But that’s not what hits me. The place reeks of her. This is the tiny apartment Ethan and I saved up for after college. Our first home. And while I couldn’t see, she covered the walls with pictures of her and Ethan. Smiling. Kissing. Hugging. The balcony is full of her hydrangeas. My plants? Dead. Every single one. This isn’t my home anymore. I feel like I just walked into their love nest. Ethan takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “Mia, I’m sorry I didn’t push you out of the way earlier. You got hurt because of me. Are you mad?” “I should’ve protected you better.” I stare blankly ahead, pretending. “It’s okay, Ethan. I’m not mad. Those boxes weren’t secured right.” He exhales. Kisses my knuckles. “Good. Just sit tight. I’ll make dinner.” I smile and nod. He and Lauren go into the kitchen together. They’re flirting. Touching each other while grabbing ingredients. I pull out my phone—the one I barely use anymore—and find Lauren’s post. The votes for her to stay with Ethan have hit 100,000. The votes for her to leave are at 90,000. I scroll through it one more time. Then I book a one-way ticket out of New York. When I look back up, Ethan and Lauren are arguing in the kitchen. He grabs her wrist and pulls her into the bedroom. I swallow the knot in my throat and follow quietly. Through the crack in the door, I see him hold up his phone to her face. His voice is shaking. “Lauren, what the hell is this post? You’re leaving me? Going abroad?” He found out. Lauren’s eyes go red. She drops to the floor, clutching her head, crying. “Mia’s going to get her sight back someday. How am I supposed to look at her after that? How do I tell her I fell in love with you?” “Ethan, you and Mia are the couple. I’m just the pathetic other woman who betrayed her best friend.” “I can’t face her. So I’m running away. Don’t make this harder for me.” Ethan lowers himself to his knees. Wraps his arms around her. Kisses her tears away—softly, gently, like she’s something precious. “Don’t leave me. We love each other. How could we just walk away from that?” “The doctor said she’s got years before she can see again. She won’t find out.” “And look—look at the votes. 100,000 people are on our side. They see what we have. Are you really going to ignore that?” My fingers go cold. One by one. Maybe if I was still blind, I’d stay in the dark forever. Then I wouldn’t have to lose my boyfriend and my best friend at the same time. But now I’m standing here, watching them kiss. Comfort each other. Plan their future. Lauren digs her fingers into his shoulders, sobbing. “Ethan, I’m drowning in guilt every single day. So let fate decide. If the votes for me to leave hit 100,000 after Christmas, I’ll go. No questions asked. Just let me go. You belong to Mia, not me.” Ethan’s face twists with pain. He pulls her tighter. His voice cracks. “Okay. I just want you to be happy. Even if it means losing you.” I’m crying without making a sound, cover my lips and walk away.

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On Christmas Eve, I slipped into Chicago without telling Damien. I spent the afternoon cooking ！ a full spread, enough to fill his entire dining table ！ planning to surprise him. While I waited, I scrolled Reddit and stumbled onto a thread. [What does a man do when he actually loves you?] Someone in the comments answered. [He couldn’t make it home for Christmas, so he stayed back to keep me company ！ told his family work ran over.] [He was supposed to get engaged to his girlfriend this year, but I said I wasn’t ready, so he pushed the date back. He remembers every little thing I like, never forgets my birthday, and even decorated the passenger seat of his car just for me.] My stomach dropped. Was it a coincidence? Damien had told me the same thing ！ too buried in work to fly home for Christmas ！ and our own engagement date had been pushed back too. Someone replied to her: [How is that any different from being the mistress?] She laughed it off. [The one who isn’t loved is the mistress. He told me he stopped having feelings for his fianc└e a long time ago. He’s only still with her out of obligation.] [Right now, we’re watching the Christmas fireworks~ ] The photo attached showed a side profile, fireworks blazing in the background. Identical to Damien. ´ I zoomed in. Zoomed back out. Told myself it was someone who just looked like him. Then she posted a second photo ！ hands intertwined. On those overlapping fingers sat a ring I knew too well. My eyes burned. My hand trembled as I dialed Damien’s number. It rang a long time before he picked up. Fireworks crackled in the background. His voice came through soft and warm. “Mia. What’s wrong?” “Where are you?” I asked. “At the office. Still catching up on work.” He sounded completely at ease. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have believed him without a second thought. I blinked against the sting in my eyes and said, “I’m at your place.” Silence for a few seconds. Then: “I’m heading back now.” I stood there looking at the dinner I’d spent all day making, and something in me felt almost laughable. When Damien came through the door, he wasn’t alone. There was a woman with him. His personal assistant. Nadia Reyes. She’d appeared in the background of our video calls before ！ brief flickers I hadn’t thought much of. I’d only learned her name afterward. When his eyes met mine, something flickered across Damien’s face. A half-second of unease. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” My eyes had gone red. I looked at what he was wearing. The man in that photo wore the exact same thing. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. “I wanted to surprise you,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse. Turned out Damien surprised me first. I shifted my gaze to Nadia. “You work late with your assistant?” Damien paused. Then steered the conversation sideways. “Next time, just let me know ！ I’ll come pick you up.” I smiled, but there was nothing behind it. I said nothing. “Didn’t expect you to remember me, Ms. Fontaine.” Nadia flashed me a playful wink. “Mr. Voss and I were just finishing up at the office. The moment your call came in, we rushed straight back~” Straight back. She said it like she lived here. Somehow I was the one who felt out of place. Damien glanced at Nadia, something warm flickering in his eyes, then turned to explain to me: “Couldn’t get a cab on Christmas Eve, and I needed to get back fast ！ I had no choice but to bring Nadia along.” “I’ll drop her home in a bit.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. What Damien didn’t know was that I had taken an unofficial six-hour ride to get here. Nadia smiled at me. “You don’t mind, do you, Ms. Fontaine?” Damien laughed, easy and natural. “She’s not petty like you.” Nadia stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not petty.” They bickered the way couples do ！ not like a boss and his employee. The hand I’d burned on the stove earlier throbbed quietly beneath everything. Nadia looked at the table full of dishes, visibly impressed. “Wow ！ Ms. Fontaine, you made all of this?” She sighed lightly. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen. At home it’s always my boyfriend who cooks´” I stopped listening. I turned to Damien. One word at a time. “I don’t like her.” “Damien. Fire her.”

The smile on Nadia’s face went rigid. She hadn’t expected me to strike like that. Her eyes flew instinctively to Damien. Damien paused. “Alright. Whatever you say.” Nadia stiffened. “Mr. Voss´” Damien used the excuse of getting her a cab to walk her out. He was gone for two hours. Every dish I’d spent all day making had gone cold. I threw it all in the trash. By the time Damien came back, I’d just closed out of the Reddit thread. My eyes went straight to his collar. Rumpled. And on it ！ faint, but unmistakable ！ a smear of lipstick. Ten minutes ago, the comment had updated. [His fianc└e showed up out of nowhere and dragged him back. Even tried to have me fired. But so what? He played along to her face, and then spent the whole ride back coaxing me.] [We hooked up in the car. He walked back in with his collar a mess ！ and a little bit of my lipstick on it, oops~] Every detail matched. Damien crossed the room to hold me. I shoved him back hard. “Don’t touch me.” Nausea surged up my throat. I pressed a hand over my mouth and ran for the bathroom. Damien followed, rubbing my back. “Did you eat something bad?” Her perfume clung to him, drifting into my lungs in slow waves. Nothing came up. I straightened and walked back out. Damien poured me a glass of hot water. I didn’t take it. I just looked at him, exhausted. “Is Nadia really just your assistant?” The moment the words left my mouth, Damien’s brow creased. “Of course. She’s just my assistant.” I finally laughed. I pulled up the thread and held the screen out to him. “Then what is this?” “An assistant is worth skipping Christmas for? Worth pushing back our engagement?” Damien stared at the comment for a long time. I waited. I thought he’d say something ！ anything. But all he did was frown. “She’s just a girl being dramatic, posting for attention. Don’t take it to heart.” Posting for attention. Nadia said Damien memorized everything she liked. That he cooked for her. That he customized the passenger seat of his car for her alone. That he even delayed our engagement for her. That was just for attention? “Damien,” I said. “Do you know I like spicy food?” He looked at me, clearly lost. Like he couldn’t understand why I was asking something like that. He said nothing. I let out a short, bitter laugh. He didn’t know. Which was why every meal between us had always been mild. Which was why I never knew he could cook ！ because he had never once cooked for me. And the passenger seat ！ last time I visited, I’d brought a small dashboard ornament, something I wanted to put there. Damien refused without hesitation. He said he didn’t like clutter in the car. Apparently that rule had exceptions. Just none for me. Damien looked at my red-rimmed eyes and softened his voice. “Mia. Don’t worry about her.” “After the holidays, I’ll let her go. Once everything’s in order ！ we’ll get engaged. I promise.” For Nadia, Damien had given up Christmas with his family. For Nadia, he had pushed back my engagement. I had told myself he was just busy. Said yes to everything he asked. And Nadia had told the internet that Damien was only with me out of obligation. If that was all I was to him ！ an obligation ！ then he didn’t need to carry it anymore. I didn’t want the engagement either.

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

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

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Every wolf in the Iron-Fang pack says I’m not the same Luna anymore. I no longer slipped out of bed before dawn to brew Valerius his morning herbal. And no longer press the creases from his Alpha command uniform before each council. Seven days passed like this. On the seventh night, Valerius returned, shrugged off his mantle, and looked at me. I was reading the healing grimoire. “What’s wrong with you lately?” After seven days of silence, that was the first thing he said to me. His voice carried the chill of deep water — controlled, distant, not a thread of warmth in it. I looked up and studied his face in the candlelight. He was striking in the way that powerful wolf often are. The she-wolves of the pack said Valerius needed only to stand in a room to attract everyone’s attention. I had believed that once. But this life, I had reborn, and I was not going to make the same mistakes again. In my last life, every she-wolf in the territory envied me, said my ancestors must have pleased the Moon Goddess for me to be fated to a man like Valerius. He was the Alpha of the Iron-Fang Pack and commander of the Lycan Council, gifted with both power and a presence. Being his Luna was supposed to be a blessing beyond measure. I had believed that completely, and I entered this palace. On our mating night, he said, “The pack and the Council will always come before everything else.” “I have no time for sentiment, and no energy for a mate’s expectations. If you understand that, stay and do something useful.” I nodded, my face still warm, and told him I understood that he should focus on protecting the pack, and I would hold the palace together for him. I had meant every word and I kept every one of them. He had no time for the palace, so I ran it — every supply ledger, every Elder negotiation, every pack ceremony. When I caught a fever I brewed my own herb and heal myself. When a rogue’s blade caught my side during a border escort, I bound the wound myself and said nothing. And when wolfsbane poisoning began destroying me from the inside, and I was vomiting blood through the nights, I still said nothing. I handled everything alone rather than diverting his attention from those critical matters. He swept the Council clean of corruption at thirty. He stood above every rival by thirty-five. At forty, he was granted a title no wolf had held in two centuries. At the feast celebrating that title, a beta raised a cup and asked how he regarded the mate who had stood behind his rise. Valerius turned his goblet and said, “We have mated for many years, but I have never felt anything for her beyond that bond. ” “My devotion belongs to this territory and the wolves under my protection. Sentiment is smoke. The pack endures.” The hall applauded. They called it the answer of a true Alpha — selfless, uncompromising. Then he rushed to the next border campaign and never came back to the packhouse. He didn’t know when the wolfsbane eroded my body. Even when I died in the eastern wing, undiscovered for three days until a servant passed by. I watched my own burial from above as a fading spirit, without ceremony. I saw Valerius receive the news in his war tent, acknowledge it with a single quiet sound. I spent an entire life learning that we were never meant for the same path. He was a revered Alpha, respected by the pack. But being his mate was too much to bear. His heart belonged entirely to the pack; there was no room left for me. So when I woke to find myself back three years after our mating bond, the first thing I did was make up my mind to sever the bond. The second was to write a application to the Moonshadow Enclave, the ancient healer’s valley sealed from pack politics by old protective magic. Their reply was due in two days. “Nothing in particular,” I said, closing my grimoire. “I had time, so I read.” His brow furrowed. “What use do you have for that?” His tone carried no malice. In his mind, my purpose was to manage the palace and stay out of the way. Outside the window, two of the night-watch she-wolves were murmuring. “Seven days and the Luna hasn’t once gone to the gate. She used to pace until her feet ached when the Alpha ran late.” “Her birthday was last week. She had prepared. The candles burned to nothing and the Alpha never came.” “He keeps her too cold for too long…” Valerius glanced toward the window, then turned back. “I don’t observe birthday, the time is better spent on Council reports.” He drew two scrolls from his sleeve and set them on the table. “The Alpha King is hosting a Moon Gathering tomorrow night. You will attend with me. Resume your normal routines beginning tomorrow — this ends here.” I looked at the scrolls — gold-pressed parchment stamped with the Alpha King’s seal, the kind of invitation mated pairs across the territory would fight for. A month ago, I would have been unable to sleep from excitement. Now I only felt the exhaustion. “I am not going,” I said. Valerius went completely still. He looked at me with a flicker of surprise. In three years of mating, I had never once said no to him.

“Why not?” he asked. I stood up and said I was tired and needed to rest. I turned toward the bed. Valerius stepped in front of me and blocked my path. “Get changed. The Gathering doesn’t end for another half hour. We’re going now.” I looked at him and thought of all the times I had simply turned around and done whatever he said. He was already reaching for my cloak. Before I could say another word, he had it around my shoulders and was steering me out the door. An hour later we were on the river road heading home, the Gathering behind us. He spent the return ride reviewing a sealed dispatch by lamplight. I watched the dark trees pass outside the window. Then the horses screamed. Rogues hit the carriage from both sides, half-shifted and fast. The frame lurched violently. I grabbed the door frame and held on. I saw Valerius shift into his wolf form, straight to the strongbox bolted beneath the seat, the one holding the territorial defense maps. He wrapped both arms around it and drove his shoulder through the carriage roof. The door buckled. I went with it. When I came to, I was in the mud at the edge of the road. Valerius stood nearby, strongbox secure under his arm, scanning the tree line. Unharmed. He had not looked for me once. I got up, checked my limbs, and walked to the nearest pack clinic. The healer was cleaning my wound when Valerius told me through the mind link that urgent Council matters required his return to the palace. I was used to this. Then she said, “A letter arrived for you from a messenger-wolf just now. I left it on the pillow.” I broke the seal with one hand. It was from the Moonshadow Enclave. Exceptional aptitude. Accepted unconditionally. Report at your earliest convenience. My fingers began to tremble and my tears fell onto the parchment. I folded the letter and pressed it against my chest. All I needed now was to reject him. Then I could leave. In the days that followed, I stayed alone in the pack clinic. The healers on duty would chat among themselves during quiet hours. About the she-wolf in the next room whose mate hadn’t left her bedside once. About a warrior who had crossed half the territory just to find a rare herb for his mate’s recovery. I listened in silence. My leg was heavy with injury, but my heart felt strangely light. The day I was discharged, I walked out on a crutch and went straight to the market district. I bought what I needed for the journey to the Moonshadow Enclave. It was midday when I finished. I stepped into a nearby tavern and had barely found a seat when the door opened and Valerius walked in. He was not alone. The woman beside him was Isolde, the pack’s only female Gamma and Lead Strategist. She her hair pinned high, and when she smiled her eyes caught the light in a way that made the whole room notice her. Something pricked at my chest. Isolde. In my first life, that name had haunted me like a curse. Many she-wolves admired Valerius, but he kept everyone at a distance. His eyes were always on the pack business, nothing else. Isolde was clever enough to know that. She never spoke of feelings. She only ever spoke of strategy. “Alpha, I believe this defensive formation has a flaw worth addressing…” “Alpha, I’d like to go over the border map with you one more time…” “Alpha, would you look over this report before I submit it to the Council…” Under the cover of pack duty, she positioned herself beside him naturally, sharing his table, his late nights, his attention. In my first life, the hours Isolde spent with Valerius, even the exchange of a glance, all of it far outnumbered anything I had ever shared with my own mate. In the past, seeing this would have stolen my appetite entirely. Now I simply turned back to the menu in my hands, calm and unbothered. Then Isolde’s sharp eyes swept the room and landed on me. “Is that… the Luna?”

Isolde spotted me first and waved, pulling Valerius over with her. “What a coincidence,” she said warmly. “Valerius and I just finished going over the strategy. I’m treating him to lunch as thanks for his guidance. Don’t misunderstand, Luna.” Her words were perfectly polite. Her eyes were not. Valerius gave me a brief nod, sat down, and opened the report he had brought. He didn’t ask about my wound. He didn’t ask about anything. I looked at him for a moment, then looked away. “I’m not misunderstanding anything,” I said. “Order what you like.” Isolde blinked. That clearly wasn’t the reaction she expected. She glanced at Valerius. He still hadn’t looked up. Just then, a server came through carrying a large pot of boiling broth. The floor near our table was slick from the morning wash. His foot slipped, and the pot tilted, straight toward Isolde. Valerius moved instantly. He grabbed me and yanked me forward. The scalding liquid hit my back. The pain tore through me, burning through fabric, searing into skin. But Valerius was already reaching for Isolde, grabbing her hands and turning them over to check every finger. “Did it burn you?” His voice was urgent in a way I had never heard directed at me. “Your hands draw every map the Council uses. You cannot afford even a small injury.” Isolde’s eyes went glassy. “Just a few drops,” she whispered. “I’m fine…” “I’ll get burn salve,” Valerius said, already standing, already walking toward the door without a backward glance. I stayed bent over the table, my back on fire, but I made no sound. The server was pale with panic. I asked him quietly if there was herb in the back. There was. I took it and made my way to the storage room behind the kitchen. I sat on a wooden crate and worked the herb across the burns myself, one slow touch at a time, breathing through the pain. The door opened and Isolde walked in. She looked at the raw, blistered skin on my back and laughed. “Does it hurt?” she asked. “He pushed you without thinking twice. You burned so I wouldn’t have to, and he left without checking your wound.” I said nothing. “I’ve never understood you, Sera.” She stepped closer. “Valerius has no feelings for you. Why are you still holding on to his Luna?” I pulled my shirt back into place and turned to face her. “And you?” I said. “You know perfectly well he has no feelings for you either. You’re a Gamma, Isolde. You have real rank and real ability.” “But instead of using that mind for this pack, you spend it scheming over him. I feel sorry for the Council that they have someone like you in their ranks.” Her face went cold. Before I could move past her, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment — one of the reports Valerius had been reviewing. She struck a flint. The edge caught fire immediately. “Help! Someone help!” she screamed, stumbling backward. “The Luna is burning the defense maps!” She shoved the burning parchment into my hands and threw herself against the far wall, crying out. The flame bit into my palms. I dropped it and moved to stamp it out, but Isolde lunged forward and shoved me hard into the stone wall behind me. The back of my head cracked against stone. Everything went black. When I woke, I was in the pack clinic again. I opened my eyes and saw Valerius standing at the foot of the bed. His face was like carved ice. “Sera,” he said, and his voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “I pulled you in front of that pot because Isolde is a ranked Council officer. She is essential to this pack. I thought you, as Luna, would understand that some things are bigger than personal feelings.” “Even if you resented it, you should have come to me. But you dared to burn a border report? Do you have any idea how many lives depend on those maps? That was Council intelligence!” “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Isolde burned it herself.” “You didn’t?” Valerius let out a cold laugh. His eyes were full of disappointment and something darker. “That defense report was three months of Isolde’s work. It’s her career, her future. You think she would destroy that just to frame you? Sera, I knew you were jealous, but I never thought you would go this far.” His words hit like blows. He would rather believe a lie than trust his own mate. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. A squad of pack enforcers entered the room, their expressions grim. “Alpha Valerius,” The lead enforcer said. “We received a report that someone deliberately destroyed sealed Council intelligence with intent to compromise pack security.” “The suspect is your mate, Sera. This matter concerns territorial safety. By law, she must be taken into custody for interrogation.” I stared at Valerius in disbelief. Compromising pack security? Isolde hadn’t just framed me for burning a map, she had accused me of treason. “Take her,” the enforcer said, gesturing to his men. One of them stepped forward with silver chains. “Wait,” Valerius said sharply. The enforcer paused. “Alpha?” “The original maps are still archived in the Council vault,” Valerius said, his tone hard as iron. “The loss is not irreparable. My mate is ignorant and acted out of jealousy, but she has no ability or motive to betray this pack.” “I will stake my position on this. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will bear it. Demotion, suspension, confinement — I accept it all. But you will not take her.” The enforcer hesitated. “This is irregular, Alpha. The law—” “I am the Alpha,” Valerius said, his voice carrying the weight of command. “She stays. I will punish her on my own.” The enforcer exchanged glances with his men. Finally, he nodded. “But there will be consequences for this, Alpha. The Council will not overlook it.” “I understand,” Valerius said coldly. “You may go.” The enforcers filed out, their boots heavy on the wooden floor. The room fell silent. I looked at Valerius. For a moment — just a moment — something warm flickered in my chest. He had protected me. “Why?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You think I’m guilty. You hate what I did. Why would you stake your position to keep me out of their hands?” Valerius looked at me without warmth. “The detention cells are damp and filthy,” he said. “If you went in there, you would come out broken even if you survived.” “My mother’s health has worsened. She will only take the medicinal broth when you prepare it. No one else can make it the way she tolerates. ” The warmth in my chest died instantly. “And there are countless other matters in the palace that require your attention. Right now, no one else can manage them as efficiently as you do.” He paused, then added, “So you need to stay alive.That’s why I kept you here.” I stared at him and suddenly I understood that Isolde had been right. He didn’t keep me because I was his mate. He kept me because I was useful. I started laughing. It came out broken and bitter, and once I started I couldn’t stop. Valerius’s brow furrowed. “Are you insane?” “If someone better came along,” I said through the laughter, my voice shaking, “someone more obedient, more capable, better at your palace, would you replace me?” Valerius was silent for a moment. Then he straightened his collar and answered with the honesty. “If such a person existed,” he said, “and caused no disruption to my work, then yes. I would consider it.”

I laughed even harder, until my stomach cramped and the burns on my back split open again. Valerius looked at me with cold distaste, as if I were irrational as he suspected. He turned away, walked to where Isolde stood by the door, and offered her his arm. She leaned into him with tears still wet on her face. They left together. The carriage rolled away into the distance. I returned to the small guest house on the palace grounds alone. By nightfall I was burning with fever. Two days passed. Valerius did not come. On the third afternoon, the door opened. Isolde walked in, several older she-wolves following behind her. Her hand was wrapped in excessive white bandages, and she wore a victorious smile. “I’m surprised,” she said, settling into the main chair. “Even under suspicion of treason, Valerius still protected you from the cells. It seems you do have some small worth to him after all.” “Worth?” I said quietly. “You heard what he said. He just needs someone to prepare his mother’s medicine.” “Does that matter?” Isolde leaned forward. “As long as you hold that Luna title, I find you unbearable. Do you know what Valerius said to me recently, Sera? ” “He said you’ve become bitter and resentful lately. That seeing you makes him uncomfortable.” She stood suddenly and swept her hand across the small table. The medicine bowl shattered on the floor. “Since Valerius won’t handle you properly,” she said, “I will. Take her out.” The she-wolves moved forward and grabbed my arms before I could react. I was weak with fever, my body uncooperative. They dragged me out of the house and into the street. They brought me to the busiest market square in the territory, where everyone could see. Isolde positioned herself in the center and began to cry. “Look, everyone! This is our Luna! She burned sealed Council maps out of jealousy because Valerius values my work! ” “She even tried to scald my hands so I could never draw another map! And she walks free while loyal wolves suffer!” The crowd began to gather, their faces hard. “She burned defense maps? That’s treason!” “She attacked a Council Gamma?” Isolde held up her bandaged hand. “These hands serve the pack’s defense. She wanted to destroy them because she couldn’t bear that Valerius respected my abilities!” Someone threw a rotten vegetable. It hit my shoulder. Then stones. I tried to stay upright, but a heavy kick caught my ribs and I collapsed onto the cobblestones. I curled inward, trying to protect my head. More blows came. Fists, boots, things I couldn’t see. Then a boot came down hard on my right hand, the hand I needed for healing. Crack. The pain was so sharp the world went black. When I woke, I was lying on a bench in the Council Elder’s meeting hall. A healer was setting my hand in a wooden splint. “You’re fortunate,” he said quietly. “One of the Elders was passing through the square and saw what happened. He had you brought here.” He finished tying the splint and looked at me seriously. “Your small finger is fractured. One of your ribs is broken.” I stared at the splint for a long time without speaking. Then I pushed myself upright and walked to the great hall where the Council Elders heard grievances. “I am here to file charges against Gamma Isolde,” I said, my voice steady despite the pain. “For inciting public violence, orchestrating an assault, and causing severe bodily harm. I have witnesses.” Three days later, the Council brought Isolde in for judgment. The case was too public to ignore, too many witnesses to dismiss. Despite attempts from the palace to intervene, the Elders handed down their ruling. Twenty lashes. Six months suspension from her Gamma duties. Confined to quarters during that time. I stayed in the pack clinic for the remainder of the week, staring out the window as my body slowly knitted itself back together. Seven days later, I returned to the palace. I pushed open the door to my quarters and found the room in ruins. Shattered porcelain covered the floor. Valerius sat in the center of it all, his expression dark as a storm. He looked up the moment I entered. “You reported her to the Council?” His voice was flat and dangerous. “You had Isolde arrested?” I stepped over the broken pieces and said nothing. “I’m asking you a question!” Valerius shot to his feet and grabbed my shoulders so tight I felt my bones grinding together. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The Council’s annual strategy is next month — her entire career depends on it! You’ve destroyed her reputation and her future!”

He shook me so hard my vision blurred. My broken rib sent sharp pain through my chest with every movement. I pulled my right hand free and held it up between us. “Isolde came to the guest house,” I said. “She brought others with her and had me dragged into the market square. She told the crowd I was a traitor. They beat me. Someone stomped on my hand and broke the bones.” I looked at him steadily. “I’m a healer, Valerius. Do you have any idea what this hand means to me?” His eyes dropped to my hand. For just a moment, something flickered across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by cold stone. “You burned her work first,” he said. “You pushed her to that point. If you hadn’t been so spiteful, none of this would have happened.” He released me and stepped back. “Why couldn’t you have been reasonable about this? Why did you have to drag the Council Elders into it and humiliate this entire pack?” “Reasonable?” I said quietly. “You mean let her cripple my hand and say nothing? Let her walk free while I lose everything?” “I was trying to survive, Valerius. Not take revenge.” “Survive?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You’re still pretending this wasn’t about jealousy? You can’t stand that she’s more useful than you.” I looked at him and felt the exhaustion settle deep into my bones. I was so tired. Too tired to argue with someone who had already decided what he believed. “Think what you want,” I said. “The Elders made the arrest. The law passed the sentence. If you’re so powerful, go tear down their hall.” I turned and walked toward the inner room. “Stop.” Valerius pushed past me and went straight to the vanity. He yanked open the bottom drawer. Inside was a small carved wooden box. My mother’s box. The one that held her final gift to me — a moonstone amulet carved with protective runes, the only thing I had left of her. “What are you doing?” My voice came out sharp with panic. I lunged forward to stop him. Valerius was taller, stronger. He held the box high above my reach with one hand and opened it with the other. The moonstone amulet glinted in the dim light. “I know this is the one thing you care about,” he said coldly. “So hear me clearly, Sera. If you ever touch Isolde again — if you ever damage her career or mine — I will destroy it.” “Valerius, you bastard!” I threw myself at him, clawing for the amulet. “That was my mother’s! Give it back!” “Remember what I said.” He held the amulet as if he were about to drop it. I froze. My whole body began to shake. Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. “Please,” I whispered. I sank to my knees. “Please don’t. I’m begging you. Don’t touch it.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, as if he had finally found the lever that controlled me. “Then behave yourself,” he said. He turned toward the door, slipping the amulet into his pocket. Just then, a voice shouted from outside. “Alpha! Emergency! The northern river has breached the barrier — the Alpha King need you to the Council immediately!” Valerius’s expression changed. He moved toward the door without hesitation. I grabbed his sleeve. “Give me the amulet back. Now.” He was already thinking about the crisis, his mind elsewhere. He yanked his arm free with more force than he intended. “Let go!” The motion carried the full strength of an Alpha’s instinct. I was thrown backward. My body slammed into the sharp corner of the doorframe. The impact was immediate and brutal. My head cracked against the wood. Something warm began streaming down my face, covering my eyes in red. Valerius stopped. He turned and saw me on the floor, blood pouring from my forehead. His eyes widened slightly. His hand lifted, as if to help. “Alpha, please!” the voice called again from outside. His hand froze in midair. Then he lowered it, closed his fist around the amulet in his pocket, and turned away. “Clean yourself up,” he said without looking back. “Stop being dramatic.” Then he was gone. I heard his boots on the stone, heard the horse’s hooves strike the ground and fade into the storm. I sat on the cold floor and tasted copper in my mouth. I touched my face. My hand came away completely red. I started laughing. In the darkness, with thunder rolling overhead and rain hammering the roof, I sat alone and laughed until my throat was raw. This was the man I had loved for two lifetimes. And in that moment, the last thread of feeling I had for him, bled out with the blood on my face and died.

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

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

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

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Three years after our divorce, my ex-husband shows up at my door with roses — smiling like he’s already won me back. “Babe, I kept my promise. Three years on the dot. I’m here to remarry you.” Three years ago, he lost a game of Truth or Dare to his childhood best friend, Sophie. Sophie’s dare: “I want to see if you and Claire are really in love.” “So you divorce — and you don’t see each other for three years.” “If she takes you back after that, I’ll admit it’s real.” He and Sophie never had boundaries. The flirting was constant — sometimes subtle, sometimes not. We fought about it all the time. I thought he’d say no. Instead, he agreed without blinking: “Deal! A bet’s a bet!” His friends tried to talk him down. “Think about this — divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked right at me, completely sure of himself: “I trust what we have. My wife would never leave me — not in this lifetime.” “She’ll take me back. I know it.” I said nothing. What he didn’t know was that I was giving him one last chance. I snap back to the present. He pushes the roses toward me. I don’t take them. I step back and say calmly: “My husband doesn’t let me accept flowers from other men.” … Ethan’s lips curl into that confident little smirk. “You mad?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Don’t be like that, babe.” His voice is soft, coaxing , like he thinks I’m just throwing a tantrum. He moves toward me, arms open, the way he used to. I take another step back. My face hardens. “Back off, Ethan.” His hand freezes in air. His eyes stay locked on my face, gentle, searching. “Oh, so you’re really mad this time?” “Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He still thinks a few sweet words will fix everything. Just like before. He steps closer. Every step he takes forward, I take one back. The look in his eyes grows hungrier — like he’s enjoying the chase. “Ethan, three years is enough to change everything.” He nods, almost amused. “True.” My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to go. He plants both hands on either side of my head, caging me in. He used to do this when we were dating — pin me against the wall and kiss me under the moonlight. “So — did you have a boy? Or a girl?” He strokes my cheek with one hand, feather-light. The memory of that baby hits me like a knife to the chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. He knew — and he still divorced me over a stupid dare. Because Sophie asked him to. Three years. Not a single call. Not one text. And now he stands here, so sure of himself, assuming I carried his child and waited like a good little wife for him to come collect me. A bitter smile pulls at my lips. I’m about to tell him I lost the baby — but his phone rings. He pulls it out. The screen lights up with a contact name: My Princess 👑 That’s Sophie. I’ve seen it a hundred times before — him petting her hair, calling her his princess since they were kids. Never once caring how that made me feel as his wife. He picks up immediately. “Ethan—” Sophie’s whiny voice crackles through the speaker, half-crying. “Come back, please, my cramps are so bad, I’m dying—” Worry floods his eyes instantly. “Hey, hey — don’t panic. I’m coming right now.” He hangs up. Then he reaches over and pats the top of my head — like I’m some docile cat with no feelings. “Let me go check on Sophie. I’ll come back later, okay?” And just like that, he’s gone.

Sophie does what she always does — posts on Instagram like clockwork. In the photo, she’s drenched in sweat, curled up in Ethan’s arms. His hand rests on her lower belly, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s been the one who loves me most since we were kids. No matter what’s going on — no matter who he’s with — the second I’m not okay, he drops everything and comes to me. He gives me all his care and love. He is literally the best man in the world!!! I hit “like.” Not just once. Every single day for three years, Sophie has posted couple content. Three years. 1,095 posts. I liked every single one. She flaunts it in a different way each time. Like the fact that she doesn’t work — Ethan gave her his black card, no spending limit. Like how she lives in the house that used to be mine and Ethan’s. My things — she uses what she wants, throws away what she doesn’t. For three years, she and Ethan did everything a couple does. I know she posts it all for me to see. Every ‘like’ I leave is a warning she’s too dumb to read. ‘I see you. Sleep well — while you still can.’ But Sophie? She thinks I’m jealous. Seething. Desperately trying to stay relevant. The next time I see Ethan, he walks into my coffee shop with Sophie. They’re wearing matching brown outfits. Ethan — a man who only ever wore classic, buttoned-up suits , is dressed in something trendy and casual today. I used to suggest matching outfits. Every time, he’d say he was too used to suits. Didn’t want to change his style. Sophie looks around my shop, scanning it up and down. She seems surprised. Ethan frowns at me, confused. “I gave you all that money. Why are you working yourself to death like this?” When we divorced, I asked for half. He handed it over without blinking. I set down the coffee I’m making. I look at him, expressionless. “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” His expression doesn’t change. He still thinks I’m throwing a tantrum. Sophie smiles at me — fake as ever. “Claire, it’s been three years! How have you been?” “Fine.” My calm catches her off guard. Ethan’s phone rings. He steps outside to take the call. The second we’re alone, her mask drops. That sweet smile twists into something smug, taunting. “Relax, sweetie. You’re not his type. And don’t get too excited — it’s embarrassing.” She looks down at me like I’m beneath her, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Even if Ethan takes you back — so what?” “His mother can’t stand you. She’s always wanted Ethan to end up with me.” “The only reason he’s here is obligation.” “He even asked my permission before coming to find you.” “Oh — and you’ll have to sign a prenup.” “One I wrote myself, by the way.” She pulls a document from her bag and slides it in front of me. I glance down, barely interested. First line: All Graves family assets are excluded from the marriage. After marriage, I’m not allowed to take the Graves name. Legally, socially — I stay Claire Bennett. In public, I cannot introduce myself as his wife. If anyone asks, I’m to say I’m his ex. At family events, I’m a guest , not a member of the family. I actually laugh. It’s that insulting. I push it back toward her. “If his mother loves you so much — how come you’re still nobody to him?” “Three years, Sophie. He slept with you and still won’t claim you. That’s just sad.” Her face goes scarlet. Humiliation, fury — her hand flies up instinctively, about to slap me. Then — footsteps. Ethan’s, getting closer. She flips like a switch. Tears streaming, voice trembling — wounded but gracious. “Claire, I really do hope you’ll remarry Ethan.” “As his oldest friend, I just want him to be happy.” “The prenup is just a formality. Please don’t be upset, okay?” Same act. Three years later, and she hasn’t changed. The second Ethan sees her crying, his brain turns to mush. He can’t tell right from wrong when she’s in tears.

“Sophie? What happened?” Ethan pulls Sophie into his arms, eyes swimming with concern. Sophie shakes her head, all wounded innocence. “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Claire.” The more she says that, the more convinced he is that I’m the bully. “Claire!” His voice goes cold. Commanding. “Apologize.” He says it like he’s ordering a servant. A bitter smile tugs at my lips. He frowns, irritated. “Sophie’s been in my life way before you. She’s family. You need to get over yourself and stop acting so threatened by her.” “If not for her sake, then for mine. Just be nice. Is that so hard?” I keep my face blank. I’ve seen this exact scene a hundred times before. I’m so over it. I’m about to tell them both to get out — when my phone rings on the counter. Video call. The screen lights up: My Baby Boy 💙 Ethan sees the name. His eyes go wide, electric. His hand shoots out to answer it before I can. I grab the phone first. My two-year-old’s round little face fills the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” The second Ethan hears that word — Mommy — he’s buzzing. Certain now. Absolutely certain I gave him a son. I say a few quick words to Leo. The moment Ethan reaches for my phone, I hang up. “Let me see my son!” He’s grinning ear to ear. All that anger from a minute ago — gone, like it never happened. Sophie’s face darkens behind him. “He’s not your son.” I look Ethan dead in the eye, voice flat and final. “Stop coming here. Both of you. You’re delusional, you know that? Completely out of your mind.” He doesn’t even flinch. Still smiling, still coaxing. “Come on, don’t be mad.” “I really missed you and our boy.” And just like that, I realize — a man this deluded won’t believe I’ve moved on until he sees my husband with his own eyes. Then he shifts gears, casual as anything: “Mom’s birthday is coming up.” “You’re a great cook. Make a few of her favorites.” “Use it as a chance to patch things up between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knows. He’s always known. Three years of marriage — and his mother tormented me the entire time. Mrs. Graves looked down on me because I didn’t come from money. Even though Ethan married me properly, she never let me attend a single family dinner. If she was in the room, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I didn’t like her either. Our relationship was ice — we simply pretended the other didn’t exist. And through all of it, Ethan stayed silent. Never once took my side. A mocking smile pulls at my mouth. I ask deliberately: “Ethan, hypothetically speaking —” “What if I cook her an entire five-course dinner and she still won’t say a single word to me?” He hesitates before answering: “Just say something nice to her. Butter her up a little. You know how she is — her bark’s worse than her bite.” Sophie chimes in, voice dripping with fake sympathy: “Claire, there’s no shame in a younger woman showing respect to her elder. You know what really works on her? When someone swallows their pride and apologizes. On their knees, even.” She’s telling me to kneel. With a smile on her face. I let out a dry laugh. Then I look Ethan straight in his dark eyes, dead serious. “Ethan. Three years changes everything.” “I’m married. And the child isn’t yours.” I turn to Sophie. “Maybe you should try kneeling. Might be your only shot at getting through that door.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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