Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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In my past life, my mate rescued an orphan girl from the battlefield of the witch clan—and she gave me a pair of hairbands. From the moment I put them on, I felt drained of energy day after day. In the end, I contracted a filthy disease. My body rotted from the inside out, and I died. Only after death did I learn the truth: she had been the lowest-ranked prostitute of the witch clan. After their defeat, she had used her beauty to bewitch my mate. Once inside our Gem Pack, she performed a ritual exchange—trading bodies and destinies with me. My mate became obsessed with her body while he let me die in a filthy corner. After I died, they rolled me into a straw mat and threw me into a mass grave. Only one person came for me—a lowly slave with no wolf, someone I had once helped at a royal banquet. He snuck out of the palace in secret and buried me. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment she offered me those gem hairbands. She wanted my alpha bloodline? Fine. I would give her a body with no wolf. — “The Alpha has won a great victory. Surely he’ll be rewarded with a higher rank.” “Our Alpha returns triumphant. He truly is the pride of our pack.” The guests raised their glasses one after another, smiling toward my mate and me at the head table. “Alpha Harlan is so blessed—he was gone three months on campaign, and the two luna awaited him faithfully. How enviable!” Bella Vane had no formal status yet, but hearing herself called “luna” made her eyes gleam with barely restrained triumph. She glided to stand before me, her smile honeyed and sharp. “Sister, I know how faithfully you’ve prayed for the Alpha all these months. I made a special trip to the Temple of the Moon Goddess on your behalf and asked the Moon Goddess to bless you with peace. Here—she sent this through me.” She produced a wooden hairband. “If you wear it, Sister, I’m certain the Moon Goddess will grant the Alpha continued victory and a safe return.” In my past life, I had been overjoyed by my mate’s triumphant homecoming—and so moved by Bella’s gesture that I let her pin the band into my hair on the spot. What I never imagined was that this wooden gem hairband was cursed. The moment it touched my hair, it began swapping our bodies and destinies. First came the exhaustion—my spirit drained, my body aching in the most shameful places. I called healer after healer, and none could name my ailment. Meanwhile, Bella seemed to bloom overnight. She glowed. And night after night, she shared my mate’s bed. By the time I finally clawed my way back to consciousness, I was already rotting below. The stench clung to me like a second skin. Bella stood at my bedside, waving her hand delicately in front of her nose, coiled against my mate like a snake. “Oh my. It seems the luna has let herself be used and ruined—and caught herself a filthy disease.” Harlan’s expression darkened. “Lock this wretch in the dungeon. Anyone who brings her food or water gets beaten to death.” I tried to push myself upright, tried to speak—but no words came. I could only watch as Harlan turned and walked away without a second glance. I died in that dungeon. Until my last breath, I never understood how the mate who had once loved me so tenderly had become this cold, contemptuous stranger. Only after my soul drifted upward did I learn the truth: Bella had been an enemy spy, a woman sold to satisfy men, defeated in battle. She had seduced my mate with her body and slipped into our Gem Pack under false pretenses. She had been dying anyway. That gem hairband was her salvation—she used it to steal my identity and my fate. I raged. But as a soul, I was powerless against her. The music swelled around me. I blinked back to the present. Bella’s eyes flashed with cold venom for just an instant before her expression smoothed into something soft and sweet. She extended the gem hairbands toward me. “Let me put them on for you, Sister.”

I stepped aside quickly. She blinked, startled. Then the tears came—instant and perfect. “Sister, do you not like what I’ve brought you?” “I knelt before the Moon Goddess for forty-nine days to earn this blessing for you and the Alpha.” “I know you think I’m beneath you—just an orphan girl, and you’d naturally look down on anything I offer.” At those words, several lunas at the table immediately softened. “What a sincere gift. And yet you greet it with a cold face. Well, I suppose none of us will dare give you anything from now on.” “Rescued from the battlefield—what a kind-hearted girl. And here the luna makes her look like the villain.” … I had no choice but to force a smile and say I appreciated both the sentiment and the gift. My hair was already pinned with a comb, I explained. It would be awkward to swap things out now. Bella dabbed her eyes and looked at me with wounded dignity. “A humble gift, given with a full heart. My gem hairband may not compare to your jeweled comb, Sister—but I scraped my knees raw kneeling in prayer for it.” “I only ask that you try it on for a moment. It would suit you so beautifully.” It was clear she would not relent until I wore it. At that very moment, a slave with no wolf stepped into the hall, head bowed respectfully toward Harlan. “My lord Alpha, I come at the Luna Queen’s command to escort the Luna to the palace for a flower-viewing.” My heart lurched. It was little Finn—the one who had dug me out of the mass grave and given me a proper burial in my past life. Finn glanced at me with quiet concern. I seized the opportunity to excuse myself—but Bella surged forward and caught my arm. “Sister, let me put the gem hairbands on before you go to see the Luna Queen. It wouldn’t do to outshine her with that jeweled comb, would it?” She reached for my hair again. Then Finn spoke, his tone carefully neutral. “This young lady looks familiar. Weren’t there dancers brought from the northern territories last year? I believe I’ve seen her before.” Bella froze. Then she recovered quickly, her smile plastered back into place. “You must be mistaken. I am an orphan the Alpha rescued from the battlefield. I don’t dance.” Finn said nothing more. I took my chance. “Since the Luna Queen has summoned me, I’ll go at once.” I turned to Bella with a placid smile. “We can worry about the gem hairbands when I return, Sister.” I moved toward the door. Bella grabbed my sleeve. “Are you running from me, Sister? It only takes a moment to put on a hairband. How much time could it possibly waste?” Then she swayed—and crashed into Finn. “You—you dared touch me!” she shrieked, clutching her side, tears streaming down her face. The lunas at the table erupted. “In broad daylight—a worthless slave daring to lay hands on someone from the Alpha’s Gem Pack!” “A creature like that deserves to be beaten to death!” Bella wept with breathtaking beauty, her voice trembling. “I may be lowborn, but I am a clean and honest woman. To be violated like this—I’d rather die than endure it!” She lurched as if to throw herself against the stone pillar. Harlan shot to his feet and caught her, pulling her into his arms. Finn had gone chalk-white. He dropped to his knees. “I didn’t touch her! She lost her balance and nearly fell. I reached out to steady her—I never made contact!” Bella only wept harder. Harlan’s voice was ice. “Drag this slave out and give him fifty lashes, then send him to the punishment chamber.” I stepped forward quickly. “My lord, he was sent by the Luna Queen herself. If he is beaten—or worse—in our Gem Pack, how will we answer to her?” Bella choked out a sob and cut in. “Why is Sister defending an outsider? Unless…unless it was Sister he was touching, and Sister enjoyed it?” The malice in those words was razor-sharp. She was implying, openly, that Finn and I had something between us. Harlan’s gaze slid to me, and something cold and shadowed moved through it. I opened my mouth—but Finn spoke first, pressing his forehead to the floor. “My lord, I accept whatever punishment you see fit.” “I only ask that you spare my life, for the Luna Queen’s sake, so I may return and fulfill my duty.” Something clenched tight in my chest. If I pleaded for him, it would prove the accusation. Finn was protecting me. I was trembling with fury. My eyes fell on the wooden gem hairband still in Bella’s hand, and an idea took shape. She wanted to swap bodies and destinies with me. Then I would give her something very specific in return. I looked at Finn. I wondered if he would understand what I needed from him.

The dull thud of a lash came from the dungeon. In my past life, he had buried my body. In this life, he was taking my punishment. What could I do for him? Help him escape that broken body. Give him freedom. Just then, a maidservant hurried in to find me. “The slave with no wolf has lost consciousness. Do they continue?” My stomach dropped. “What does the Alpha say?” “The Alpha is with Miss Bella. He gave no order to stop.” No order to stop meant an order to kill. Bella wanted Finn silenced permanently. I spun toward the dungeon—but Bella’s voice stopped me cold. She appeared at the far end of the corridor, two maidservants trailing behind her. “If you go to him now, Sister, everything said at the table today becomes truth.” I laughed, sharp and hollow. “You’re right, Sister. What do I care whether that slave lives or dies?” I glanced at the gem hairbands in her hand. “About those gem hairbands, Sister—do you still want to put them on me?” Bella’s eyes lit up. She thrust the wooden band toward me. “You’ll wear it?” I took it from her, then let out a slow sigh. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I’ll be going to the Temple of the Moon Goddess to pay my respects.” “If you truly mean what you say, Sister, come with me tomorrow. We’ll stand before the Moon Goddess together, and you can put the gem hairbands on me yourself—as a proper offering.” A flicker of suspicion crossed Bella’s face, but it drowned quickly in triumph. She probably thought I was afraid of the gossip and needed an excuse to save face. “Very well. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” She smiled exactly the way she had when she won, in my past life. I nodded, turned, and walked back inside. “Aren’t you going to the dungeon, Sister?” “No.” Finn had already lost consciousness. Going now would not save him. Pleading would only confirm what Bella had implied—and hand her exactly what she wanted. But I had another way. I went straight to my room and wrote a letter, pressing it into a trusted maidservant’s hands to be delivered to the palace in secret. The Luna Queen might not care much about the life of one lowly slave—but she cared a great deal about her dignity. Her own man had been beaten in another pack’s territory. Sooner or later, she would ask questions.

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I was born cursed. Whatever terrible thing I spoke aloud—it came true. To protect Cole, I spent three years in silence, swallowing every word that climbed up my throat. But he always came to me in the dead of night, pressing me to speak—begging me to curse him. “Just say I’ll get hit by a car,” he’d whisper. “Say the company’s going under.” And when I finally broke—when I screamed every ugly curse I had—he kissed the tears off my face with something that looked so much like love. I thought he was holding space for the darkest part of me. Until the words appeared, floating in the air above his head like closed captions scrolling across a screen: [Cole’s performance is FLAWLESS. Using the law of conservation, he transfers Zoe’s curses onto himself—only for the disaster to rebound entirely onto Zoe, canceling out Iris’s death flag!] [Poor stand-in. She’s about to take the hit for the multi-car pileup that was meant for the female lead!] The love in my throat curdled into something iron and sweet. No wonder every curse I spoke landed on me instead of him. The system prompt appeared in my peripheral vision: Death flag countdown: 3 days. To survive: strike back. Now. Cole was watching me, expectant and soft-eyed. “Come on. One more. Tell me you wish I were dead.” I smiled. My eyes went cold. “Cole.” I said his name like a door clicking shut. “Since you want to hear it so badly.” “Then I wish you a long life. And the loneliness to match.” … He blinked. Then he laughed—fond and exasperated—and dragged his thumb across the tip of my nose. “Zoe. What kind of curse is that?” “Long life is a gift. And lonely?” He pulled me against his chest, his chin resting on my forehead. “As long as you’re here, how could I ever be lonely?” The gesture was so practiced it made my ribs ache. I almost believed him again—until the next line appeared, bold and blood-red: [LMAO, he thinks that was a joke. She meant every word. He’s reading sincerity as flirting!] [MOVE IT. The female lead’s death flag just spiked! We need a nastier curse—NOW!] [Hold steady, Cole! One more round. Get her to curse a car accident tonight, and Iris’s flight lands safe tomorrow!] I went rigid. My fingernails pressed crescents into my palms. So that’s what it was. Three years of silence—and to him, I was just a battery. Something to charge. Every late-night coaxing. Every “just say it, baby.” All of it was fuel he was feeding to another woman’s fire. “You’re shaking,” he said. His hand moved to my back, slow and warm. “Did I scare you?” “Don’t be scared, Zoe.” He kissed the top of my head. “Just say the words. The bad energy leaves with them. I stay safe. That’s all.” “Just one more sentence.” “Say I’ll get in a wreck. Say I won’t make it out.” He cupped my face. His eyes were full of something that should have been love. But underneath—urgency. A clock ticking. He was waiting for me to load Iris Langford’s death onto my own back. The iron taste in my throat got worse. The system’s countdown detonated somewhere behind my eyes: Death flag countdown: 2 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes. Host’s vitals in critical decline. Strike back immediately. Strike back? I looked at the face I had loved for five years. God, it was disgusting. I opened my mouth. My voice came out raw. “Cole.” He lit up. “Yeah?” “Since you want it so much—” I pulled my lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I wish you a love that lives across an ocean. One that can never close the distance.” “I wish you betrayal. Ruin. A name no one respects.” “I wish you the permanent loss of everything you love.” Cole’s smile froze. The script overhead went berserk: [What the—why is she going off-script?] [That curse… something’s wrong with it.] [Whatever, bad words are bad words! Law of conservation: ACTIVATED!] The air thickened. Cole’s expression flickered—irritation, then the mask slipping back into place. He exhaled like someone tolerating a difficult child. “Zoe. Stop messing around.” “That kind of curse doesn’t work. It’s too vague.” “I need specifics.” He gripped my shoulders hard. “Say I’ll bleed. Say I’ll break a leg. Say it.” I wanted to. But I was already paying. The moment those curses left my mouth, the rebound hit—a fist closing around my heart, darkness crowding the edges of my vision. “Cole—” I folded into him, and a mouthful of blood bloomed red across his white shirt. Vivid. Impossible to look away from. Cole’s pupils blew wide. Not from grief. The script confirmed it: [YES! She’s bleeding! Rebound complete!] [Female lead’s flight hit turbulence—but she’s through it! The stand-in just bought her safe landing with a mouthful of blood!] Cole caught me, his voice tight with urgency. “Zoe! What happened—call an ambulance!” Panic written all over his face. But the arms holding me—steady as stone. Not a tremor. And his eyes kept drifting down to his watch. Calculating the minutes until Iris’s wheels touched ground.

I woke up alone in a hospital room. The only company was the system panel hovering at eye level: Strike back progress: 5%. Death flag countdown: 2 days, 20 hours. I stared at the ceiling and let myself remember how it started. Three years ago, I first understood what I was. I’d muttered “that project of Cole’s is going to tank”—and the next morning his firm was raided and shuttered. I’d said “that streetlight looks like it’s about to fall”—and a second later it collapsed on top of him, putting him in the ICU. So I went quiet. For him. Three years of swallowing every word. He held me and said, “It’s okay, Zoe. I don’t blame you.” I thought it was grace. It was grooming. He was fattening the lamb. The door opened. Cole walked in carrying a thermos, looking hollow-eyed and raw. “You’re up.” He crossed to the bed fast, shadows under his eyes, voice scraped thin. “You scared me. Doctor says it was acute stress—sudden hemorrhage.” “Why did you just start bleeding like that?” He filled a small bowl from the thermos and held it to my lips. “Here. Eat something.” I turned my head away. “Still upset with me?” He set the bowl down, patient as ever, and took my hand—the one without the IV. His voice turned careful, sincere. “Zoe. This was therapy. The doctor said the only way to break a psychological block is to face it—say the thing you’re afraid of saying.” “I was doing this for you.” Right. For me. If I hadn’t seen the script, I’d already be crying. [This man deserves an Oscar and a restraining order.] [“Therapy.” Sure. It’s called energy transfer, but okay!] [Something just went wrong on the female lead’s end—Cole’s here to refuel. Classic move.] His phone buzzed. One glance at the screen and something shifted in his face. His grip on my hand tightened. Eyes sharpening. “Zoe—can you do one more thing for me?” I said nothing. “The new development site. There might be an issue.” He frowned like a man carrying a great weight. “If something goes wrong, I’m finished. Everything gone.” “Just say the building’s going to collapse. Say it, and it won’t. Negative times negative.” He watched me hopefully. I almost laughed. When had I never noticed how full of holes his logic was? If negatives cancelled out, why did every curse I spoke land on me? “Cole.” I pulled my hand back. My voice came out flat and dry. “I’m tired.” “I’m done talking.” He went still. Like the version of me that had always said yes was a person he hadn’t prepared for losing. “Zoe.” The warmth drained from his tone. “Don’t be difficult.” “Think about the workers. Dozens of them. Their families.” “Could you really live with yourself if something happened to them?” There it was. The move he always fell back on. Old me would have caved—stammered a curse through the guilt, bled for it, called it love. But I had seen the script: [Iris just arrived at the construction site! CURSE IT NOW—a steel beam is about to go!] Right. Not workers. Not lives at stake. Iris Langford had decided to take a site visit. I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. “If it’s going to fall, stop building it.” “You—” Cole shot to his feet. The chair scraped back like a slap. “You’ve changed, Zoe.” He looked down at me from above, and all the patience had gone out of his voice. “You used to be reasonable.” You used to be easy to manipulate, he meant. “My throat hurts,” I said. “I can’t talk.” Cole breathed in sharply, reining himself in. Then the script flashed red: [DANGER. Beam’s loose! Ten seconds!] [Male lead—FORCE IT. Now!] He lunged forward and grabbed my jaw. His fingers bit in hard enough to bruise. “Say it.” His eyes had gone somewhere far and wild. “Say the building falls! Say it right now!” “Zoe. Don’t make me hate you.”

My jaw felt like it was being crushed. I stared up at the stranger wearing Cole’s face. Five years. This is who I loved for five years. For another woman, he didn’t hesitate for a second. “…” A sound clawed its way out of me. Cole eased his grip slightly, a flicker of hope crossing his face. “Good. Say it. Once you do, it’s over. We’re both fine.” I looked at him. At the countdown flickering above his head. [5. 4. 3…] “Cole.” I exhaled. “I wish your building…” Cole held his breath. “…stands forever. Strong as bedrock. Never falls.” His face collapsed. The script erupted: [WHAT?! A reverse blessing?!] [Wait—she’s cursed, not blessed. Good words from her mouth mean NOTHING—] [Oh no. Oh no no no. The female lead has no buffer now. The beam is actually dropping!] Cole let go of me and scrambled for his phone. It was already ringing before he got it out. His hands shook as he answered. “Iris? You okay?! Are you hurt—” From the speaker: chaos. Shouting. A siren starting up somewhere. “Cole…” Her voice was small and trembling, the voice of someone who had just been grazed by something enormous. “I’m so scared… a beam just came down… it missed me by inches…” Cole’s knees nearly buckled. “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay—” He kept repeating it, half prayer, half unraveling. I watched him from the bed with cold clarity. My reverse blessing hadn’t shielded her. But it had disrupted the equation. Without a genuine curse to feed the transfer, Iris’s plot armor couldn’t hold. She’d gotten lucky. Just lucky. Cole ended the call and turned to me. The look on his face was terrifying. “You did that on purpose.” He moved toward the bed slowly. “Do you have any idea how close she came? One centimeter, Zoe. One centimeter and her face—” “That was an accident,” I said. “Accident?” He laughed—a short, ugly sound—and reached out and ripped the IV from my arm. Blood welled at the needle site. I winced but kept my expression flat. “Since you won’t curse anything,” he said, pulling me off the bed by the wrist, “you’re coming to the site. You can look those workers in the eye.” “You can watch what your silence almost cost.” “Cole. I’m still a patient—” “You’ll live.” He cut me off, already dragging me toward the door. “Compared to what Iris went through, you’re fine.” The script drifted past in a stream: [Is he serious? She literally vomited blood an hour ago!] [Poor female lead, that must have been terrifying. The stand-in is so cruel, refusing to help.] [Excuse me?? No one OWES the female lead their body—] [The last one needs to sit down. The stand-in is literally a tool. Tools don’t get opinions.] I was shoved into the car. Cole put his foot down. The speedometer climbed. My stomach rolled. I pressed my hand to my mouth and held on. The system’s voice came through thin and fraying: Vitals at 30%. Host. If you don’t fight back, you will die in this car. I looked at Cole’s white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Then I looked out the window at the blur of traffic beside us. Fine. “Cole,” I said quietly. “Slow down.” “Or—” I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to crash.”

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In a world where people killed each other over half a can of food, I had four dads who spoiled me like a princess. After Mom died, her four closest comrades found me still alive inside her womb. So I ended up with four dads. First Dad, Ethan, was the Commander of Fortress Eden. Second Dad, Nathan, was the Warden — the most vicious criminals turned obedient in front of him. Third Dad, Callum, was a brilliant scientist, leading the hunt for a vaccine. Fourth Dad, Xander, was the strongest fighter the base had ever seen. I grew up wrapped in their love. Every woman in the safe zone envied me. Until the year I turned sixteen, when they found Jade, the daughter of the woman they had all once loved. From that day on, my four dads became strangers. Jade said I insulted her. Ethan Dad had my mouth wired shut and starved me for three days and nights. She said I poisoned her. Callum Dad strapped me down and injected me with a vaccine still in testing. The serum ravaged me from the inside out, destroying one of my eyes. When Jade claimed I’d hired men to assault her, Xander Dad grabbed me by the collar and threw me into the refugee slum outside the inner walls. Three years passed. I went from fury to submission. Until tonight, my tent flap opened again, I began undressing out of habit. Then I heard a voice say, “Lily, do you want to come back to your mother?” I snapped my head up. But the room was empty. At the same moment, a voice echoed through my mind. It said it was a faint trace of my mother’s consciousness. My mother was from future. After completing her mission, she’d left in a hurry, never expecting that she would have a daughter. Now she knew. She wanted to take me home. All I had to do was let this body die. It spoke again. “Lily, your mother has been desperate since she found out about you. Will you—” It hadn’t even finished when I was already on my feet. Without hesitation, I grabbed a blade and pressed it against my throat. This was wonderful. Mom was alive. And I was about to see her. A joy so massive it drowned out every fear of death. But just as I pressed the blade harder, a tremendous force struck my hand. Pain shot through my fingers. I let go. The blade hit the floor. A boot came down on top of it. “Lily. You want to die?” I knew that voice. My head lifted on instinct. When I saw who it was, I called out without thinking. “Xander Dad.” The moment it left my mouth, I already regretted it. Sure enough, the man’s brow furrowed. “Don’t call me that. I cut ties with you a long time ago.”

The man standing before me was Xander, the strongest fighter in the base. When I was small, a rival faction inside the base had kidnaped me. To make them let me go, Xander stood in front of their leader and took three bullets without flinching — just to bring me back without a scratch. After I was rescued, I cried looking at his wounds. He just stroked my head and told me those cuts felt like nothing to him. But watching me cry, he said, nearly killed him. Among my four dads, Xander Dad loved me the most. It was a shame that love vanished four years ago, the day Nathan Dad brought a wounded Jade back from a supply search. I had always known my four dads had all loved the same woman once. What I never knew was that she wasn’t my mother. She was Jade’s mother. They say my four dads were the son of a legendary warrior named Marcus. The former base commander, General Victor, had feared Marcus’s growing influence and purged his entire faction on fabricated charges. It was my young mother who hid them, smuggling each boy to a different base. When they grew strong enough, she helped them rise up and take back the base. Ethan Dad became the new Commander. Justice was finally done. They say my mother and Ethan Dad were deeply in love. But just before their wedding, a woman named Serena appeared. One look at her, and all four men forgot themselves. My mother kept trying to fight for what was hers. In the end, jealousy consumed her, and she took her own life. After she died, Serena disappeared too. Only when Jade came back did they learn the truth. Serena left because she felt guilty for my mother’s death. Honestly, I never believed any of that. My instincts told me my mother was not the villain. Serena was. But my dads didn’t trust my instincts. They decided I was just like her. Jealous. Petty. Causing trouble. So every time I clashed with Jade, they took her side. It wasn’t long before I went from their beloved little princess to a ghost in the base. Xander picked up the blade and glanced at the wound on my throat. Then his wrist turned. The blade came straight for me. I stumbled back two steps on reflex. The flash of steel passed. A new cut appeared on my neck. Xander gave a cold laugh. “If you want to die that badly, why did you dodge?” “Lily. You’re just like that mother of yours. Pathetic. Always hurting yourself to get someone’s attention.” “She was smarter than you, at least. She always did it in front of all four of us. You pick this kind of miserable place. You’ve really lost your mind.”

I was about to explain I wasn’t performing. Then I remembered. Every explanation I had ever given, they ignored. I lowered my head. “You’re right, Xander. And may I ask why you’ve come all the way here? Was it specifically to watch me perform?” Xander paused. “Don’t flatter yourself. Today is Jade’s birthday. She said recently that she’s willing to forgive you and be friends again. I came to bring you to her.” Three days ago, word had spread that the Commander intended to name Jade his successor. He had arranged a ceremony at the base on her birthday to make it official. I was one year older than her. That was a promise Ethan Dad had made to me when I was ten — that one day, I would lead after him. In the past, if anyone tried to take something of mine, I would have burned the whole place down before letting them have it. Now I simply looked at Xander without expression. “I don’t want to go.” Xander paused. Then he said, “That’s not your choice to make.” He grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out. He shoved me into the SUV and drove toward the command hall. Sitting in the SUV, Xander talked into my ear the entire time. I needed to kneel when I saw Jade. I needed to stop angering her. My chest ached quietly. I watched the road blur faster and faster outside. The thought of seeing my mother grew louder and louder in my mind. I stood up, shoved the door open, and jumped. Before I hit the ground, I heard a shout. I thought, at this speed, I would finally manage it. Instead of the impact I expected, I fell into something warm. Xander had caught me. We rolled across the ground twice together. His furious voice broke over my head. “Lily. Are you insane?” I looked at him. Blood from a cut on his forehead ran down his face. I reached up to wipe it away. His expression turned vicious. “Can you stop this? You just want to see if I still care about you. I’m telling you right now, rescuing you means nothing. I would have done the same for any stranger. If I’d known what you were thinking, I never would have jumped.” “From now on, if you want to die, go ahead. I’m not stopping you.” My hand froze in the air. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the lake just off the road. I smiled faintly. “Okay, Xander. Remember what you said.” Before he could react, I was on my feet. I turned and threw myself into the water. Xander had nearly drowned as a child. Water was his one fear. And he had just said those words. He was not coming in after me. So when the freezing water rushed into my lungs, I felt nothing but relief. Finally. I was going to see Mom.

After some time, the darkness cleared. I sat up eagerly, ready to find mom. Then someone slapped me hard onto the floor. “You worthless girl. All we did was send you to the slum to reflect. And you pull this stunt the moment you see Xander. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He almost drowned trying to pull you out.” Callum Dad’s voice came from above me. His face was dark with fury. Of my four dads, I had been closest to Callum. The others were constantly occupied. So the task of raising me had fallen on him. He taught me to read. He taught me biology and medicine. He was always gentle. No matter how badly I misbehaved, he guided me with patience and never once punished me. But the Callum who never raised his voice at me struck me on Jade’s very first day back. That time, Jade had contaminated Callum’s pathogen samples herself. Then she told him I did it. Callum took a belt to me. “Lily, this is my failure. I raised you to be reckless and careless. Do you have any idea how many lives depend on those samples?” Later, when Jade claimed I’d injected her with an untested serum, Callum did the same to me — strapped me down, pumped his experimental serum into my body, and locked me in the ward as a test subject. The serum burned through me like acid — every nerve screaming, my skin splitting open, my body convulsing until I nearly stopped breathing. Though Callum treated me afterward, I still lost an eye. Now he stood over me, silent fury building. He raised his hand to strike again. At the last moment, Xander caught his wrist. “Eli, calm down. Today is Jade’s ceremony. She apparently can’t handle it. She’s already tried to kill herself three times in front of me.” I glanced at Xander. He had changed clothes. His wounds were bandaged. But his face was pale. I remembered what Callum had said. Xander couldn’t swim. Whatever it had cost him to pull me out of that lake, it wasn’t nothing. Callum scoffed. “Xander, you’ve been fooled. Four years ago you were away on a mission. She pulled these tricks constantly in front of all of us. She just wants our attention.” Xander relaxed slightly, as if something inside him unclenched. “So that’s what it was.” Callum looked back at me. “Lily, today is Jade’s birthday. If you need to act out, do it in front of us. Don’t take it to Ethan Dad or Nathan Dad. You know how those two are…” He didn’t finish. I was already lunging toward his medicine cabinet. I had lived with Callum long enough to know where he kept his most lethal drugs. I found the worst one and swallowed it before anyone could stop me. Callum went white.

The drug was bitter. But I felt light. Callum had once told me there was no antidote for this one. If I swallowed it, it was over. Callum only froze for a moment. Then he was in front of me, forcing his fingers into my mouth. “Do you know what you just took?” He wrenched my jaw open and shoved his fingers down my throat. His large hand patted my back forcefully. Black blood trickled out of my mouth. Only when the blood turned red did he breathe again. “Lily. It’s just a position. Was dying really worth it?” Xander was still shaking. He had finally accepted I was serious, and his voice trembled. “Lily, don’t do this again. Actually, yesterday all four of us spoke with Jade. She said she’s ready to forgive you. After today, you can come back to live with us. We’ll treat you the way we used to. Okay?” Hearing that, tears fell from my eyes. Both men assumed it was relief. The next second I dropped to my knees before them. “Callum Dad. Xander Dad. Please. Just let me go.” Callum’s face reddened. “Lily, do you understand what we just said…” “I understand.” I no longer wanted to hide it. “But I don’t want to go back. I want to find my mother.” I told them everything the voice in my head had said. Their expressions shifted and twisted as they listened. Finally, Callum helped me up. “Lily, listen to me. Your mother is truly gone.” She had drowned in the lake years ago. Ethan Dad pulled her out, but Callum had used everything he knew and still couldn’t save her. Afterward, all four of them removed me from her womb and kept vigil for seven days. They watched her body rotten until there was nothing left. Callum said the voice in my head was probably a trauma-induced hallucination. It wasn’t. I was certain. But no matter how I insisted, they refused to believe me. Callum sighed. “If you truly don’t want to come back, then stay here with me. As long as you behave, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” I was about to shake my head. Heavy boots came pounding from outside. Moments later, Ethan Dad and Nathan Dad rushed in. “Callum, Xander, have you seen Jade? She’s missing.”

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Back in college, I bought myself a boyfriend. He stayed with me. I paid off his grandfather’s six-figure medical bills. A full-ride genius, swallowing his pride to be mine for four years. Then my father got swept up in a federal financial fraud case. Everything vanished overnight. When we broke up, he was cold. Didn’t say a single word to make me stay. Years later, I’m dancing at a strip club. He’s the founder of a tech company, dating our college’s former cheerleading captain. He asks me: “Any regrets?” “No.” “Well, I have one.” — Of all the ways I imagined running into Evan Corwin again after graduation, this wasn’t one of them. I’m a dancer at a strip club. And tonight, he books me. The lights pulse wild and electric. I twist inside a giant martini glass, water lapping against my skin, while the crowd below howls and whistles, hurling fistfuls of cash at the stage. I’m the eye of the storm, same as always. But my attention,every last shred of it,snags on him. I can barely hold it together. Before going on, I threw on a mask and a wig, desperate to keep him from seeing my face. Now, I peel off one layer at a time, drawing fresh screams, more bills, hungry stares from every direction,and the whole time, I’m watching him from the corner of my eye. Stella Voss sits right next to him. They look disgustingly perfect together. There’s a plate of artfully sliced oranges on Stella’s side of the table. A long time ago, when I used to love oranges, Evan would always cut them for me. The way he handled a knife was almost obscenely attractive,each slice precise, uniform, arranged on the plate like a little work of art. I used to joke that he had to be a secret assassin. Back then, I thought he loved me. Turns out it was just his perfectionism talking. Four years apart. Feels more like half a lifetime. Somehow, my routine drifts closer and closer to his section. *Damn it.* I should be putting distance between us. God knows if I get any closer, he might recognize me. But clearly, one of Stella’s hangers-on already has. She leans over, loud enough to be heard over the bass: “Hey,didn’t Evan have a girlfriend in college? Four years together or something?” My hand freezes mid-reach for my bra strap. Evan doesn’t take the bait. The woman shifts in her seat, a little awkward, but pushes on: “Four years, though. That’s gotta be hard to forget, right?” Silence settles over their table like a still river. After what feels like forever, Evan lets out a quiet laugh. “Hardly.” —

“Honestly, Ev not hating her is generous enough.” Stella waves a hand, breezy and unbothered. “I went to the same school. It was honestly… ugh, he deserved so much better. If his ex hadn’t been in the way, Ev and I would’ve gotten together years ago.” “Exactly! Stella’s got like a million followers, she’s literally a reality TV star,no ex can compete with that.” The hanger-on throws a smug little glance in my direction. I snap a kick. Water arcs out of the glass and hits her square in the face. The crowd goes *feral*. Whistles, stomping feet, guys throwing their arms up begging to be next. Her cursing drowns in the deafening roar. My set reaches its finale. The cheers crash over each other, wave after wave. Bills carpet the stage. I blow a kiss for the curtain call. Inside, all I want is to get out. But as I pass Evan’s section, his voice cuts through the noise. “Wait.” —

My body locks in place like someone drove a nail through my feet. One second. Two. Dana materializes beside me right on cue. “Sorry,she’s part-time. Once her set’s done, she’s off the clock.” Dana shoots me a look. I bolt. She pulls me aside backstage. “Heads up next time, okay? We’ve all been the new girl. One complaint and your whole night’s pay is gone.” “Thanks, Dana. I owe you one.” “Don’t worry about it. But that VIP room? Watch yourself. Every person at that table is a big shot. Especially the young one in the middle,the good-looking one. Tech startup founder, been in Forbes. None of us can afford to piss him off.” The warning comes a little too late. If there’s one person on this planet who has already pissed off Evan Corwin beyond the point of no return, it’s me. I’m the ex he can “hardly” remember. —

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Three years after the divorce, my ex-husband Julian showed up with roses, grinning like he’d already won. “Babe, I kept my word. Right on time to get you back.” Three years ago, he played Truth or Dare with his friends and lost to his childhood sweetheart Serena. Serena had a request: “I want to see if you and your wife are really in love.” “So you two get divorced. Three years. No contact.” “If she remarries you after three years, I’ll admit it’s true love.” He and Serena never had boundaries—always flirting, always blurring the lines. We fought about it constantly. I thought he’d say no. He agreed without hesitation: “Deal! ” His friend tried to stop him: “Dude, think this through! Divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked at me like it was already settled: “I trust what we have. My wife’s obsessed with me for life.” “She’ll definitely remarry me!” I didn’t say a word. He had no idea that was his last chance. Back to the present—he shoved the flowers at me. I didn’t take them. Stepped back. Voice flat: “My husband doesn’t let me take flowers from other men.” … A smirk tugged at Julian’s lips. “Mad at me?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Be good. Don’t be mad.” His tone was syrupy, convinced I was playing hard to get. Like before, he moved in to pull me close. I stepped back again. Face harder now: “Mr. Chase, keep your distance!” His hand froze mid-air, eyes still glued to my face, all soft and loving. “Really pissed this time?” “Tell me what’ll make you feel better. Anything.” Still thought he could sweet-talk his way out of it, like always. He stepped closer. Every step he took, I took one back. His eyes flared with that hunting look, like he was already claiming me. “Julian, three years is enough to change everything.” He nodded like he agreed: “True.” My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. He caged me in, hands on either side of my head—his signature move. Back when we were dating, he loved pinning me against walls, kissing me under the moonlight. “Did you have a boy? Or a girl?” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. The thought of that baby still tore through my chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. After he lost that stupid game— At Serena’s demand, he divorced me anyway. Three years. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Now he had the nerve to assume I’d have his kid, sit around waiting for him to come back! A bitter smile curled my lips. Before I could tell him I got rid of it, his phone rang. He pulled it out. The screen lit up with a contact name: Little Princess. That’s what he called Serena. I’d seen it a thousand times—the way he’d pat her head, grin, and say she’d been his little princess since they were kids! Never gave a damn how it made me feel when I was still his wife. He answered immediately. “Julian, please, come quick—I’m on my period and it hurts so bad.” Serena’s whiny crying came through the speaker. Julian’s eyes filled with panic: “Don’t worry, I’m coming right now.” He hung up. Gave my head a quick pat like I was some obedient pet: “I gotta check on Serena. I’ll come find you later.” Before I could blink, he was gone.

Serena posted to her feed like clockwork—showing off again, rubbing it in. The photo showed her lying in Julian’s arms, hair damp with sweat. Julian’s hand was on her stomach, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s loved me most since we were kids. No matter how important the matter, or how important the person— As long as I’m not feeling well, he drops everything and rushes to my side. Giving me all his care and love. He’s truly the best man in the world!!! I hit Like. Not just one Like—every single day for three years, Serena posted about their relationship. Three years. She posted 1,095 times. I liked every single one. She found new ways to flaunt it daily. Like how she didn’t work—Julian gave her his card, unlimited spending. She could crash at the place Julian and I used to share whenever she wanted. My stuff? She’d use it if she felt like it, toss it if she didn’t. For three years, those two did everything couples do. I knew she posted them for me to see. Every Like was my way of showing I didn’t give a shit. But Serena thought I was jealous, losing my mind, desperate for attention. Next time I saw Julian was when he and Serena showed up at my coffee shop. They wore matching camel coats—couple’s outfits. Julian, who always wore boring suits, was in some trendy casual blazer. I used to suggest couple’s outfits. He’d always say he was used to suits, didn’t want to switch it up. Serena looked around my coffee shop, eyes wide. Shocked. Julian frowned at me: “I gave you all that money. Why are you doing this kind of hard labor?” When we divorced, I asked for half his assets. He gave it without hesitation. I stopped making the coffee in my hands, looked up at him, face blank: “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” Julian’s expression didn’t change. Still convinced I was just mad at him. Serena put on her fake sweet voice: “Chloe, it’s been three years. How’ve you been?” “Great.” Serena looked surprised by how calm I was. Julian’s phone rang. He turned and went outside to take it. The second it was just me and Serena, the mask dropped. Her smile twisted into something smug and taunting: “Stop playing games. But don’t get too excited yet.” She looked down at me, lips curled in a sneer: “Even if you remarry Julian this time, so what?!” “His mom hates you. She’s always wanted me as her daughter-in-law.” “Julian’s only remarrying you out of obligation.” “He even asked for my permission before coming to find you.” “And you’re signing a prenup.” “Oh, and I wrote it myself.” She pulled a prenup out of her bag and slapped it in front of me. I glanced down, barely hiding my disgust. First line: All Chase family assets have nothing to do with you. After marriage, you cannot call your mother-in-law Mom—must address her as Auntie. In public, you cannot claim to be Mrs. Chase—you’re the ex-wife only. The audacity made me laugh. I shoved the papers back at her: “If his mom loves you so much, how come you’re still nobody to him!” “Three years, and Julian still won’t claim you. How pathetic.” Serena’s face twisted. Her hand flew up to slap me— Then Julian’s footsteps echoed from behind. She switched faces faster than flipping a page, tears streaming, playing the martyr: “Chloe, I really do want you and Julian to remarry.” “As his childhood friend, I just want him to be happy.” “This prenup is just a formality. Don’t be upset, okay?” Same act as three years ago. The second Julian saw her crying, his brain turned to mush. Couldn’t tell right from wrong.

“Serena, what’s wrong?” Julian pulled Serena into his arms, eyes filled with concern. Serena shook her head, playing the victim: “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Chloe.” The more she said that, the more Julian was convinced I’d hurt her. “Chloe!” He snapped at me: “Apologize!” His tone—like he was giving orders to the help. A cold smile crept across my face. He frowned, voice dripping with disappointment: “Serena grew up with me. She’s like my sister!” “She’s family. Can you stop being so hostile to her!” “For my sake, just be nice to her, okay!” My face stayed blank. I’d seen this exact scene a hundred times three years ago. I was over it. I was about to kick them out when my phone rang—video call. The screen lit up: Baby Boy. Julian’s eyes lit up when he saw that. He hit Accept before I could stop him. I grabbed my phone fast. My two-year-old son’s chubby face filled the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” Julian heard “Mommy” and went rigid with excitement. Convinced I’d had his son. I said a quick word to my son. Before Julian could grab my phone to talk to him, I hung up. “I want to see my son!” He was grinning like an idiot, all the tension from before vanished like it never happened. Serena’s face darkened. “He’s not your son!” I looked him dead in the eye, voice ice-cold: “Stop bothering me, you sick freaks!” He didn’t get mad. Just kept assuming, condescending as hell: “Alright, alright. Stop being mad.” “I’ve really missed you and our son.” I finally got it. Guys like him—so full of themselves— Wouldn’t believe I’d stopped loving him until they saw my husband in person. He suddenly said: “Mom’s birthday is in a few days.” “You’re a good cook. Make some of her favorite dishes.” “Use this as a chance to fix things between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knew. Three years of marriage— Three years of his mother treating me like garbage. His mother hated that I came from nothing. Even though I was Julian’s legal wife, she wouldn’t let me attend any family dinners. If she was there, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I hated her too. Our relationship was walking on eggshells—we just ignored each other. And in all of it, he’d stayed silent. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. I asked on purpose: “Julian, let’s say—hypothetically—” “What if I cook a whole feast and your mom still won’t let me sit at the table?” He hesitated before answering: “You can say something nice, butter her up.” “You know how she is—all bark, no bite.” Serena jumped in with fake helpfulness: “Chloe, it’s not shameful to beg your elders. Auntie can’t resist when someone begs at her feet.” She was mocking me, telling me to beg on my knees. I laughed bitterly, locked eyes with Julian, voice sharp and serious: “Julian, three years changes everything!” “I’m married now. And the kid isn’t yours.” Then I turned to Serena: “You should be the one begging on your knees. Maybe that’s your ticket into the Chase family.”

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I clawed my way through ninety-nine rounds of the Marchetti family’s death trials to become his bride — and in the hundredth, my fiancé put a bullet in my chest to crown someone else. They call it the Queen’s Gauntlet. Every time Dante Marchetti collects ten girls, he runs an elimination. Whoever survives moves on. Whoever wins all one hundred rounds becomes his wife. I’m the one who made it to ninety-nine. I’m tough enough. I played every sick game he threw at me without making a sound. He started looking at me differently — something close to awe. He paraded me through the Five Families, made every soldier and capo call me Madonna. I was about to win it all. Then, twenty minutes before the final round, I see him outside the private room — pressing Anya Rossi against the wall, kissing her like she’s oxygen. “Fifth chamber’s the live round.” “Got it.” My heart seizes. Something invisible wraps around it and squeezes until I can’t breathe. But I don’t get time to think. The game has already started. I watch Anya draw the rigged order — second shooter. My stomach drops through the floor. If I keep playing, I lose. That’s a certainty. I take a slow breath and look up into Dante’s calm, unreadable eyes. “Wren-bird.” He swirls the whiskey in his glass, voice dripping with warmth and adoration. “Still want to play? You know I’d never let you lose a game like this.” The room erupts. Whistles. Catcalls. The made men lounge around the table, trading looks between him and me, voices thick with amusement. “Boss always favors his Madonna. This round’s pointless.” “New girl thinks she can challenge the Madonna? She doesn’t even know who Dante’s heart belongs to.” “Be smart, sweetheart. Fold now and you walk away with your dignity.” Across from me, Anya is shaking head to toe — but she sets her jaw. “I’m not folding. I’m playing.” I catch it. That flicker in Dante’s eyes. Admiration. “Interesting.” His lips curl into a lazy smile, and he turns to me. “Then let’s make it quick, Wren-bird. I’ve got something new for us tonight.” Disgusting. He’s already rigged this for her. He’s already chosen. And he’s still putting on this devoted-lover act for me. My chest goes numb. Ice-cold. I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “Let’s start.” I want to see it. I want to see if this man — the one who keeps swearing he’ll never let me lose — actually has the stomach to watch me take the fall. The revolver hits the table. The room goes quiet. I draw first slot. I pick up the gun, press the muzzle against my own chest, and pull the trigger. Click. Empty. The room exhales. Someone laughs. Bets start flying. Dante’s eyes soften, just barely. “Wren-bird. Don’t worry. I’ll always bet on you.” Anya’s turn. Her hand trembles — prettily, perfectly — and she pulls. Click. My turn again. Third chamber. Still empty. But my heart is hammering now, because I heard what he said. Fifth chamber. Fifth. That’s mine. My whole body starts to shake. My eyes burn. My vision blurs. The slip that gave me first shot — he arranged that too. He set me up to take the bullet. Anya fires the fourth — knowing she’s safe — and lets out a delicate little whimper of fear. The men jeer. “Just quit, sweetheart! Get on your knees and kiss the Madonna’s ring — the Boss might let you walk!” “Kid, these rounds aren’t real bullets, but they still hurt like hell!” Anya doesn’t back down. She slides the gun across to me. My heart is in my throat. I stare at Dante. Waiting. Stop this. Stop this right now. He just watches. There’s even a faint smile on his lips. He doesn’t lift a finger. Seconds drag. His brow creases, just slightly. “Wren-bird. Don’t be scared. The winner is always going to be you.” My mouth twists — bitter, broken. I raise the gun to my chest with trembling hands. BANG. The round slams into me. Specialty rubber — not lethal — but the pain explodes white-hot through my ribs and I can’t breathe, I can’t — Anya screams. “Oh God — I’m so sorry — I didn’t know it would be like this —” Every face in the room goes pale. They all turn to Dante. The rule is simple. Whoever takes the bullet loses. The winner becomes his bride. “Boss, this —” Dante rises. Slowly. He looks down at Anya, voice glacial. “It’s fine. A loss is a loss.” Then he bends, scoops the trembling girl into his arms, and lifts her clean off the floor. His movements are steady, absolute. His gaze sweeps the room. His voice cuts like a blade. “Wren. You lost. I’m disappointed. But the only Queen in my heart is you.” In his arms, Anya flinches — then shoots me a look of pure triumph. A sharp pain stabs through my chest. My lips curve into something cold. He carries her toward the door. Steady. Certain. He doesn’t look back at me. Not once.

The second his back disappears through the door, my tears finally break. This game was never fair. Whoever he wants wins. That’s all it ever was. I wipe my face pick up the wine glass on the table and drain every last drop. Outside, I press my hand against the burning ache in my chest and dial a number with shaking fingers. “You wanted to get married. The answer’s yes. Seven days. I’ll be there.” Back at the penthouse, I swallow four painkillers. Ninety-nine rounds have trained my body to handle pain. But tonight, for reasons I can’t name, everything hurts worse than it ever has. I stare at the photograph on the wall — the one that appeared just weeks ago. Our engagement portrait. Me in white silk, him in black, his hand resting low on my waist. He took me to shoot it after I cleared round ninety-nine. I’d laughed and asked if that was cheating his own game. He scoffed. “My game. My rules. And you’re the only reason I ever break them.” Now he’s broken them for someone else. And he stood there watching me take a bullet like a fool. He doesn’t come home that night. I see everything in the videos Anya sends me. Dante has her pressed up against every surface of his most lavish penthouse. Their marks are everywhere — the walls, the sheets, the floors. The rare South Pacific black pearl he flew halfway across the world to buy for me last month — it’s caught between his teeth now, dragging slowly over her skin while she breaks, screaming his name. His face — raw, savage, consumed with want , is something I’ve never seen. Not once. Not for me. Miss Bellamy, you can see how addicted he is to me. Be smart and walk away. I stare at the message until my fingertips go white. I will not let myself cry again. The night I met Dante Marchetti, my grandmother was dying. Heart failure. The hospital was going to discharge her because I couldn’t pay. I was twenty-two, broke, and out of options. He walked into that waiting room like the angel of death in a five-thousand-dollar suit. Paid Gran’s bill in cash. Then he handed me a black card — an invitation. He looked at me the way a wolf looks at a rabbit. Smiling. “It’s just a game, sweetheart. Play it well, and everybody wins.” Even outside the Five Families, you heard the stories. Dante Marchetti was twisted. Years ago, the woman he loved sold him out to a rival. He never trusted love again. He built the Queen’s Gauntlet to watch women tear each other apart for the chance to sit beside him — to prove how far they’d go, how low they’d crawl. I took the card anyway. I needed the money. I needed Gran alive. Inside the game he called himself the King. He sat on a black leather throne and watched women bleed for his crown. I clenched my teeth and survived ninety-nine rounds. Bungee jumps with frayed cords. A sealed coffin with a live python. Seven minutes underwater without air. Live cockroaches shoved into my mouth. Every trial that made other women scream and shatter — I took in silence. One round was a skydive. My competitor slashed my arm with a blade and ripped the only parachute off my back. The plane was over open ocean. I was bleeding, falling soon either way. The earpiece crackled, and Dante’s amused voice came through. “You’ve won forty-some rounds, Wren-bird. Didn’t think you’d end up here. Any last words?” I closed my eyes. “Wire Gran’s medical bills before they cut her off.” His low laugh filled my ear. I jumped. They pulled me out of the Atlantic. I woke up in the ICU. Later, he came to my room. His eyes were hollow. “That round’s yours. I changed the rule mid-game — the winner is whoever’s more reckless.” A bitter, self-mocking smile. “You want out? A hundred million. Walk away clean. Right now.” He looked, for the first time, lonely. Something inside me tore open. I didn’t answer. I just reached up and pulled him into my arms. His face changed in a heartbeat — wild, unguarded joy. He cupped the back of my head and kissed me like a drowning man. “Wren. You’re mine now. From this second on. I’ll give you everything.” He bought me a brownstone. Ten percent of the family’s legitimate holdings, in my name. He walked me into every Family event with his hand at the small of my back and made every soldier and capo kiss my ring and call me Madonna. When the woman who’d betrayed him years ago crawled back into a banquet — weeping at his feet, humiliating me in front of the room, begging him to take her back — he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a wine bottle and cracked it across her skull. His men dragged her out. She was taken to the docks and never seen again. He stood there with blood on his cuffs and said: “Anyone else want to insult my Queen? Step up.” He spoiled me so completely that everyone believed it. Every capo. Every heir. Every woman watching from the sidelines. Even me. I believed I was the one. The special one. The woman who could make Dante Marchetti believe in love again. Until tonight. Until I finally understood — it was never anything but my own delusion.

I sit alone in the dark penthouse all night, phone off. At dawn, the lock turns. Dante walks in. His suit reeks of someone else’s perfume. The bite marks on his throat are obscene. He sees me frozen on the couch and pauses — then drags a hand through his hair, irritated. “Wren. Don’t tell me you sat here all night waiting for me.” My voice comes out raw. “Do you want to shower?” He stiffens. He takes in my white face, my bloodshot eyes, and his brow creases. He tosses his jacket on the chair. But there’s a flicker of something pleased behind his eyes. He walks over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, gentle. “I know. You’re upset because you lost.” “The rule is the rule, baby. Hundredth round. Anya won. By rights, I should be marrying her.” He pauses, pulls a pink diamond ring from his pocket — easily worth a million — and presses a slow kiss to my throat. “But you’re mine. So I’m giving you one more chance. Another round. Win back your crown. That’s a privilege I don’t give anyone else.” “So next time, sweetheart — win.” Win. The word is so absurd I almost laugh. I had a fifty-fifty shot. He took the crown off my head with his own hands and placed it on Anya. The rules were written in black and white — the hundredth-round winner becomes his bride. Anya won. This pink diamond is nothing but a bone he’s tossing me. Something shifts in his eyes — a glint of challenge. His lips curl. “What’s wrong, Wren-bird? Not happy? You used to fight like a wildcat for me.” He’s so certain I’ll cry. So certain I’ll scream and beg, just like every woman before me. I just lift my eyes. My voice is flat. Like I’m talking about someone else’s life. “No. I don’t care.” “Dante. As of right now, I’m out of the game.” The smile freezes on his mouth. The playful warmth in his eyes stays — but underneath, something murderous flickers. “You quit? Say that again.” I hold his gaze. Steady. “Dante. Your game. I’m done playing it.” “I’m leaving you. I won’t make a scene. You can have Anya, with my blessing.” His breath catches. His hands snap to my arms — and right then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He answers. Whatever they tell him turns his face white with rage. “If you so much as touch her, I will end every last one of you!” He hangs up. His grip locks around my wrist — hard enough to grind bone. “Ow — Dante, what are you —” “In the car. Now.” His voice is ice. “Look what you’ve done.” He drags me out. I stumble, nearly fall. He shoves me into the back seat without a word. He drives like a man possessed. Jaw locked. Eyes dead ahead. He doesn’t explain a thing. The car stops at an abandoned warehouse by the river. Inside, Anya is on the concrete floor. Hands bound behind her back. Blood at the corner of her mouth. Dante crosses the room in three strides. He cuts her loose and pulls her against his chest. His eyes are red. Red. “Anya. Baby. Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She sobs into his shirt — then lifts her head and looks at me with wide, frightened eyes. “Miss Bellamy — if you don’t want me near him, I’ll leave, I’ll disappear — but why would you have someone beat me…” I take a slow breath. I look only at Dante. “Dante. I didn’t do this. Do you believe me?” He scoops Anya up, bridal style, shielding her completely. And those narrow, cold eyes turn on me with undisguised disgust. “She’s an orphan! She doesn’t make enemies. Who else would touch her — except the woman who’s jealous she lost?” “Lose with grace, Wren. The second you start playing dirty, you’re the one who can’t handle the game.” I clench my fists so hard my nails break skin. “Dante. I told you. It wasn’t me.” “Dante, it’s okay,” Anya whimpers, voice barely a breath. “I don’t blame Wren. She just… she loves you too much.” He laughs — short, cold — and turns for the door with her in his arms. He snaps his fingers at the soldiers behind him. “The new Queen has been hurt by the old one. The old Queen needs to be punished.”

The four soldiers don’t hesitate. They wrench my arms behind my back. “Sir. How bad?” Dante glances at me, then bends his head toward Anya, voice silk. “The punishment is for my new Queen to decide.” Another knife in my chest. After every single elimination round, he handed me — me — the right to punish the loser. Every time, I just told them to leave. Walk away. Start over. I never made anyone bleed. Now Anya puts on her sweet, harmless face ， and her mouth curls into something cruel. “Dante, baby, I don’t really know your old rules. Just… whatever the punishment used to be, do that.” He gets it instantly. He turns to me, searching my face for something — anger, jealousy, anything. All he finds is dead silence. It enrages him. He pulls Anya tighter and forces the words through his teeth. “You heard the Queen.” They drag me into the compound. Down to the basement. They press me face-down on the stone floor and use a leather strap soaked in salt brine. On the other side of the wall, in the bedroom, he and Anya lose themselves in each other, all heat and desperation. Her moans and my screams braid together through the plaster, rising and breaking, until the whole house throbs with it. My back splits open. My heart breaks worse. I think of that day in the ICU. The kiss. The promise. He’d wanted to shut the Gauntlet down right then — pull me out, end it all. But the Family heirs had hundreds of millions riding on the bracket. The game wasn’t his alone anymore. They wouldn’t let him stop it before the final round. He’d held me in that hospital bed, eyes red, arms shaking, and whispered into my hair: “Wren. I promise. From now on, every single round — I will never let you lose.” And I believed him. I fought for him. I outsmarted, out-bled, out-survived every contender they threw at me. Some of them tried to kill me with rigged equipment. With knives. With poison. I won anyway — because I loved him. Every woman who cheated against me ended up exactly where I am right now. Pinned down. Beaten. Listening to him fuck the next one through the wall. It was always going to come to me eventually. He finally let me get hurt. They go all night. Somewhere near dawn, Dante steps out in a black silk robe. I hear his voice, distant, bored. “Call the family doctor. Patch her up. Don’t let her die.” Then I’m gone. I wake on the couch. His jacket is draped over me. The housekeeper’s face is blank, professional. “You’re awake. Mr. Marchetti took Miss Rossi to the victory dinner. He said to get yourself cleaned up and join them.” My voice is sandpaper. I grab my bag. “Tell him I can’t. My grandmother’s surgery is today. He knows. He arranged it.” He found Gran her donor heart himself , my prize for clearing round ninety-nine. Two soldiers grab me. “What are you — let go of me — I need to get to the hospital — Dante knows about Gran’s transplant today!” They don’t care. They yank a dress over my shredded back. They don’t let me bring my phone. They throw me in the SUV. I can’t breathe. He used to come with me to see Gran every single month. And today he’s at a champagne dinner celebrating a stolen crown for a girl he rigged the game to win. The ballroom is full of capos and their daughters. Dante is at the center with Anya glued to his side. I’m in a backless dress. The strap marks across my shoulder blades are visible to every person in the room. People whisper. His eyes darken. He walks Anya toward me, his hand on her hip. “Wren. Today is Anya’s coronation. As the former champion, you should congratulate her properly. You walked in empty-handed. Are you trying to humiliate her?” Anya bites her lip, all wounded innocence. “Maybe she just thinks I shouldn’t have won. After all — she had the first ninety-nine.” I cut her off. I look only at him. “I quit the game. I owe her nothing. Dante — Gran is in surgery right now. I’m leaving. Let me through.” Surprise flickers in his eyes. Then it ices over. “It’s a celebration. You bring up something this dark on purpose?” I press my hand against the ache in my chest. “What do I have to do for you to let me leave?” “What do you have to do?” His eyes glint. He kisses Anya in front of me, slow and deliberate. “Let my new Queen name the price.” She pretends to think. Then she grins. “Have Wren strip naked. Kneel in front of me. And bark like a dog. Three times.” The breath leaves my body. And then I hear him laugh ,soft, amused. “Done.”

I stare at him. “Dante. What if I refuse?” He laughs once. Cold. “Sweetheart. Since when do you get to say no to me?” He flicks a glance at the crowd behind him. That’s all it takes. They erupt on cue. “You heard the Madonna! On your knees,you filthy dog !” “You lost everything down to your panties , and you still think you can negotiate?” These are the same men who called me Madonna. Who bowed when I walked past. Who kissed my ring. Now they’ve turned like wolves, every last one of them falling in line behind Anya. My chest crushes inward. The pain goes numb. There’s a wall of soldiers behind me. I can’t run. Dante is unhinged enough that fighting will only drag this out longer — and Gran is on an operating table right now. Dignity is a luxury I can’t afford. “You’ll keep your word. After this, I leave.” I choke the words out. I undress. I get on my hands and knees on the polished marble. The room sucks in a breath. “Woof.” Laughter explodes around me. I feel tears slide down my face. “Woof.” Someone kicks me in the ribs — I don’t even see who. “Woof.” Dante’s voice cuts the room cold. “Enough.” “Get her out of my sight.” I grab my dress off the floor, yank it on crooked, and stumble out barefoot. It’s pouring outside. I don’t know when the rain started. I flag down a cab with shaking hands and tell him the hospital. Fast. Please. I sprint through the lobby. I burst into Gran’s room. She’s not there. I tear through the hallways like a madwoman — and then I see it. The OR doors swing open. A gurney rolls out. There’s a white sheet over the body, and one hand has slipped out from under the cloth. On her wrist is the silver bracelet I gave her for her seventieth birthday. Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. “Gran!” I throw myself onto the gurney, screaming. The surgeon exhales, exhausted. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could. She kept asking to see you one last time. We tried calling — we couldn’t get through. We had no choice but to proceed without you.” I don’t hear the rest. The room spins. I hit the floor. When I open my eyes, I’m in a hospital bed. A nurse adjusts my IV, her face tight with worry. “Honey, I know you just lost your grandmother and it’s awful. But you have to take care of yourself now. You’re pregnant.” The words hit me like a slap. “What?” My voice cracks. “I’m — I’m pregnant?” “Three months along. You really had no idea?” I press my hand against my belly. A tremor runs through me , something alive, something small, underneath my palm. I go cold all over. Once, I dreamed of this. Dante’s child. A home. A real life. It came now. Now. When the man I built my world around doesn’t love me anymore. The door opens. Dante walks in carrying half a cake on a plate. “Wren, you embarrassed me today.” His voice is flat with contempt. “Anya’s sweet. She thought you might be hungry. She saved you cake.” I look at the mangled thing on the plate — pawed at, half-eaten, barely recognizable. It’s not food. It’s a slap in the face. “You’re not even with your grandmother. You’re here, faking sick to get my attention?” “Get out!” I hurl the water glass at his head. He dodges. His eyes go pitch black. “Ungrateful. You’re not half the woman Anya is.” He slams the door behind him. I break apart. I sob until there’s nothing left inside me. For the next few days, Dante parades Anya across the city. Diamonds dripping from her throat and wrists. Yachts, rooftop parties, flashbulbs chasing them at every turn. Cameras everywhere. I bury Gran alone. The day we put her in the ground, the sky splits open and the rain doesn’t stop. While I’m standing graveside in the mud, Dante is at a charity gala downtown, presenting Anya with a flawless museum-grade diamond in front of the press. I go back to the penthouse. I pack one suitcase. I walk out. I rent a tiny studio across town. He calls. I pick up. “Where the hell are you?” “Dante. The game is over. We are nothing to each other.” He finds me the next day. He looks around my studio — the peeling paint, the narrow bed, the bare lightbulb — and his nose wrinkles like he smells garbage. “You’re living in this hole? Cute.” A mocking smile. “You’re playing hard to get.” “It’s none of your business. Get out.” His eyes flatten. He nods at the men behind him. They grab my arms before I can move. “Let’s go. Anya wants to take you somewhere fun.”

I fight. I lose. They drive me to a private estate outside the city. Underground, the owner keeps a fifteen-foot golden python in a steel-reinforced cage and charges the ultra-rich to watch it feed. Live prey. Invitation only. Anya is already there, draped in couture, champagne in hand. “Wren, sweetie — the feeding show tonight is so boring.” Inside the cage, the python is coiled around a slab of raw, bloody meat, jaw unhinged, swallowing it whole. She tilts her head, all innocence, but her smile has teeth. “You survived ninety-nine rounds of the Gauntlet. A little snake should be nothing for you, right? Dante, baby — I want to watch her tame it.” My blood turns to ice. Deep in my belly, something flutters — the baby. As if even he can sense what’s coming. “Are you insane? That gets people killed!” Dante looks at my white face. Something flickers — just for a second. Regret. Maybe mercy. He leans close. His breath stirs my hair. His voice is low, almost tender. “You know what I hate about you, Wren? You’re so goddamn stubborn. Just bend. Once. Ask me to save you ， beg me ， and I’ll rig the game so you win.” “Last chance. One more round. Beg me, and it’s yours.” I look back at him. My eyes are dead. My mouth curves into a smile so bitter it tastes like ash. “Dante. The biggest regret of my life is ever taking your invitation.” His face contorts. Anya jumps in, right on cue. “How can you be so ungrateful? Dante is giving you a chance! If I were you, I’d be on my knees crying! If you won’t play, it just proves you never loved him at all!” Murder flashes through Dante’s eyes. He shoves me — hard — and forces three words through clenched teeth. “Put her in.” Hands grab me. The cage door clangs shut behind me. The python’s head lifts. Its tongue flicks the air. It starts toward me. “Dante — please — let me out!” My scream rips through my throat. “I’m pregnant!” The crowd outside is roaring — drunk, wild, deafening. They can’t hear me. He can’t hear me. Dante squints, like he’s trying to read my lips. Anya hooks her arms around his neck and breathes into his ear. “Baby, she’s having so much fun in there. I’m jealous. Take me to the back room…” His Adam’s apple bobs. He scoops her up and walks away without looking back. The python coils around my legs. It bites — once, twice — then starts to constrict. I can’t breathe. My vision goes purple at the edges. I hear my own screams like they belong to someone far away. “Oh my God — the snake’s gone berserk —” “She’s bleeding — there’s so much blood — someone call 911!” I wake in a hospital bed. A tearing pain in my pelvis. I rip the sheet back. My belly is flat. The baby is gone. A scream rips out of me as it hits all at once—Gran is gone, and with this baby, the last of my family on this earth is gone with her. Why? Why would he do this? Why would he take the last thing I had? “No!” The door swings open. Dante walks in, flushed, with fresh marks on his throat. The evidence of what he was doing while I was dying. He glances at me. Mocking. Bored. “I heard you got your period. That’s why you’re in the hospital?” “Come on, Wren. Through ninety-nine rounds, even at your worst, you were never this dramatic.” I take a slow breath. I drag myself out of the bed. Pain screams through every nerve in my body. I cross the room and slap him across the face with everything I have. “Dante Marchetti — I hope you rot in hell.”

The wildness in my eyes makes him freeze. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Something dark flickers behind his gaze. His hand snaps around my wrist. “I’ve been too easy on you lately, haven’t I?” His phone rings. His face changes instantly. “Anya — baby, hold on — I’m on my way, don’t be scared.” He looks at me, already halfway to the door. “Anya’s stomach hurts. I’m going to her. And that studio of yours — I already canceled the lease. Stay put.” He’s gone before I can speak. The door slams. I sit on the hospital bed for a long time. Staring at nothing. Then I pick up my phone. My fingers are shaking, but my voice is steady. “Before I come to you — help me stage one last performance.” “Make it convincing. I need him to believe I’m dead.” I hang up. A new message lights up my screen. Anya, curled against Dante’s chest, tracing circles on his collarbone with her fingertip: See, Wren? Even after you nearly died from a snake attack, all I have to do is say one word and he drops you to come running to me. He doesn’t love you. He never did. You almost lost your life for him and he still picks me every single time. You’re pathetic. I grip the phone until my knuckles go white. Tears hit the screen and blur the words. There are guards outside my door. I can’t run. I can only wait. Every time I close my eyes, the nightmares come. Ninety-nine rounds of hell. Dante’s cold, empty stare. Gran dying alone on an operating table, calling my name. The baby I never got to hold. The next day, Dante brings Anya to visit me. “Wren, sweetie, are you feeling better?” Anya pouts, all wounded innocence. “Dante really does care about you, you know. Even after everything, he still wants to give you a fair rematch.” “But if you won’t play… it just proves you don’t really love him. That you never wanted him at all.” I turn my head. I look at both of them. Calm. “Fine. I’ll play.” Dante’s eyes flash bright — just for a second. Anya stiffens. She wasn’t expecting that. Hatred ripples under her sweet face, but her voice stays sugar-soft. “Of course I want a fair fight. But this time, I set the rules.” Dante strokes her hair, indulgent. “Of course. You earned that right when you won the last round.” Where he can’t see, her mouth curves into something venomous. “Last time we played the gun, and you lost. That must have killed you.” She tilts her head, mock sympathy. “So this time — we play the gun again. Sound fair?” My expression doesn’t change. I nod. “Fine by me.” “Then it’s settled.” Her eyes are full of calculation, but her smile is radiant. “Dante, baby, let’s go set everything up. Let her rest.” Something tugs at Dante — a flicker of unease he can’t name. But before he can think, Anya hooks her arm through his and pulls him out the door. The next night. They drive me to a cliff above the open ocean. A small table. Two chairs. A black revolver in the center, its barrel gleaming cold under the moon. Anya and I sit on opposite sides. The soldiers lead us to our places. Dante’s Bentley rolls up behind us. He steps out, slow, deliberate, and settles into a leather throne his men have placed at the cliff’s edge. A soldier stands beside him holding a bottle of champagne. “After this round,” he says, voice low, eyes drifting between us, “I’ll announce my engagement to the winner. Right here. Right now.” “Begin.” Anya plays modest. “Wren, sweetie — I’ll let you roll for first shot. Fair and square. Odd number, you go first.” I don’t hesitate. I roll. Odd. First shot is mine. I hear Dante’s breath catch. His knuckles go white around the arm of the throne. That reaction tells me everything. The bullet is in an even chamber. He rigged it for her again. Anya’s face goes pale. “Wait — no — best two out of three!” I almost laugh. I let her have it. She rolls again — somehow, both times landing odd. She steals first shot back. “Looks like I go first after all.” Dante doesn’t intervene. His voice is flat. “Get on with it.” Anya gives him a slow, seductive smile. She picks up the gun, presses it to her own chest, and pulls the trigger. Click. The gun slides across to me. I pick it up. I weigh it in my palm for just a second — and a cold laugh escapes my lips. This isn’t the same prop from last time. It’s heavier. The balance is different. This gun is real. And the bullets inside it are real too.

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

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

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

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I hid my power. I chained the wolf within. All for him. My blood-bound mate, Lord Caius. But when I went into labor and the contractions hit, I was locked away in the abandoned altar beneath the castle. Magical restraints carved with confinement runes bound me tightly. The contractions were getting worse. I cried, begging Caius. “The baby’s coming, Caius. Please, get me to the Sanctuary… It’s our child…” He just stepped forward, elegant and cruel. He forced a black pill into my mouth. “The Blood-Binding Elixir,” he said. “It will delay your labor. Be a good girl. I have to make sure you give birth after Isadora.” Instantly, invisible threads seemed to tighten around my veins, strangling them. Blood soaked my dress. The pain was so intense my wolf spirit screamed, a howl trapped in my throat. “Why…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You are a wolf. An outsider,” Caius’s voice echoed in the cold abandoned altar. “Isadora carries the true heir. A pure-blood. My dead brother’s only legacy. Tonight is the Blood Moon’s Blessing, granted once in a thousand years. Only a child blessed tonight can become the next Lord. I won’t let you steal that from her.” Then he dissolved into black mist, leaving me behind to go to Isadora. I closed my eyes. The tiny life force thrashing inside me suddenly went still. I slipped into darkness. …… A tearing pain in my belly ripped me from the darkness. The cold stone of the magical array was hard against my back. I struggled to sit up. Another contraction slammed into me, harder than anything I’d ever felt. My wolf spirit whimpered in agony. “The baby… My baby is coming! Help me!” I screamed, biting back the pain. “Still putting on a show?” Lilith stepped into the dim light, her crimson eyes glittering with malice. Caius’s little sister. “Isadora’s potions never fail. She made that Blood-Binding Elixir herself. It will stop your labor for four hours, guaranteed.” She lifted a finger, her hand open in the air between us, aimed at my heart. She slowly made a fist. “The Ancestor’s Blessing, the title of Lord… it all belongs to Isadora!” A roar filled my ears. My own blood turned on me, boiling and surging backward through my veins until I thought they would burst. I gagged, coughing up a clot of blood that felt like ice. A deep chill settled over me. “I never wanted to be Lord!” I shook my head, desperate. “Don’t lie!” Lilith’s fingers snapped shut. Invisible magic choked me, forcing my head up to meet her gaze. “You think we’re all fools? The moment you learned the blessed child would be the next Lord, you started hurting Isadora! Your ambition is pathetic. Obvious.” She released me, and I collapsed. She stood over me, looking down. “You tricked Isadora. Lured her to the Star-Gazing Tower. You used your wolf strength to open the sun-shielding dome, didn’t you? You tried to burn her and the baby alive!” No… that’s not what happened! Isadora came to me that day. Crying. She said she missed Liam’s presence so much, and begged me to go with her to the tower, to feel closer to him. The moment we got there, she used her vampire speed to push me away, threw open the dome herself, and held her own arm in the sunlight until it burned. Then she clutched her stomach and screamed that I was trying to kill her child. … I had a thousand things to say, a thousand ways to defend myself. But the agony from the elixir intensified, and all I could do was curl into a ball. “Please… let me go… The baby is really coming…” I sobbed, reaching for her. Lilith slapped my hand away. “Why are you still acting?” “The Blood-Binding Elixir doesn’t fail,” she sneered. “You’ll wait your turn. After Isadora is finished, you can have your little mutt.” “No… please…” I struggled, but the magical restraints only bit deeper, the energy searing the skin on my wrists. “Isadora warned me you’d pull a stunt like this.” A dark red light glowed at Lilith’s fingertips. “If you try another one,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “I’ll drain every drop of blood from your body and leave you a dried-up corpse. Understand?” She motioned to the blood-servants behind her to watch me. Then she turned and left. As the heavy door slammed shut, I felt the warm, sticky wetness spread beneath me. Blood. So much blood. My dress was soaked, my limbs bound by magic. I couldn’t move. The lock clicked. The finality of it hit me. I was completely, utterly alone. Three months ago, Caius had taken my communication crystal, claiming it was to “prevent hunters from tracking me.” Now I knew the truth. He was cutting me off from everyone. I was a lone wolf with no pack, no status. I was never truly one of them. I tried to stop crying, to focus, but the pain made it impossible to breathe. A new wave of contractions hit, stronger than the last. My head spun. I was about to pass out. I remembered the nightmare seven months ago. Caius’s brother, the Lord, was ambushed and killed on a hunt. When Isadora announced she was pregnant, the whole coven breathed a sigh of relief. The bloodline would continue. Overnight, my child and I became a threat. A sin. They all watched me, terrified the outsider would harm Isadora. Every time she accused me of something, Caius believed her without hesitation. The pain made me thrash, fighting against the magical restraints until my wrists and ankles were burned raw and bleeding. And then, a miracle. The confinement runes on one of the restraints shattered. I dragged myself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood. I pounded on the door with my free, bleeding hand. “Please! The baby’s coming!” “Shut up in there!” a guard yelled back. “Wait until Lady Isadora is done!” Then I heard voices. A magical projection. Caius and Lilith. “How is Isadora?” Lilith asked. Caius’s voice was tired. “Another two hours, at least. How is Rowan? Is she behaving?” “Don’t even ask,” Lilith scoffed. “She’s locked in the abandoned altar, and she’s still putting on a performance. Crying that she’s in labor. What an actress.” Her tone turned venomous. “Wait, Caius. Are you actually worried about her? Don’t forget she’s the one who stole the labor-inducing potion from Isadora’s room, trying to force an early birth to steal the blessing.” “No… I never stole anything…” I whispered to the empty room. “I haven’t forgotten,” Caius’s voice was laced with disgust. “Isadora promised me the elixir would only delay the birth, not harm her. Let her suffer. It’s a lesson she needs to learn. Nothing can happen to Isadora, or to Liam’s child.” The voices cut off. The abandoned altar was silent again. I collapsed on the floor, cold to the bone. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the despair.

I don’t know how long I lay there. The pool of blood beneath me grew larger. I was fading, drifting away, when the door suddenly burst open. “Gods above!” a familiar voice cried out. Healer Alistair. The Alucard family’s head healer. The only one who had treated me throughout my pregnancy. He rushed to my side, dropping to his knees in my blood. His trembling hands felt for my pulse. “Lady Rowan!” His face was white with horror. “What in the gods’ name are you doing down here?! Lady Lilith told me you were merely anxious and resting!” “Lilith—” I gasped. “She locked me in here—” “Don’t talk.” Alistair lifted my blood-soaked skirt to check me. His expression turned to one of pure terror. “Gods, you’re fully dilated! Your water has broken… and you’re hemorrhaging! We have to move. Now!” He tried to use his communication crystal. The screen flashed: NO SIGNAL. “Damn this shielding matrix!” he swore. He looked at me, his eyes wide with urgency. “My Lady, I have to get you to the Healing Sanctuary. Right now.” The vampire guards outside tried to stop him as he carried me out. “Halt! Lady Lilith said—” “Lady Lilith said WHAT?” Alistair roared, his voice filled with a healer’s authority. “To let a woman in labor bleed to death in the abandoned altar? Get out of my way!” The guards actually flinched and stepped back. Alistair stumbled through the halls with me in his arms, a gruesome trail of blood marking our path. “Hold on,” he panted. “The top floor has the best equipment. We’re almost there.” The castle stairs seemed to stretch on forever. Every step was a new wave of agony. My vision was blurring, but I could feel my baby fighting, struggling to be born. “How much longer?” I whispered. “Two minutes,” Alistair said, his eyes fixed on the top of the spiral staircase. “Just two more minutes.” We finally reached the top floor. He kicked open the door to the private, luxurious Healing Sanctuary— It was open. We burst inside, and then we both froze. The room was empty. The state-of-the-art magical medical equipment—all of it was gone. The life-monitoring arrays, the shadowless light orbs, the auto-regeneration blood pool, even the birthing bed. Gone. Nothing remained but four bare walls and a few shattered power crystals on the floor. “This is impossible,” Alistair whispered, standing stunned in the doorway. “Where is the equipment?” Footsteps echoed from the hall. Lilith appeared, flanked by her servants. “Oh, the equipment?” she said breezily. “It’s all been moved to Isadora’s suite.” Alistair’s face went even paler. “What?” “Isadora is birthing the one true heir of the Alucard line,” Lilith said, her words sharp. “A pure-blood. She gets our best resources. Obviously.” “But Lady Rowan is also in labor!” Alistair yelled. “She needs an emergency intervention!” Lilith glanced at me, then shrugged. “Stop the act, Rowan. The elixir is harmless. You’re just desperate for attention. Trying to disrupt Isadora’s moment.” I stared at her perfectly made-up face. I suddenly remembered a year ago, when I gave her a rare, ancient book from my collection to help her with her blood magic. She had hugged me, her voice filled with joy. “Rowan, you’re like a real sister to me!” How ironic.

Alistair laid me on the bare floor of the empty sanctuary and ran out to find supplies. He came back two minutes later. Empty-handed. His face was ashen. “The potion storage is empty,” he stammered. “Not even a basic hemostatic herb. No bandages. Nothing.” Lilith let out a small, cruel laugh. “Oh, those? Also sent to Isadora. Caius’s orders.” “This is murder!” Alistair shouted. “She’ll die! The child will die!” “Then that is their fate,” Lilith said with a cold shrug. “The coven comes first.” Alistair knelt beside me, taking my hand. “My Lady, I am so sorry,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I have no equipment, no potions, nothing.” “Then use your hands!” I screamed, grabbing his collar. “Use anything!” “I can’t risk it. Without a magical barrier, without tools to stop the bleeding—” “Enough of this pathetic drama! Take him away!” Lilith suddenly barked. Two guards entered the room, grabbed Alistair by the arms, and began to drag him out. “Listen to me!” Alistair yelled back at me. “Remember the pressure point I showed you? The one on your abdomen? Push on it! It will stimulate the contractions! You have to push with everything you have on the next one—” The door slammed shut. It was just me and Lilith again. She took out a scrying mirror made of blood-crystal and opened a channel. “Caius?” Her voice was instantly wounded and frail. “You need to see this. Your precious mate is putting on another show for us.” She turned the mirror towards me. I saw Caius’s face. He was standing in the bright hallway of another, fully equipped sanctuary. His expensive clothes were disheveled, his brow furrowed with exhaustion. When he saw me lying in a pool of my own blood, a flicker of shock and horror crossed his face before it was replaced by ice. “What is going on with her?” His voice was tight, cold. “What do you think? It’s an act,” Lilith said casually. “She’s bled a little, but Alistair is always so dramatic. I think she’s just trying to force you to come to her.” Caius’s jaw tightened as he stared at me through the mirror. Just then, a weak voice called from his side of the connection. Isadora. “Caius… who is that…? Is it Rowan? Is she… is she blaming me again?” “It’s nothing. Don’t be distracted,” Caius soothed her instantly, but his eyes on me grew colder. “Caius!” I screamed with my last bit of strength. “Help me… the baby… the baby is really coming!” “Rowan, stop it,” he said, his expression unchanged. “Isadora is struggling. The Ancestor’s Blessing… it’s causing a bloodline rejection. The healers are fighting to save her. She is the coven’s priority.” “But I—” “I’ll deal with you when I’m done here,” he cut me off coldly. Through the mirror, I saw him turn to stroke Isadora’s forehead. “You deserve to pay for what you’ve done.” The mirror went black. Lilith put it away, looking pleased. “See?” she said, squatting down in front of me, her eyes filled with triumph and cruelty. “In Caius’s heart, what are you? A pathetic lone wolf who slept her way into his bed for protection. A birthing tool. And now, you’re not even useful for that.” She stood up, her voice a final judgment. “You thought marrying into the Alucard Coven was your ticket to the top? You and your mutt are just trash that needs to be taken out.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at her anymore. My body was soaked in blood, but my hand secretly moved to the necklace around my neck. The moonstone pendant my father gave me. My last resort. They all thought I was just a lone wolf. No pack. A nobody running a broken-down bookstore. Of course they did. They couldn’t sense the royal blood sleeping inside me. The Alpha blood I had sealed away. I loved him, so I chose to give up my birthright. What a stupid joke that turned out to be. “If you are ever in danger from which there is no escape,” my father had told me on the day I left my pack, “crush this. Every wolf of our kind will feel your call.” My fingers found the tiny trigger inside the pendant. Lilith’s voice was still droning on. “…Isadora always said you were manipulative. I actually defended you. I was such a fool. A stray wolf who married for power. Who knows what you were really plotting.” With the last of my strength, I crushed the trigger. There was no sound. No flash of light. But I knew. The signal had been sent. “In half an hour,” my father’s voice echoed in my memory, “my Royal Guard will tear this world apart to find you.” But my baby… Could my child hold on until my people arrived?

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