Category: English

At prom, in front of the entire school, Liam asked if he could give his first dance to Daisy. I didn’t fight him on it or cry. All I did was take a single step back. Liam froze, staring at me in complete shock. But he still took Daisy’s hand. The music started, and they walked to the center of the dance floor. I turned around and just walked away. I wasn’t even out of the building when my phone buzzed. “I told you Daisy is new to this, she was nervous to dance with anyone else. Chloe, can you please stop being so oversensitive all the time? Otherwise, how am I supposed to introduce you as my girlfriend at NYU, if you keep acting like this?” I just laughed. He had no idea that just yesterday… I had accepted my offer from Caltech and rejected NYU, our dream school. From now on, it was West Coast to East Coast. With the whole country between us. We would never see each other again. … Liam looked perfect in his tailored black tux. He wore a white rose on his lapel, one I’d pinned there myself. All eyes were on him the moment we walked in, my arm in his. As the star quarterback, Liam was always the center of the school. A couple of his teammates even whistled at me. “Chloe, you’re the luckiest girl!” But I didn’t feel lucky at all. The second we stepped into the stadium, his attention was gone. He kept glancing at his phone distractedly. The screen lighting up, then going dark again. I handed him a cup of punch. He took it, but never took a sip. He just set it on a table, his eyes still scanning the crowd. I knew who he was looking for. Daisy.

She transferred to our school a year ago on a scholarship. Rumor was her family was barely getting by. Her mom had a chronic illness, and her dad worked odd jobs on the docks. Out of nowhere, Liam volunteered for the school’s “buddy program.” He specifically asked to be paired with Daisy. At first, it was just showing her around, helping with her Literature homework. Then it became lunch in the cafeteria. Study sessions in the library. And throwing a football around on the field as the sun went down. My best friend, Jessica, tried to warn me. She said the way Liam treated Daisy wasn’t just friendly. It had crossed a line. I just laughed it off, telling her Liam had always been a helper. But the line between helping and falling for someone? Sometimes, it’s thinner than a spider’s web. Ten minutes before the dance started, Daisy finally arrived. She wore a dress that looked a little too big, probably from a thrift store. But it was clean, and she’d combed her hair. She looked so awkward, totally swallowed by the noise and energy of the prom. The second Liam saw her, his entire face lit up. I knew that smile all too well. It wasn’t his polite smile. This one was real, the kind that made his eyes sparkle. Like he’d just spotted the only star in a pitch-black sky. “Hey, I thought you got held up.” He walked right over to her, his voice full of a warmth he didn’t even notice. “Sorry, the bus was running late,” Daisy said with a shy smile. She pulled a small velvet pouch from her pocket. “A graduation gift for you.”

Liam unwrapped the gift. It was a handmade leather bracelet. A dark brown leather cord, braided in a simple pattern. A polished piece of sea glass sat in the middle, glowing a soft blue. The kind of thing you’d find at a flea market for a few bucks. But Liam absolutely adored it. “Oh my god, this is cool.” He immediately started unclasping the Tiffany bracelet on his wrist. The one I’d given him. I bought it for our three-year anniversary the year before. I’d saved for six months from my part-time job to afford it. A sterling silver chain with a simple charm. Engraved with a single letter: L. I remember putting it on his wrist for the first time. He’d hugged me so tight, whispering words I never forgot. “Chloe, I’ll wear this forever. Always.” And now, he was sliding it off like it meant absolutely nothing. He held up the cheap leather bracelet, admiring it under the light. A grin spread across his face. Like a kid who just got the one toy he desperately wanted. I watched him stuff the silver chain into his pocket. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. It didn’t hurt—I just couldn’t breathe. I had to look away. I just couldn’t watch anymore. “Chloe,” Liam said, his voice way too cheerful. Like he was just commenting on the weather. “I’m gonna give Daisy the first dance, alright?”

Before I could say a word, Daisy spoke up. “Liam, we really shouldn’t.” Her brows furrowed in that perfectly practiced expression of concern. “Chloe is your date. The first dance is supposed to be with her.” As she spoke, her eyes darted to me for a split second. Then snapped right back to Liam. Under her mask of concern lay a smug, petty triumph. She thought she was being subtle, but it was crystal clear to me. Liam didn’t look at her, his eyes locked on me, waiting for my reaction. He probably expected me to get upset and to make a scene. Like the cold war we had when he ditched our date for her birthday last month. “She just learned the waltz and is too shy to ask others to dance.” Liam added, as if granting me an excuse. “You know how she is, Chloe. We can’t just leave her standing there alone.” There was no argument. No dramatic scene. Just three seconds of dead silence as I stared at him. In those three seconds, so many memories flooded my mind. Seeing him for the first time at freshman orientation. Him, drenched in sweat, running to hug me after his first big football win. Lying on the grass, dreaming about our life together at NYU. We applied to the same school, the same major. He promised we’d see every show on Broadway. That we would walk through the autumn leaves in Central Park. The way he talked about it was full of energy. For a while, I really believed in his promises. The three seconds were up. I took a single step backward, silently clearing their path to the center of the dance floor.

Liam just froze. He clearly hadn’t expected that. The look in his eyes was pure shock, then confusion. Like I had just gone completely off-script. But the surprise lasted all of two seconds. His attention snapped right back to Daisy. He took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. The first notes of a slow waltz filled the air. And just like that, they were dancing. Liam moved with his usual easy confidence, patiently guiding her. Daisy was stiff and obviously a beginner, occasionally stepping on his feet. He didn’t seem to mind, looking down at her with a tenderness I’d never seen. Everyone’s eyes were on them. Whispers started, phones came out to record. Then all those eyes shifted to me. I could feel their stares—a mix of confusion, pity, and way too much satisfaction. I couldn’t watch anymore. Turning my back, I walked straight for the gym doors. The cool night air hit my face. Outside, my hand went to the necklace he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. The chain was worn, the little charm dull. looked down at it and smiled faintly, but didn’t take it off. Not because I couldn’t bear to. It just didn’t feel necessary anymore. My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with his name. I opened the message, checking the time first. A song lasted three minutes. Add in time to comfort Daisy… Right on schedule for him to “lecture” me. “I told you Daisy is new to this, she was nervous to dance with anyone else.” “Chloe, can you please stop being so oversensitive all the time?” “Otherwise, how am I supposed to introduce you as my girlfriend at NYU if you keep acting like this?”

Every message was a condescending lecture. As if I were the crazy one. The one who was overreacting. The one who needed to apologize for my feelings. I read his texts twice, and then I laughed. He didn’t know that I had accepted my offer from Caltech the day before. It was the most final decision of my life. Back home, I started purging everything he’d ever given me. A shoebox full of movie stubs. A jar of paper stars he folded for me. Every birthday card from middle school to senior year. His handwriting on them went from boyish to confident. The sign-off changed from “My Chloe” to just “Chloe.” I swept it all into a giant black trash bag. Next, the wall. That photo of us at the beach when we were fifteen. Matching white t-shirts, him hugging me from behind, grinning like an idiot. I tore it down. On my desk, the lumpy clay dog he’d made in art class. He said it looked just like me when I was mad. I stared at that ugly little clay dog for a couple of seconds. And tossed it in with the rest. The bag was almost full, but I didn’t tie it shut. Every single thing in there held a memory. A ticket stub from “La La Land.” He cried at the end. He’d leaned on my shoulder and whispered, “We can’t ever be like them.” An amusement park ticket, from the time he dragged me onto the tallest drop tower. He was terrified on the way up, but he never let go of my hand. And the scarf he secretly took a knitting class to make for me. The stitches were a total mess, but he swore it was a unique design. That entire bag was filled with pieces of him. From fourteen to eighteen. My entire youth was in that trash bag. Suddenly, my phone lit up. It was an Instagram notification.

I tapped on it. Daisy had just posted a new Instagram story. It was a two-part story. The first photo: a dim hotel room, a black tux jacket lying on the bed. The second was a close-up of men’s dress shoes, carelessly tossed on the floor. One was on its side, the brand name on the sole clearly visible. I knew those shoes instantly. For Liam’s birthday last year, I’d saved up for three months from my coffee shop job. Just to buy him those exact John Lobb dress shoes. A perfect size 10. He was ecstatic, saying they were the most comfortable shoes he’d ever worn. Daisy’s caption was a masterpiece of fake innocence. “He said he drank too much and made me get him a hotel room… What am I gonna do with him?” His teammates flooded the comments. “Get it, bro!” “Those shoes ain’t cheap. Looks like you hit the jackpot tonight, bro!” I just stared at that picture for a few seconds. Then I walked back to the trash bag. I sealed the opening shut with duct tape, wrapping it around three times. I dragged the bag downstairs and hauled it straight into the community dumpster. It landed with a final, muffled thud. And the world went silent. In the days that followed, not a single call or text came from Liam. I was perfectly fine with the quiet.

A week later, Mike from the football team announced a farewell party. He sent a message to the group chat. Then he DMed me privately, telling me I had to be there. Mike and Liam had been best friends since they were in diapers. I knew exactly what he was trying to do. I said I had plans, that I couldn’t make it. “Serious? College applications are done. What plans?” “You have to come. Or you’re dead to me.” At five, I pulled up to Mike’s house. I raised my hand to ring the doorbell, but then I stopped. It wasn’t hesitation. My own name drifted out from a cracked-open window. “…that first dance with Daisy at prom. Weren’t you scared Chloe would flip out?” Liam’s voice was smug, laced with a laugh. “Scared of what? Please. That’s just her. You have to keep her in check sometimes. She’s way too possessive, gives me no room to breathe. All I did was dance with a friend. It’s not a big deal.” Another voice chimed in. “But what if she’s actually pissed this time? Dude, she’s a total catch. Other guys would line up for her.” Liam just laughed again. “Chloe and I grew up together. I know her better than anyone. Relax. She’s just throwing a fit. I’ll smooth it over in a few days. It’s like when I bailed on our date for Daisy’s birthday.” He paused, his voice softened. “Hell would freeze over before she ever breaks up with me. I can guarantee that one hundred percent.”

I stood outside the door without heartbreak or rage. Just… bone-deep exhaustion. It was like finishing a marathon—I could finally stop running. He was right. I’d argued, I’d yelled, but I never actually broke up with him. Every time he pushed my boundaries, every time he tested my patience… He’d just grin and say, “You’re not really mad, are you?” And I would always, always forgive him. Not because I was a pushover. But because I loved him. Now I finally understood. My patience wasn’t love to him. It was weakness. He saw my kindness as his guarantee that I’d never leave him. I was about to turn around and leave for good. A hand tapped my shoulder from behind. “Chloe, why aren’t you going in?” Daisy was smiling at me, her face dripping with fake sweetness. Before I could answer, she shoved the door wide open. Every head in the room snapped towards the entrance. Liam was sitting in the middle of the couch. An empty seat waited beside him. He was shocked for a second, then he went back to normal, even raising an eyebrow at me. Mike was the first to react, jumping to his feet. “Chloe’s here! Get in here, we were waiting for you!” Daisy practically herded me into the living room. Mike tried to pull me towards the empty spot next to Liam. I resisted. “I’m fine standing.” He wasn’t having it. “I’m the host. You gotta listen to me.” Then he practically forced me down onto the cushions. Liam leaned over, his voice a low murmur. “Hi.” As if nothing had ever happened between us at all.

On his wrist, the Tiffany bracelet was back. The silver chain shimmered, and the ‘L’ charm hung from his strong wrist. But right beside it, a faint line was pressed into his wrist. The ghost of that cheap leather band. The two marks sat side-by-side. One was priceless, the other was worthless. I said nothing, just grabbed a can of Coke. I sipped my drink mechanically. The party was a blur of noise. Mike playing host, a board game in the corner, dares and laughter. Liam and Daisy were talking, in their own private island of jokes. I didn’t look or speak. Eventually, the conversation shifted to college. “Which university have you all decided to go to?” Mike asked, passing around pizza. “I’m going to state. Staying local.” “Same. My parents would kill me if I left California.” Mike turned to Liam. “You, man?” Liam grabbed a slice of Hawaiian, not even looking up. “NYU, obviously. Set in stone.” He said it, then shot a casual glance my way. “Chloe and I have a promise. We’re going to New York together.” His tone was absolute, as if it were already settled. No one batted an eye. To them, we were a package deal. Mike looked across the room. “Daisy? What about you?” She lowered her cup, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face. “I’m going to NYU, too.”

The room fell silent for a beat. Liam’s pizza slice froze mid-air. A single chunk of pineapple slid off, hitting the rug. He was staring at Daisy, his eyes wide with shock and delight. “Wait, Daisy… you’re going to NYU?” “Mhm.” She nodded, her smile never wavering. “NYU gave me a full ride. And I’ve always loved New York City.” She said it so casually, like it was nothing at all. But the expressions around the table had suddenly grown complicated. People suddenly became very interested in their phones. Or the bottom of their cups. Eyes darted between me and Liam, then quickly looked away. I didn’t look up. I just kept sipping my Coke. When the party wound down, Mike suggested an after-party. I declined. Liam was still on the couch, watching me. He shot me a long, searching look, but didn’t ask me to stay. Back home, Mom and Dad were watching the news in the living room. I sat down across from them. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I accepted my offer from Caltech. I’m not going to NYU. And I don’t want anyone in Liam’s family finding out.” The room was quiet for a few seconds. My dad muted the TV and turned to face me. My mom put down her knitting, a complicated look in her eyes. “I’m also going to their summer session early. I leave this Monday.”

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I had just gotten back from my best friend Chloe’s bachelorette party when a push notification pulled me to a post on a popular anonymous blog. The title was: “Need a birthday gift under $300 that will absolutely humiliate someone. It’s for my best friend.” The comment section flooded with vicious ideas. The blogger rejected every last one. Same response every time: “Not disgusting enough.” In the end, she pinned her own reply. “Thanks, everyone. But her boyfriend said he’d help me get even at her birthday party. He’s going to make her embarrass herself in front of everyone.” The internet caught the weirdness immediately. “Your best friend’s boyfriend is helping you go after her? What exactly are you two?” The blogger answered with pure arrogance, followed by several eye-roll emojis. “What are we? The first bite of every steak he cooks goes to me. Anything he wins at auction, I get first pick.” “His first kiss was mine. That whole night — every round, from first to fifth — mine.” “He delayed his proposal five times for me. That diamond ring worth over a hundred grand? It has our initials on it.” My heart clenched. For a second, all I could think was — who does this? I reached to flag the post. But something stopped me. Instead, I tapped her profile banner. In the photo, a man and a woman had their fingers laced together. A diamond ring caught the light on her hand, blazing. My heart sank. That was the ring my boyfriend, Alexander, and I had personally designed six months ago at Van Cleef & Arpels in Paris. … I sat there frozen for a long time. Long enough for my screen to go dark on its own. Just one hour ago, Alexander had looked down at Chloe, who was “dead drunk” in his arms, and frowned. “Bella, look at her. She’s completely wasted. I’ll have the driver take you home. And I’ll make sure she gets back safe” I hadn’t actually drunk that much. The second the New York night air hit me, I sobered up. Out of habit, I nodded. I even reminded him to text me once Chloe was settled. But during that thirty-minute ride home, every call I made and every message I sent disappeared into nothing. Now, staring at Chloe’s post, I finally understood. She was sober. Very sober. Even the drunken act had been carefully planned. My phone buzzed. A message from Alexander popped up. “Your Highness, your bestie is home safe.” “Your knight is on his way back to you. At full speed.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened that post again and zoomed in on the profile picture. That ring was one of a kind. I had drawn dozens of drafts by hand before we finally settled on it. On the man’s wrist was a limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. The birthday gift I gave him this year. On the woman’s wrist was a Cartier LOVE bracelet. I had gone to the boutique and bought it myself. One for me. One for her. A symbol of our friendship. Someone asked under the post: “What exactly did your best friend do to you?” She replied: “She’s loaded, but all she gave me today was a brooch. She used to foot the bill for my entire party every single year.” Someone else asked: “You and your best friend’s boyfriend are cheating behind her back. Are you not scared she’ll find out?” She answered: “Back in sophomore year, when we went skiing in Aspen, I gave him advice on how to go after her. But my condition was that he had to spend seven nights with me first. He agreed.” “The next morning, my legs were so weak I couldn’t even get out of bed, so I lied and told her I wasn’t feeling well. And my sweet, clueless best friend felt so terrible for me, she asked her boyfriend to carry me down the mountain.” I stared at those words. Every line burned. My stomach turned. I remembered that day. I had rushed to hand her an oxygen can, worried out of my mind. “Chloe, if you don’t feel well, just stay at the hotel and rest.” Even Alexander spoke to her gently. “Don’t push yourself. If you really want to ski, Bella and I will bring you back another time.” But Chloe rolled her eyes at him. She insisted on going anyway. But barely two steps in, her face drained of color. I couldn’t bear to watch her suffer. So I asked Alexander to carry her. I blinked. My nose stung. A tear fell onto my phone screen. I switched back to the chat. My thoughts were so tangled I didn’t even know where to begin. Just last week, Chloe had held my hand and joked. She said that as our self-appointed “witness to the love story,” she was going to drag us at the wedding — call out every single time we’d made our single friends want to disappear. I laughed so hard I collapsed against her. And I promised her that my bouquet would only go to her. But I never saw this coming. The two people I had trusted without reservation— they joined forces to deliver the most complete betrayal of my life.

The three of us — me, Alexander, and Chloe — had known each other for twelve years, since our days at Columbia. When Alexander confessed his feelings to me at the freshman mixer, Chloe stepped in front of me, furious. “Alexander Thorne! Bella is the princess of the Vance family. You’re some broke scholarship boy. What, do you think she shines too bright for you? Are you trying to drag her off that pedestal with some cheap move like this?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I pulled her back. “Chloe, I only got the top score in design class because Alexander helped me build the model.” “And you know I hurt my hand before. He helped me organize all my notes.” Back then, seeing the troubled look on Chloe’s face, I figured she just thought I’d fallen for the wrong guy. During college, everyone knew how good Alexander was to me. Every day, he drove that beat-up secondhand car to pick me up. He remembered my period better than I did. That old backpack of his, worn shiny from years of use, was always packed with my favorite snacks and every emergency item I could possibly need. By junior year, Alexander was already planning our future. On the back of a business proposal, he wrote out his entire life plan — every detail — trying to prove to me that he could become someone I could count on. Over the years, he kept every promise he made. The company he founded went public, and he became the youngest CEO in Wall Street history. He was steady, never volatile. No matter how busy work got, he still came home and cooked for me himself. He chose the diamond ring with me. He was going to propose at my birthday party this year. Then next year, we would have our wedding in the Hamptons. After that, we would have children of our own. Every part of his plan had me in it. But outside that plan… There was Chloe.

The post updated again. I tapped it open before I could stop myself. “Actually, I’ve sent her disgusting gifts before. Indirectly, but still. Like that antique cross bracelet she’s been wearing lately.” “I was in a bad mood back then, and things between me and him got a little too wild. The condom broke inside me. He was okay with that. Later, he still gave her that bracelet and claimed he’d gotten it blessed at the Vatican.” My eyes drifted on their own to the vanity. That bracelet was Alexander’s Easter gift to me this year. He told me he had stood in line for three days to have a bishop bless it for me. “And last Thanksgiving, he took me back to his family’s old house in the countryside to meet his parents.” “This little gold family locket on my wrist? His mother gave it to me.” “He said he couldn’t give me a marriage, but he would more than make up for it in every other way.” Boom. My mind went completely blank. His mother’s plain, honest face flashed before my eyes, along with the apologetic words she had said to me. “We don’t have anything of value to offer. This silver locket was passed down to me by his grandmother…”

By the time Alexander came back, it was already one a.m. He smelled like Chloe’s favorite Tom Ford perfume. He smiled at me, warm and indulgent. “Were you waiting for me to dry your hair?” I looked at him coldly and was just about to question him. Then Chloe’s video call came in. She blew me a kiss through the screen, her eyes bleary and glassy, still half-drunk. “Bella, you’re the best.” “I love the brooch you gave me.” Her voice suddenly dropped. “I just feel bad. I’m so broke, and tomorrow is your birthday. I can’t give you anything that expensive in return…” I cut her off, my voice flat. “Oh.” Chloe froze for a second when she saw my face. Then Alexander wrapped his arms tight around me from behind, burying his face in my neck — the same as always, competing with Chloe for my affection. “Bella, the person who loves you most is obviously me…” As he spoke, his lips moved toward my cheek. On the screen, Chloe let out a sharp scream — and her phone crashed to the floor. Alexander’s eyes snapped to my phone. In an instant, all the color drained from his face. Chloe wasn’t on the video. No sound, either. He rushed straight toward the entryway, his voice tight with an agitation and panic I had never heard from him before. “Bella, something’s wrong with Chloe. I have to go check on her!” The door slammed shut with a loud bang. But I heard it clearly. Right before the call cut out, I caught the faintest laugh. I opened that anonymous blog again. The newest post dripped with malice, all of it aimed straight at me. “She’s so stupid. She has no idea I called him away on purpose.” “Tomorrow is her birthday, and she definitely won’t figure out my gift is meant to disgust her. Boring.” My heart sank — cold, heavy, all the way down.

I lay on the couch all night, hair still wet, staring at the ceiling until dawn. One memory kept replaying in my head. That trip to Aspen. The day we climbed all the way to the top. Chloe shouted into the wind, “Alexander Thorne, you’d better love Isabella Vance for the rest of your life!” Alexander glanced at her, then shouted too, “Chloe Ryder and Isabella Vance, best friends forever!” At 8 a.m., my alarm went off right on time. I sent Alexander a message. “Alexander, let’s break up.” The smart lock clicked open. And Chloe’s voice came in first, snapping at Alexander like he was hers to boss around. “This is your fault. You woke up late, and now we couldn’t get Bella’s favorite French croissants.” “You’re the one who took forever,” Alexander shot back. “You had to put on makeup just to come see Bella.” “That’s because you kept me up all night—” They walked into the living room carrying several different kinds of breakfast, both of them smiling like nothing had happened. The second they saw me lying on the couch, their voices died. What they had just been talking about was obvious. Alexander calmly set the breakfast on the table, then gave a soft laugh. “Oh — special alert from my princess. Let me see what she sent.” He looked down at his phone. Then his face went pale. Chloe leaned in beside him. Their faces were so close. Then her eyes moved to me, who was sitting there with no expression. There was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Bella, come on. Just because Alexander didn’t come home last night?” “I should be mad at you. I fell by accident, and you didn’t even call once to check on me.” “And I still got up early to buy you breakfast.” All the little things I used to ignore suddenly stood out. Since when were croissants from that bakery across town my favorite? Chloe was the one who loved them. Alexander lined up for them every single time, no matter how much trouble it was. And after a while, I became the one who “loved” them. I looked at Chloe, my voice perfectly calm, without a ripple. “Didn’t you fake that fall just to lure him back to that little apartment of yours?” “Chloe, I heard that little laugh before you hung up.” “And I saw the hickeys. On both of you.” Chloe instinctively pulled her collar higher.

Alexander rushed toward me. He swallowed hard. “No, Bella. It’s not what you think.” “Chloe passed out last night. I stayed and took care of her, so I couldn’t come home.” “I swear. It won’t happen again.” The first day Alexander and I moved in together, we made one rule. No staying out all night. Everything we had been through… All the good memories… I still wanted this to end with some dignity. But looking at those two faces, something in me broke loose. My voice came out shaking. “Break up.” That was all I could say. Chloe shoved Alexander hard and snapped, “Apologize to Bella! Beg her forgiveness!” Then she dropped to her knees with a thud. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Bella, I’ll apologize first, okay?” But Alexander yanked Chloe back up. His eyes were full of pain. For her. Then he looked at me. There was no guilt. Only disappointment. “Bella. Apologize to Chloe.” “We’ve put up with your temper for so long. But we get tired.” “Can’t you grow up for once?” “Why can’t you trust us the way we trust you?” Something inside me snapped for good. I felt nothing. Just numb. “You cheated on me.” “And you still keep acting?” “If you don’t leave, I’ll have security walk you out.” Chloe pulled Alexander away. As they left, she leaned in close to him — but made sure I could hear every word. “Let her cool off first.” “Who knows who upset her this time? Now she’s taking it out on us.” “I bet she binged some soap opera and decided she’s the main character.”

I thought I had made myself clear enough. The people who set you up know exactly how wronged you are. And the people who betrayed you know exactly what they’ve done. I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. The lights in the banquet hall came back on. And there they were. Standing side by side. Smiling at me. Chloe acted like nothing had happened. She was holding a huge, tacky Swarovski crystal figurine in her arms. “Surprise!” She pushed it into my hands, all smiles and cheerful chatter. “I picked this out just for you, Bella. Do you like it?” Then Alexander dropped to one knee. He lifted that diamond ring toward me, his eyes full of tenderness. “Bella, marry me.” The diamond blazed with light, and the whole room burst into cheers. Someone shouted, “Say yes!” I looked down. Inside the crystal figurine was a carving of me. And Chloe had picked the worst possible photo. It was a shot from some party — me drunk, mouth hanging open, looking completely out of it. She had always loved snapping ugly photos of me, then showing them to Alexander and saying I looked “real” and “cute.” Our friends all raised their phones and started filming. Chloe stepped behind Alexander. Her phone was pointed right at me. Then I saw her smug little smile. I knew exactly how ridiculous I looked. There I was — dressed up for the night, holding that ugly crystal thing, cheap rainbow light glittering off it. Ridiculous. Alexander raised the ring a little higher, urgency creeping into his voice. “Bella, Chloe got you that gift to make it up to you.” “Everyone’s watching. Haven’t you been waiting for my proposal?” Make it up to me? I lowered my eyes. Alexander acted like he couldn’t see how cheap and ugly Chloe’s gift was. I wanted to laugh. But the tears came first. Alexander and Chloe thought I was crying because I was moved. I closed my eyes. I raised my hand — Suddenly, sharp laughter erupted all around me. Several bottles of champagne were shaken and aimed straight at me, spraying me from head to toe.

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Back in college, I buy myself a boyfriend. The deal is simple. He stays with me, and I cover his grandfather’s medical bills. For four years, this broke genius tolerates me out of pure humiliation. Then my family goes bankrupt. When I break things off, his face stays carved from ice. Not a single word. Not even a flinch. Four years later, I’m carrying a fruit platter into a VIP lounge at three in the morning, and he’s the man on the leather couch in a five-thousand-dollar suit. I keep my head down. My baseball cap is pulled low. Please, God, don’t let him look up. Serena sits curled against his side, her manicured hand resting on his thigh like she owns him. She probably does now. She was the It-girl of our class, signed by a modeling agency junior year, and now her face is on three different magazine covers. They look perfect together. Untouchable. “Waitress.” Ethan’s voice cuts through the room. My spine locks. “Slice the oranges.” I turn my back to him and pick up the knife. A long time ago, whenever I wanted oranges, Ethan would slice them for me. Every piece the exact same size. Back then, I thought it meant he loved me. Later I figured out it was just a habit. When he sliced oranges, he thought about the whole universe. He just never thought about me. Some businessman in the corner laughs too loud, then leans toward Ethan with a slick grin. “I heard you had a serious girlfriend back in college, Mr. Yang. Four years, right?” My hand stops. “Mm.” That’s all Ethan gives him. “Four years, man. That’s the whole college experience. Must’ve been hard to forget her.” Silence. The kind that stretches like a wire about to snap. Then Ethan laughs softly. One short, cold sound. “Not really.” The knife slips. A bright line of red opens across my palm. “Oh my God.” Serena finally notices me, her perfect nose wrinkling. “Ethan barely tolerates her existence, and now this. Babe, we went to the same school as his ex. Honestly, if that girl hadn’t been in the way back then, you and I would’ve been together years ago.” “Right, right,” the businessman laughs, eager to please. “Miss Serena, you’re a star. No ex could ever compete with a star.” The room warms back up. The conversation moves on. I press my cap lower and try to disappear. “I’m sorry,” I manage. “I’ll get a clean plate.” I grab the tray and bolt for the door. “Wait.” Ethan’s voice. Quiet. Final. “Turn around.” My body freezes in the doorway. One second. Two. Then my shift manager sweeps in like a hurricane, all smiles and apologies. “So sorry, Mr. Yang, she’s new, still training. The whole platter is on the house tonight.” She shoots me a sharp look over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Go get a fresh one. Move.” I move. I almost cry from relief. In the kitchen, she grabs my wrist and lowers her voice. “Next time, use your head. We all started somewhere, but one complaint from that room and you work tonight for free.” “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me. Just be careful with that VIP room. The young one in the middle, the good-looking one? He owns some tech company. The kind of money we can’t afford to piss off.” She pauses. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Can you bring the new platter in for me? Please. I don’t feel well.” She studies my face for a long second, then nods. “Fine. Wrap that hand.” I exhale. If there’s one person on this planet I’ve already wronged beyond repair, it’s Ethan Yang. I’m the ex he hates. I’m the girl who ruined him.

I think back to freshman year all the time. Ethan stood in the crowd of new students in a faded gray hoodie that had been washed a hundred times too many. Visibly broke. Visibly gorgeous. I loved the cool, flat way he talked. I loved how his eyelashes lowered when he looked at me. He was drowning in debt. His full scholarship had been quietly handed to the financial aid officer’s nephew, and nobody did a thing about it. So one night after class, I cornered him in the hallway like a complete lunatic and grabbed his hand. “Ethan, I like you. Be with me. I’ve got money. We can share my allowance. And if that’s not enough, I’ll pay you for every kiss.” He said no, obviously. But back then my life was a smooth glide. I didn’t know what failure felt like. The more he refused, the harder I chased. Then his grandfather, the man who raised him, collapsed and needed emergency surgery. I paid the entire hospital bill without blinking. That’s when Ethan finally bowed his head. Stupid me. I thought I’d saved him. It took me years to understand. I got him. And I broke him at the same time. We started dating, and nothing got better. It got worse. He still worked three jobs. He barely touched my money. And the rumors started anyway. People said he was sleeping with me for cash. Some guys gave him a nickname I won’t even repeat. Professors started “checking in” about his moral character. I was too stupid to see any of it. I was a princess in a glass tower, holding his hand, telling him to ignore the haters. I never noticed he was fighting alone. Senior year, my family went bankrupt overnight. I didn’t tell him. I just called him out one cold afternoon and said the four words I’d been rehearsing for a week. “I’m bored. Let’s break up.” “Why?” “I’m just bored of you.” “Okay.” That was it. That was four years. I figured he was relieved. Finally free. The same day, I snapped my SIM card in half, deleted my socials, and got on a train heading south to start paying off my father’s debts. I came back to this city three months ago. Ethan is doing very, very well. He was always a genius. Four years out of college, he’s the face of a tech magazine, the founder of his own company, the kind of man other men quote at dinner. And Serena, the It-girl, is apparently his now. Good for them. Really. I press a hand over my chest and swallow the burn. Four AM. I clock out last. The cleaning crew already killed the lights and shut down the main elevator, thinking everyone was gone. I jab the button over and over, alone in the dim hallway. “Just call somebody,” a voice says behind me. My blood stops. I turn slowly. Ethan is leaning against the wall ten feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me like he’s been there a while. I make the call with shaking fingers. The elevator hums back to life. We step in together. Tight space. Too tight. “You guys close this late?” His tone is flat. Polite. The voice you use with a stranger. “We can’t leave until the guests do.” “Pay good?” “It’s fine.” I keep my chin down, the brim of my cap covering half my face. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. He glances at his Rolex and sighs. “This elevator is so slow.My girlfriend’s probably getting impatient waiting.She’s clingy. Cute about it, though.” He means Serena. The words land like a slap I’m not allowed to react to. “What about you?” he asks. “No boyfriend coming to pick you up at four AM?” “I live close.” The doors slide open. I rush out as fast as I can. Ethan, who has been calm for the past few minutes, finally erupts in this moment. “What are you running for?” “Where do you think you can run to, Chloe?” “Pulling a vanishing act, disappearing off the face of the earth—was that fun?”

I freeze with my back to him. “Phone disconnected. Socials gone. Even our professors couldn’t find you.” His footsteps come closer on the concrete. “Was it fun? Pulling a vanishing act like that?” I turn slowly. He’s the same boy I remember, just sharper now. The softness sanded off. “I’m sure you’ve already pulled the file,” I say quietly. “My dad got tangled up in something ugly. The debts aren’t paid off. We’ve been running.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t answer. “Was it the pride thing? Princess Yu couldn’t admit she needed help?” “No, that’s not—” “Chloe? Oh my God, it really is you!” Serena clicks across the garage in six-inch heels, every strand of her hair somehow still perfect at four in the morning. She looks me up and down like she’s pricing a thrift-store haul. “Babe, I haven’t seen you in forever! Everyone from class has been asking. Four years and not a single post?” “I moved down south.” “That explains it.” Her eyes pin my coat. “Wait, isn’t that the puffer you bought junior year? The feathers are coming out of it. You’re still wearing it?” I used to throw clothes out after one season. She’s trying to humiliate me. I’m too tired to feel it. “It still works.” “Oh, honey.” Her voice goes silky-sweet. “Are you struggling? You should’ve said something. We’re old friends.” She slides a black credit card out of her clutch. “Take it. You don’t have to pay me back.” I look at her. Then at Ethan. And I smile, slow and calm. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. I’m getting married soon. You should both come.” Ethan goes completely still. The card freezes in Serena’s hand. The next morning, I drag myself to my day job. The lounge gig is just nights. By day I’m a junior analyst at a midsize tech firm downtown, which is a fancy way of saying I do whatever no one else wants to do. In the break room, two coworkers are buzzing over coffee. “Did you hear? The new client coming in? Total genius. He built his whole search platform to find someone.” “Find who?” “An ex-girlfriend, supposedly.” My eyelid twitches. “Did he find her?” “No clue. But the system’s still in development and investors are throwing money at him. Our boss wants in on the partnership.” I gather the prep folder and head to the conference room. Through the cracked door, I hear him. “About the partnership, I need more time to think it over.” I push the door open and set the folder on the table. Ethan’s eyes lock on mine and burn. “Why are you here?” “I work here.” This is my real job. The one I went to college for. My supervisor blinks. “Chloe, you know Mr. Yang?” I think for a second. “We’ve met.” “Just met?” Ethan’s voice sharpens. I have no idea what he’s mad about. He’s the one who walked away that day without looking back. He turns to my supervisor without breaking eye contact with me. “I’ll sign the contract. On one condition. Chloe gets transferred to my office as my personal assistant.” My supervisor agrees on the spot. Doesn’t even glance at me. They talk all day. At six sharp, I grab my bag and head for the door. Ethan blocks me. “Where are you going? I didn’t say you could leave.” “Mr. Yang, I can’t stay late tonight. I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” “I have a DoorDash shift.” He stares at me in disbelief.

Back in college, I was the kind of girl who wouldn’t even touch takeout. For four years, Ethan ran deliveries between classes. His dinner was usually whatever cardboard meal the delivery company handed out at shift end. I went to find him once. In a cramped little break room, he was squeezed between a dozen other drivers, shoveling rice out of a foam box. “Ethan, how can you eat that?” I said. “It’s not even clean.” His face tightened. “Does it matter if it’s clean?” “Come on. Let’s go get steak.” I dragged him to a brand-new French place, five hundred a head. He stood at the door for a long minute, then quietly stripped off his yellow delivery jacket before walking in. I finally understand what was going through his head that day. Because tonight is exactly the same. It’s snowing. The sidewalk is slick. My bike skids, and I go down hard. The bag bursts open. Pad Thai and curry spread across the wet pavement like a crime scene. I call the customer with shaking hands to explain. He cusses me out. “Don’t give me excuses. Late is late.” My palm is scraped raw and burning in the cold, but I keep saying sorry, sorry, sorry. Then a hand reaches down and lifts my bike off me. Ethan. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there. I yank my hand behind my back on instinct. “Don’t hide it.” His voice is rough. His eyes are red around the edges. “Go rinse it off.” “I have to finish the delivery first.” “Get in the car. I’ll drive you.” The customer lives on the ground floor. When I hand him the bag, he sneers, “Damn. Porsche girls are doing DoorDash now? That’s rough.” I check my phone for the next ping. “Don’t take another one,” Ethan says. “I have to. I didn’t make enough tonight.” “Then I’ll buy it.” “What?” The app chirps. A new order auto-accepts itself, assigned by him. “I’m buying your time. The whole night.” Ethan drives me back to his place. I stand frozen in the doorway. I won’t go in. “Serena’s going to be pissed.” “You think you have time to worry about her? Look at yourself.” Besides the scraped palm, I’m soaked in dirty slush from head to toe. “And Chloe.” He pulls me inside anyway. “Look around. Does this place look like a woman’s been here?” “You two aren’t living together?” “I was never actually with her.” He drops a contract in my lap. “Six months ago, she came to me with a deal. She didn’t want sleazy producers casting-couching her, so she asked me to play her boyfriend in public. In return, she’d run interference with the difficult clients on my end.” He pauses. He’s afraid I won’t get it. “Some of these guys think every man can be bought with a girl in his bed. It’s exhausting. Serena scares them off for me.” The contract is bulletproof. Clean lines. Zero interference with private lives. He pulls me to the bathroom and starts cleaning the cut on my hand. That’s when I see the shelf. A whole row of hand cream. Unopened. Still sealed in their cellophane. It’s the brand I used to use in college. He has the entire collection. “I asked around at your office today.” His voice goes low. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You told your coworkers at the team retreat last week that you were single. Chloe. You were lying to me on purpose, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Then show me a picture. You and that guy.” “We don’t have one.” “You’re the most camera-obsessed girl I’ve ever met, and you don’t have a single photo with your fiancé?” “Good point. I’ll take one next time and send it to you.” Ethan laughs. It’s not a real laugh. Suddenly his hand braces against the couch behind my head, caging me in. There’s no space left. Through my sweater, I can feel the heat coming off him. “I bought your time tonight. You know what that means, right?” “I’ll refund you. Ethan. I’m really getting married.” His fingers slide down my shoulder. They stop at my wrist. “You’re getting married, but you’re still wearing the bracelet your ex gave you. That doesn’t seem right, does it?”

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I walked into the pack’s vaulted jeweler. And there it was—my mate ring, on another she-wolf’s hand. And Silas—my mate, the Alpha of the Ironwood Pack—was holding her hand, looking at her like she hung the moon. The second he caught my scent, his expression went stone-cold. “Celine needs a showstopper for the Pack Alliance Gathering tonight,” he said, tone dismissive. “She’s the face of the Ironwood Pack, and she needs to project power.” “As for you… for the mate ceremony next week, just pick another ring off the rack and stop making a scene.” My bandaged fingertip throbbing. The moonstone ring…For a year, every single night, I bled onto it until my head spun and my hands shook—all so it would glow at our mate ceremony. Ended up…a battery for his mistress to flaunt. Celine smirked, pointing toward a dusty display case in the back. “What about that iron ring? Silas picked it for you. It suits your rugged personality much better.” My…rugged personality? I looked at my reflection in the mirror. To help Elias manage his pack, I had spent the last five years tethered to this wild. Border diplomacy, supply lines, territory patrols—I exhausted myself for him until I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. And now, in his eyes, I was nothing. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. In a wolf pack, tears are the scent of prey—they invite the hunt. Slowly, I unclasped the silver pendant from my neck—the symbol of Ironwood Pack’s Luna—and dropped it into the bin. “You’re right, Silas. ” I said, looking him straight in his arrogant wolf eyes, “Off-the-rack sounds lovely. I’ll wear it to mate with an Alpha who actually deserves me.” “The mate ceremony is off. ” … The silence that followed was suffocating. Silas turned slowly, his Alpha aura flaring—trying to crush me with the sheer weight of his power. “Elora Thorne,” he growled, the vibration rattling the windows. “What did you just say to me?” “I said the mate ceremony is off.” Celine let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh my god, Elora. Stop being so thirsty for attention.” She stepped toward me, still wearing my moonstone ring. “Silas and I are doing this for the good of the pack. This ring has more value on a high-ranking she-wolf like me than it ever would on a… whatever you are. ” “You’re usually so understanding. What happened?” Understanding? I don’t owe understanding to a wolf who betrayed me and his mistress. “Take it off,” I commanded. Celine flinched, shrinking behind Silas as her eyes welled with performative tears. “Silas, she’s scaring me. Her scent… it’s turning aggressive.” Silas’ face went dark. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from me as if I were a rogue. Then he glared at me. Jaw tight. “Elora, are you done making a scene?” “Celine is our biggest asset. I invest in her because I’m investing in the future of the Ironwood Pack. And you?” He looked me up and down, his eyes full of contempt for my plain attire. “You don’t even have a single combat mark on your record. You’re just a litter-sitter with a desk. Who would you even wear a moonstone ring for? ” He smirked. “The scouts who couldn’t make warrior?” Something in my chest pulled tight. He’d forgotten who walked into that battlefield alone and dragged his broken, barely-breathing body out five years ago. He’d forgotten who quietly cleared the path for his pack’s expansion. Then he stepped closer, and the scent of him hit my lungs like ash. “Get your facts straight, Elora. “He jabbed a finger toward my shoulder, laughing jagged and cruel. “I paid for the moonstone ring. Your apartment? Your haute couture dresses? The food in your mouth? It all comes from the Ironwood coffers.” “You’re nothing without me.” I looked at this arrogant wolf in front of me. He thought I was a dog groveling at his feet. He had no idea I was the backbone of his entire pack. But none of that matters now. He’s not worth my time anymore. I turned toward the door. “Did I give you permission to leave?” His hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. Bone groaned under his grip. “Let go, Silas!” Pain shot up my arm. “Don’t be ungrateful. “He yanked me back, his lips hovering inches from my ear, his voice dropping to a low, menacing snarl. “The ceremony is in five days, now go to the back and wear that iron ring. ” “After Celine finishes the Gathering, I’ll take you to the southern coast for a weekend. I’ll make it up to you then.” “But if you walk out that door right now…” His grip tightened, bruising the skin, his eyes glowing a predatory gold. “I’ll blackball you from every pack in the Blackridge Territory. You’ll be a Rogue by sunset. No one will take you in. No one will even look at you.” I didn’t flinch. I ripped my arm free and looked him dead in his eyes. “Silas, you make me sick.” I walked away. Behind me, I heard him chuckle—a dark, arrogant sound. And then— Bang. The heavy steel door slammed shut in front me. Silas stood there, a smirk playing on his lips. “I said you’re not going anywhere until I say so, Elora. A Luna needs to learn how to heel.”

“That’s false imprisonment, Silas. Open the door,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. “Imprisonment?” Silas sauntered back to the velvet sofa and sat down, crossing one buffed leather boot over his knee. “I’m just giving my future Luna some much-needed ‘meditation’ time. You’re clearly overwrought.” Celine leaned into his shoulder, shooting me a look of pure triumph. “Just give it up, Elora. He’s only doing this because he cares about your reputation. You’d look so foolish wandering the pack in this state.” I didn’t answer her. Didn’t even turn my head. She wasn’t worth the eye movement. Silas pulled out his phone. Didn’t even try to hide it. “Bank of Blackridge? This is Alpha Silas Vane. Freeze all secondary cards on the Thorne account. Effective immediately.” “Ironwood Housing? Terminate the lease on the 5th Street flat. Clear the furniture by morning.” “Pack Security? Put out a Grey-Alert on Elora Thorne. If she tries to cross the border, detain her. And tell the local transport unions—anybody who gives her a ride is an enemy of the Ironwood Pack.” He hung up and tapped the oak table with a rhythmic, mocking sound. Tap. Tap. Tap. It sounded like a dead countdown. “You’re nothing without me, Elora. Not even a place to sleep tonight.” He leaned back, the picture of ease. “I’ll give you two hours to think about how cold the woods get at night. When you’re ready to apologize, you can do it on your knees in front of Celine.” Then he flicked his wrist at the guards by the door. “Throw her out the back. Let her see what the world looks like without my protection.” They hauled me to the service entrance and shoved me into the alleyway. Bang. The door slammed behind me before I even had my footing. The sky was that ugly purple-gray. Wind ripped through the pines, and then the rain came down—freezing, violent, unrelenting. I stood there in the mud, soaked through in seconds. My phone started buzzing in my pocket. Notification: Your account has been suspended. Buzz. Notification: Access to Ironwood Territory denied. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Of course. Of course he’d done all of it. He wasn’t just posturing. He was trying to break me down to nothing so I’d crawl back and beg for scraps. But Silas Vane made one mistake. One big, stupid, arrogant mistake. He forgot that before I was his mate, I had a name that used to mean something. I pulled out my phone. Punched in a number. “Macy,” I said, rain streaming down my face, dripping off my chin. “I need a pickup. Back alley of the Ironwood pack’s Vault boutique.” On the other end, Macy’s voice cracked. “Elora… oh god, I can’t. Silas called my father. He said if any member of the Silver-Paw pack helps you, he’ll initiate a trade war. He’ll bankrupt us, Elora.” She took a shaky breath. “My dad took my keys. He’s got the house on lockdown. Please, Elora… just tell him you’re sorry. You know how he is. He’s just… he’s an Alpha. He needs to win.” My stomach dropped. Right through the floor. He’d even gone after the people I cared. I can’t believe this is the person I’ve loved for five years. Through the rain-streaked window, I could see Silas swirling his wine, watching me like I was a reality show he’d tuned in for laughs. Celine was kneeling at his feet, working her hands up his calves like she was trying to earn a tip. Something inside me snapped. Not broke. A release—All the cages I’d put myself in to fit into his sad, tiny world just… fell apart. I turned my back on the light and walked into the dark. SCREECH— A black Maybach skidded to a stop inches from me. Mud and gutter water splashed up, soaking my legs. Silas’s beta, Miller, stepped out with an umbrella. He held it over himself, not me. Looked me up and down like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “Here,” he said, dropping a garment bag into the mud at my feet. “Alpha’s feeling merciful.” The zipper was half-open. I caught a glimpse of cheap polyester. A bridesmaid’s dress from three seasons ago. Stained with something dark. Wine, probably. Miller kept his chin high, looking down his nose at me. “Alpha says Celine needs someone to carry her train at the Gathering tonight. You put this on and do the job, he’ll restore your credits by morning. And the mate ceremony goes on as planned.” Carry her train? For the woman wearing my mate ring? In a dress that belonged in a dumpster? I looked at the bag in the mud. My lips were blue, my whole body was shaking, but my spine was still straight. I stared at the bag in the dirt. My lips were blue, my body was shivering, but my spine was a rod of tempered steel. “Tell Silas,” I said, my voice cutting through the rain, “to go to hell.” A beat of silence. Then Miller’s face twisted into a snarl. He stepped forward, pointing a finger in my face. “Elora, don’t be ungrateful! You think you’re already Luna of Ironwood? You’re nothing now! ” “Without Alpha Silas, you’re just a stray waiting for torture. You can’t even afford a meal!” With that, he gestured. Two more guards jumped out of the car, flanking me. “What are you doing? Get your hands off me!” “The Alpha didn’t give you a choice, Elora,” Miller growled. “You’re going to that Gathering. One way or another.”

They shoved me into the back of the Maybach. Miller tossed the muddy bridesmaid dress onto my lap like he was disposing of roadkill. The air conditioner was blasting at sub-zero temperatures. My soaked clothes clung to me like a shroud. Miller watched me through the rearview mirror, a cigarette dangling from his lip. “Look at you, Elora. A little compliance would have kept you in silk. Now look at you—drowned and discarded.” I stared out at the rain-slicked streets. I didn’t say a word. What was there left to say? … Twenty minutes later, the car screeched to a halt at the Grand Hall’s backstage entrance. The air was thick with the scent of high-ranking wolves—pine, musk, and expensive cologne. They hauled me into a private dressing room. Celine was there, preening in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. My Moonstone ring sat on her finger, pulsing with a frantic, silver light. Silas stood behind her, adjusting the strap of her gown. When he saw me—drenched, bruised, and clutching that filthy rag—his lip curled in disgust. “You look like a drowned rat,” he snapped. “Change. Now. The procession starts in ten minutes.” “I’m not wearing that, Silas,” I rasped, my voice cracking. “And I’m not playing servant to your mistress.” The air fell into dead silence. Silas’s eyes flashed a dangerous, predatory gold. The anger was unmistakable. But what did that matter now? He had nothing left to hold over me. For five years, the only thing that had kept me tethered to him was love — and that was gone. So when I saw him reach into his pocket, I didn’t expect what came next. He pulled out a small, velvet-lined box and opened it.. Inside lay a ruby-encrusted bracelet. The silver was tarnished with age, but the stones burned like embers. That was…My grandmother’s bracelet! My breath hitched. My hand shot out before my mind could catch up. But Silas lifted the box out of reach — high above my grasping fingers. I glared at him. “You said you lost that in the Ironwood fire.” “I lied,” Silas said, his smile sharp and cold. “This is the only thing you have left of your lineage, And you don’t want to see it destroyed, do you?” His face turned cold. “Then hold Celine’s train. Stand three paces behind her. If that ring doesn’t glow with the light you promised me, this goes into the flames.” He shifted his hand, until the bracelet hung suspended above the licking flames. The rubies caught the firelight. My breath stopped. “I’ll count to three.” “Three.” I looked at the moonstone ring on Celine’s hand—it was flickering, sensing my rage. “Two.” My nails cut into my palms. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs. “One.” “I’ll do it,” I choked out. The words came out like I was swallowing shards of sliver. Silas smirked, snapping the box shut. “Good girl. Go get dressed. Celine’s on in ten.” … I took the muddy dress and walked into the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. Pale. Gaunt. A ghost staring back. Five years of hiding who I really was. Five years of playing small so he could feel big. I thought I’d found my fated mate. I’d just been feeding a monster. Silas Vane, you took everything from me. Now I’m going to take everything from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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