I am a weeping wish willow born in human skin, an ancient entity sustained entirely by the dark, intoxicating rot of human greed. Back when street corners were ruled by bleached-blond runaways in scuffed leather jackets, I padded barefoot under a concrete overpass and held out two slender green branches to a pair of teenage drifters hiding in the shadows. “”Tell me what you want,”” I offered, my voice small and sweet. “”Let me draw just one breath of your desire, and I will give you anything you wish for.”” The two boys exchanged a glance. Instead of avarice, their eyes welled with an agonizing, raw tenderness. One of them knelt in the dirt and gently patted my matted hair. “”You poor kid,”” he muttered, his throat tight. “”Freezing your tail off in the dead of winter… you’re half out of your mind with hunger, aren’t you?”” They tucked those two willow twigs into their threadbare jackets like sacred relics. They looked at me with the fierce, undeniable possessiveness of a wolf pack claiming a stray pup. They called me their little sister. They hauled scrap metal and scavenged through dumpsters just to keep me fed. Talk about a low-cost, astronomical-return investment. The older boy caught me staring at a passing limousine one rainy afternoon; driven by the relentless, territorial ambition of an Alpha, he worked four graveyard shifts a day, utilizing his boundless nocturnal stamina to grind himself through the cutthroat corporate machine until he became a titan worth hundreds of billions. The younger boy saw a local thug sneer at me; terrified I would ever be bullied, he stepped into blood-soaked underground rings. Relying on his feral instincts and his lycan blood to heal his fractured ribs overnight, he fought until he strapped on the world championship belt. For fifteen years, they pampered me with the finest delicacies the mortal world could buy. They fed me artisanal pastries, rich roasts, and sweet cream until my cheeks were soft and pink, but my soul—my true, ancient form—was shriveling from sheer starvation. Pure love does not feed a wishing willow. Only greed does. So when my biological parents finally tracked me down, I was secretly thrilled. I held out two freshly plucked willow branches, fully prepared to open for business at long last. Before I could finish my pitch, their adopted daughter hurled a box of discarded trash straight into my chest. “”A wishing willow? Who the hell do you think you are—some mystical fairy?”” She snatched the branches from my hands and snapped them over her knee. “”If you’re so damn magical, I wish I’d hit the lottery for ten million dollars right now. Oh, and while you’re at it, I wish you’d walk outside and get flattened by an eighteen-wheeler. How’s that sound?”” I blinked, staring at her with wide, ravenous eyes. “”Heaven above.”” After fifteen starving years, I was finally getting a feast. … I modestly lowered my lashes, burying the ecstatic curve of my lips as I murmured, “”Your wish is granted.”” The words had barely dissolved into the stale air when Courtney’s phone erupted in violent, rattling vibrations. She pulled it from her designer purse with an irritated scowl. A second later, a piercing shriek ripped from her throat, and she leaped straight into the air. “”Mom! Dad!”” Courtney’s face flushed a blotchy, hysterical crimson, her entire frame trembling violently. “”The scratch-off ticket I bought at the gas station yesterday… it won ten million dollars! The grand prize! Ten million!”” My biological parents and their two sons swarmed her instantly, their faces twisted in euphoric disbelief. “”My god! Courtney really is our family’s lucky star!”” Eleanor Crawford wrapped her arms around Courtney, peppering her face with wet kisses, before casting a venomous glare in my direction. “”Do you see that? Courtney was born for fortune and grace. Unlike some people who drag a cloud of bad luck into this house the minute they cross the threshold.”” Basking in their adoration, Courtney raised her chin and shot me a smug, deliberate middle finger. “”Take a good look, you dumpster-diving rat. That’s what a real darling of fortune looks like.”” Yet, at the very peak of her shrieking laughter, a sharp, sickening “”crack”” echoed inside her jaw. Her rear molar had snapped clean off at the root. From deep within her chest, a low, agonizing groan escaped her flesh—a sound only my spirit could perceive. Courtney winced, rubbing her cheek, though she brushed it off with a giddy laugh. “”Ow… I guess a sudden mountain of cash just makes your blood run hot.”” I stood silently in the shadow of the doorway, breathing in the thick, pungent tendrils of greed rising into the air. “”Fifteen years.”” Fifteen years since I had tasted something so deliciously foul. My entire soul shivered in quiet delight. When we arrived at the Crawford estate in the hills, I was marched directly down to a windowless storage room in the basement. Richard Crawford looked down at me with cold, aristocratic disdain. “”This family doesn’t harbor freeloaders. Courtney has always had a delicate constitution, and her recent bloodwork came back concerning. Tomorrow morning, you’re coming with me to the private clinic for a full donor match. We’ll draw eight hundred milliliters of blood to keep on standby.”” My second biological brother, Chad, leaned casually against the doorframe, twirling the key fob to his sports car with an ugly smirk. “”Serving as Courtney’s personal blood bag is the greatest honor a backwoods stray like you will ever get. Wipe that funeral look off your face. It makes me sick.”” I offered no argument. Instead, I pulled out my phone and tapped open the messages from my eldest brother. “”Pearl, have fun playing over at the Crawfords’. Take care of yourself, and don’t skip your meals.”” “”Whenever you’ve had enough, let me know. I’ll come get you.”” It happened to be the weekend of our family memorial back home, and both of my brothers had traveled upstate to pay their respects at the ancestral plot. Unwilling to drag me to such a cold, rugged cemetery, they had insisted I stay behind in the city. I had been wandering the high-end shopping district out of sheer boredom when an ultra-luxury sedan pulled up beside the curb. A couple draped in diamonds and tailored silk stepped out. They took one look at me tracing circles on the pavement with a willow branch, their eyes dripping with undisguised contempt. They told me they were my biological parents, that they had spent over a decade searching for me. My ears had perked up instantly. I pulled out my branches, hoping to find a little amusement in their hollow lives. And honestly, this family had not disappointed. Knowing I still had a few days left to play, I sat down on the squeaky cot, fingering the silver medallion hanging against my collarbone. It was a beaten silver medal, engraved with an image of protection. When I was ten, Dean—my second brother—fought his very first underground cage match. He took a knee that cracked three of his ribs, and he used the entirety of his fight purse to buy me this medal. I remembered him grimacing through the pain as he smeared cheap antiseptic over his split knuckles, stubbornly clasping the chain around my neck. “”They say this keeps you safe,”” he had growled, trying to sound tough despite his trembling hands. “”Whenever I’m not around, let this stand guard for you. You call me brother, Pearl, so I’m protecting you for the rest of my life.”” A soft, genuine smile had just reached my lips when the basement door swung open. Courtney sauntered in. Without warning, she snatched the silver medal from my neck, threw it to the concrete floor, and ground her designer heel into it until the metal bent and snapped. “”What is this garbage? Smells like pure poverty.”” She pulled another fresh willow twig from her pocket, stepping close enough that I could smell her heavy perfume. Her eyes burned with naked, feral ambition. “”You claim you can grant wishes, right? Then I want another one.”” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “”Word on the street is that the mysterious Mr. Barrett is hosting a private gathering at his private estate tonight to choose a fiancée. I wish for me, Courtney Crawford, to become the one and only woman Alexander Barrett ever looks at.”” She paused, stepping back to snap her fingers. From the yard outside, the ferocious barking of guard dogs rattled the small ground-level vent. “”And if this fails… I’ll have you thrown into the kennel to feed the mastiffs.”” I looked at the twisted silver on the floor, a cold, violent fury igniting in my chest. She had dared to break Dean’s medallion. And as for the mysterious “”Mr. Barrett””… That was Alexander. The very same Alexander who had worked four graveyard shifts and pushed himself to the brink of collapse just so he could pay my private academy tuition. “”The future lady of the Barrett empire,”” I murmured, raising my eyes to meet hers, enunciating every single syllable. “”Are you entirely certain you can afford the price?”” “”Shut your mouth! Drop the cryptic bullshit!”” Courtney raised her hand, aiming a savage slap straight at my cheek. “”You only get to exist under this roof if you prove you’re useful. Understand me? One word from me, and my parents will make sure you vanish without a trace.”” I tilted my head, letting her palm brush past empty air. “”Very well,”” I said softly. “”The pact is sealed.”” An endless river of foul, intoxicating greed poured from Courtney’s pores, shimmering invisibly in the dim light. At that exact second, Richard Crawford’s thunderous roar of jubilation echoed down the stairwell. “”Eleanor! Courtney! A miracle! Mr. Barrett’s executive assistant just called our direct line! They’ve personally delivered a black-gold VIP invitation specifically for Courtney!”” The Crawford mansion exploded into pandemonium. Courtney shrieked with delight. She immediately summoned the city’s most elite styling team, determined to outshine every socialite in the country tonight. Yet, when the lead stylist slid a gold-plated comb through her thick hair, an audible gasp sucked the air from the room. “”Miss Crawford… your hair…”” Huge, matted clumps of glossy black hair came away in the comb, brittle and dry as autumn straw. Courtney caught sight of the hollow, haunted look in the mirror, her face draining of color. But she forced herself to steady her breath. “”The doctor warned me that my blood disorder might cause side effects! What are you screaming about? Once I become Mrs. Barrett tonight, you’ll all be paid a fortune!”” She ordered a custom lace wig glued over her patchy scalp, while the makeup artists layered thick, heavy concealer over the strange, ashen gray settling into her skin. Draped in a seven-figure couture gown, she paraded past my basement door like a strutting peacock. “”Open your pathetic eyes and look at me, orphan. After tonight, I will be the most powerful woman in this city.”” I leaned against the damp concrete wall, the curve of my smile widening in the shadows. “”I can hardly wait.”” It was past midnight when Courtney finally kicked the front door open, shattering every vase in the grand foyer in a fit of blind rage. She marched down to the basement and struck me across the face with all the strength left in her body. “”You little fraud! You swore you could grant my wish!”” Through her venomous tirade, I gathered the truth: she had managed to step through the front gates of the estate, but she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Alexander’s shadow. “”Alexander Barrett is attending the national youth piano competition tomorrow afternoon,”” Courtney hissed, her manicured fingers digging into my collar as she shoved me against the wall. Her bloodshot eyes darted over my face like a rabid animal’s. “”He’s scouting an elite private tutor for his younger sister.”” Her hand moved to my throat, squeezing with desperate ferocity. “”I wish to take first place tomorrow. I want the judges to hail me as an untouchable prodigy! And every single favorite to win… I want them all to suffer catastrophic accidents!”” My chin lifted under her chokehold, my gaze freezing into sharp, obsidian ice. Years ago, Dean had caught me pausing outside a music conservatory window, watching a child play a polished grand piano. That very winter, when temperatures plunged below zero, he took a night job hauling frozen carcasses in a meatpacking plant with his bare hands, his knuckles split with weeping chilblains. When he finally saved enough to buy me an upright piano, he stood in our small apartment and wept openly as I played my first scale. “”Our Pearl deserves the best,”” he had choked out. “”You’re supposed to live like a princess.”” I had offered them my willow branches countless times, begging them to let me grant their desires. They had treated those twigs like holy artifacts, wrapping them in velvet and tucking them into cedar boxes, never asking for a single selfish thing. And here stood this hollow creature, gleefully driving herself toward the mouth of hell. “”Disqualify every competitor. Ensure you take the gold,”” I rasped, holding out another fresh twig. “”All you have to do is snap this. But… are you sure you can pay the debt when it comes due?”” Courtney tore the branch from my fingers and snapped it into splinters. “”Stop trying to scare me with your ghost stories! Do what you’re told!”” “”As you wish.”” The next afternoon, at the symphony hall. The top-seeded virtuoso—Miss Sullivan, the very instructor Alexander had quietly pre-selected for me—collapsed backstage with sudden, violent abdominal spasms and was rushed to the emergency room. Three other prodigies suffered bizarre muscle cramps and dropped out before their names were called. When Courtney took the stage, her performance was an atrocious mess of missed tempos and jarring discords. Yet, the panel of world-renowned adjudicators rose to their feet in a frenzy of applause, frantically stamping perfect scores onto their judging sheets. “”The grand prize goes to Miss Courtney Crawford!”” the announcer boomed over the speakers. Clad in an iridescent ballgown, Courtney walked to center stage, her cheeks flushed with feverish triumph. “”I want to thank the distinguished judges,”” she purred into the microphone, her eyes locking onto the private box where Alexander sat in the shadows. “”I hope Mr. Barrett recognizes my dedication, and I look forward to guiding Miss Pearl Barrett’s musical education.”” Up in the private suite, Alexander rested his chin on his steepled fingers, his dark eyes observing the faint, grayish miasma clinging to the woman on stage. “”If my little sister wants to play with her food,”” his silent expression seemed to say, “”I’ll let her keep the pet for a few more days.”” The moment Courtney stepped into the backstage corridor, her knees buckled, and she hit the floor with a hollow thud. One by one, the jewel-encrusted acrylics on her hands ripped clean off their nail beds, clattering across the tile. The agony was so blinding she nearly screamed, but noticing the roving camera crews at the end of the hall, she bit through her lip and swallowed the cry. Minutes later, she posted a photo from her dressing room: ten bleeding, mangled fingertips against white velvet. “”Everything for art. Everything for him.”” The internet erupted. Comments flooded the post, tagging Alexander Barrett’s verified corporate handle by the thousands. “”A CEO should know a devoted woman when he sees one!”” “”She literally bled for the chance to teach his sister. Marry her already!”” Down in the dark basement, a stack of medical papers smacked hard against my face. “”You miserable bitch!”” Courtney screeched, her voice cracked and raw. “”The doctors say it’s not just my kidneys—they say all my vital organs are aging at ten times the normal speed!”” She lunged forward, her raw, bandaged hands digging into my shoulders. “”It’s you, isn’t it? You jinx! Ever since you dragged your pathetic ass into this house, my body has been falling apart! You’re cursing me!”” As she leaned in, a sickening stench of biological decay washed over me. I held my breath, serenely admiring the ruin she was becoming. “”Sign it,”” Brandon, my eldest biological brother, commanded, stepping into the room with a cold, unfeeling stare. He thrust a gold pen and a voluntary organ donation agreement into my lap. “”Don’t blame us for being ruthless. Courtney is about to become Mrs. Barrett. She represents billions in future alliances for the Crawford family. If you want to blame someone, blame your own worthlessness.”” A faint, mocking smile touched my lips. I took the pen and signed my true name in fluid, elegant script: “”Pearl Barrett.”” “”Wait,”” Chad muttered from behind him, his voice suddenly faltering as he caught sight of the paper. “”Pearl Barrett? Why does she have the exact same name as the Barrett family’s hidden heiress?”” A brief, uneasy silence hung in the damp room. Courtney burst into hysterical laughter. “”If this gutter rat were actually the Barrett family’s golden princess, would she be down here sleeping on a broken cot and eating our scraps? Don’t give her so much credit.”” They had no idea. From the moment Alexander and Dean took me in, they had guarded me like the rarest gem on earth. When I was ten and caught a vicious strain of pneumonia, Alexander’s legs had exploded with the terrifying speed of a lycan, running six miles on foot through a blizzard to reach the county hospital. His blistering body heat was the only thing that kept me from freezing to death. When the nurse tried to draw blood for a panel, I had wailed in terror. Alexander, usually so composed, had clamped a trembling hand over my eyes. His hand shook not from fear, but from the brutal effort of forcing his claws to retract. A low, dangerous growl vibrated deep in his chest as the scent of my blood triggered every feral, protective instinct he had. “”Don’t be scared, Pearl. Don’t look. Your brother is right here,”” he rasped, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled to stay human. And Dean had lunged at the orderly, his eyes wild with the flashing amber glow of a furious lycan: “”If you make my sister bleed one drop more than necessary, I’ll tear this clinic down brick by brick!”” After I was discharged, those two destitute teenagers emptied their pockets—a total of three crumpled dollars—to buy me a glossy, crimson-glazed candy apple from a street cart, carefully snapping off sweet, sticky bites and feeding them to me one by one. From that day forward, they made a solemn vow that I would never shed another tear. I touched my lip, suddenly overcome with an ache to see my brothers. “”Time to finish off the Crawfords and go home.”” I allowed their private medical team to wheel me into their private, subterranean surgical suite. The power inside my blood hummed, fully charged and waiting. Staring at the sterile ceiling tiles, I silently counted down the karmic backlash. “”Three. Two. One.”” Yet, nothing happened. Instead of the backlash crushing Courtney, an unnatural heaviness clamped down on my chest. Heavy steel restraints snapped shut around my wrists and ankles, draining every ounce of divine strength from my limbs. “”Hahahahaha!”” Courtney’s shrill laughter bounced off the tiled walls. “”You backwoods freak, did you really think I was stupid enough to trust you?”” She circled the surgical table, her eyes gleaming with manic cunning. “”From the second you pulled out those branches, I started looking for a way to break you. I spent fifty million dollars through black-market occult brokers, and I found the binding mirror just in time!”” She stepped forward, holding up a heavy, tarnished bronze mirror, angling the polished metal directly into my eyes. The moment the reflection caught my gaze, an unbearable, crushing pressure slammed into my spirit. I couldn’t even twitch a single finger. “”What do you think you’re doing?”” I ground out through clenched teeth, cold sweat drenching my clothes. “”What am I doing?”” Courtney picked up a massive extraction needle, her features warping into pure monstrosity. “”You grant wishes, don’t you? Let’s see what happens when I drain every drop of your blood and pump it into my own veins. I’ll become the wishing willow.”” “”Courtney, hurry up!”” Eleanor called from the doorway, waving her hand with callous indifference. “”Mr. Barrett’s private convoy just entered the estate gates! He must be coming to escort you personally!”” A sharp, searing agony ripped through my arm as the large-gauge needle plunged deep into my vein. I watched, helpless, as thick, golden-hued blood was siphoned out of my body, pulsing into the collection bag. My vision blurred. The ancient life force that had sustained me for centuries began to scatter and unravel. Courtney stared at the shimmering gold liquid, her pupils dilating with ravenous greed. “”Keep pumping! Drain her dry!”” As the darkness closed in, my consciousness began to slip away. “”Am I really going to die here?”” “”I haven’t even said goodbye to Alexander… I haven’t told Dean I missed him…”” Then, the world shattered. A deafening boom detonated above us. A fleet of armored tactical vehicles battered through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, surrounding the mansion in seconds. The reinforced, half-ton steel doors of the surgical wing bowed inward before being violently blown off their hinges. A voice like thunder ripped through the dust: “”Who the fuck touched my sister?””
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