My mother’s labor had nearly torn her apart, but before she could even hold me, a servant smuggled me from her side. When I opened my eyes, night had already fallen. The grand stone halls of House Theron were gone, replaced by the dense forest at the foot of Mount Olympus. Wind howled through broken crags, and the cries of beasts drew closer. A man with a pockmarked wreck of a face hurled me into a swamp. The impact nearly shattered my fragile bones. “Don’t blame me, child. Blame Lady Seraphine. She’s the one who wants you dead.” Seraphine. I would remember the name. The man scrambled away into the darkness. I was an infant, alone, crying until my throat was raw. The only answer was the howling of wolves, circling ever nearer. Just as I thought my life was over, a pair of worn leather sandals stopped before me. A weathered old man bent down, a tarnished bronze amulet hanging from his neck. He grinned at me. “The gods whispered that I would find her in the mire.” He lifted me, and held me close against the night. He raised me for fifteen years. Now, perched high in the branches of a laurel tree at the cliff’s edge, I looked down at the ruined sanctuary that had been my home.

The carriage slammed into a boulder and burst apart. A nobleman, soaked in blood, tumbled from the wreck. I went to him and checked. No heartbeat. A pity. His belongings were excellent. At his waist hung an engraved seal bearing a noble crest. It would fetch a price. The signet ring on his thumb was even better. I worked it free, then searched his robes and found two coin pouches, a smaller pouch of gold staters, and a thick sheaf of merchant notes. “I’ll take these as payment for your funeral.” “My lady, I am not dead yet.” I nearly dropped the pouch. I steadied myself and checked his pulse and body heat again. Somehow, both had returned. I pressed down on the wounds at his shoulder and below his ribs to slow the bleeding, then took out one of Thales’s healing pellets. “It is expensive. Consider yourself fortunate.” He swallowed it, though wariness flickered in his eyes. Below us, I heard voices—men already combing the forest. No time. I kicked the shattered frame of the carriage over the cliff to make it look like he had gone down with it, and hauled him over my shoulder. “You—” “Shut it,” I said without looking back. “Say anything else and I’ll leave you for the wolves.” At the ruined sanctuary, I kicked the door open and shouted for Thales. He stumbled out from a back room stacked to the ceiling with wine jars, hair wild, and demanded to know why I wasn’t treating the man myself. “He’s a man. The wound’s in an awkward place.” That did it. Thales grabbed a pair of shears and took over, grumbling the whole time that a girl of virtue had no place handling a man’s injuries. That night, the stranger woke to find everything below the waist exposed to the open air. His face burned scarlet. I came in with a bowl of barley porridge, straightened the blanket without a glance. “Don’t flatter yourself. There was nothing worth seeing.” He was so outraged he passed out again. But I had noticed something. Even while unconscious, his hand never loosened from the inside of his belt, pressed tight against one small hidden place. Whatever he had concealed there mattered to him more than his own survival.

“Lyra,” he said, spooning idly at his stew beside the fire, “you carried him back here, and you touched his oath mark. That mark is not meant for just anyone’s hands.” I nearly spat out my soup. “I was looking for gold.” “How did I raise a girl with nothing in her head but money? Don’t you want a husband? Or if not that, a slave?” His name was Cassian. He was badly hurt, so badly that the last trace of divine blood in him had nearly burned away. He could barely manage the simplest tasks on his own. The worst of it was that he was noble to the core. One night, I found him flushed scarlet, both hands twisting in the linen sheets. “What now?” He clenched his jaw. Even the tips of his ears had gone red. “Fetch Thales.” “He’s off drinking. Is it urgent, or just embarrassing?” “…The latter.” I said nothing. Just set the chamber pot beside the bed. I heard the faint sound of water behind me. I turned and walked out. Leaning against the doorframe, I let a slow, wicked smile take hold. A few days later, Thales finally made his move. Cassian was sitting in the low wheeled chair we used to move the wounded into the sun. Thales wandered over with a cup of wine and a look I knew far too well. “How do you find Lyra’s cooking?” Cassian answered with perfect sincerity. “Her skill would honor a temple feast.” “Then would you like to marry her?” Cassian nearly choked on his wine. “Seer, I could repay her with my entire fortune…” “Your entire fortune?” Thales’s eyes lit up at once. “Excellent. It can serve as Lyra’s dowry.” “Thales.” I hurled a head of garlic from the kitchen. It struck him square in the forehead. “Peel that. And if you say one more foolish thing, I’ll sew your mouth shut.” He fumbled to catch it, rubbing his brow and muttering that I grew sharper every day. Once he scurried off, Cassian reached out to stop me. “If you do not wish it, I will not force you.” I was already past him, bow slung across my back. I didn’t break stride. “You owe me three thousand gold staters. If you can’t pay in coin, you’ll pay in kind. With yourself.” He went utterly still.

That morning, Cassian was still sitting in his low chair, lost in thought, when Thales appeared from nowhere and slapped two scrolls of parchment down. They were sealed with the emblem of Hera. At the top of each, names had been inscribed: Lyra Theron and Cassian Kallistrate. “Is this a bridal oath, witnessed at Hera’s altar?” Cassian’s face lost all color. “When did you take my oath-token?” Thales just smiled, said it was nothing, and told him the name had better be real. Otherwise, Cassian would never see the sun again. Cassian took a sharp breath, and in a low voice, admitted it was his. When I returned from gathering herbs and saw those two scrolls, I nearly tore the ruined sanctuary apart. I screamed for Thales to come out, my voice rattling the wooden shutters and sending every bird in the forest scattering into the sky. No one answered. I stormed into his room. The place, usually a sty, had been swept clean and emptied. On his pillow lay a single letter and a stack of merchant notes. The letter contained one word. Leave. I searched the hillside behind the sanctuary. The damp earth held a few bootprints, the soles stamped with the strange impression of a laurel wreath. Thales, what in the name of the gods are you? I seized one of the oath scrolls, ready to rip it to shreds, but Cassian was faster. He snatched it from my grasp. He told me that once an oath has been witnessed by Hera, tearing the parchment changes nothing. Should we ever need to dissolve the bond, we would need these scrolls to do it. I stared at him. “If this bond is ever to be broken, it will be my hand that breaks it.” Cassian was quiet for a moment. Something I could not name flickered in his eyes. But I had understood certain things long before this moment. Being abandoned once in a lifetime is enough. If there was ever to be a next time, I would be the one to decide it. That night, I stood before him with a bag of herbs. I told him to gather his things. We were leaving at dawn. Cassian asked where we were going.

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Five years ago, my wife and my best friend sent me to prison. Five years later, I picked up a designated driver order from them. My wife stared at me, stunned, “Luke, you’re released. Why didn’t you come find me?” Before she could finish, the drunk guy next to her pulled her in and kissed her. When she finally steadied the man, I recognized him—my old best friend who’d testified against me for sexual assault and sent me to prison. I pulled my cap lower and took the keys like a pro, “Ma’am, get in. Five-star rating when we’re done, please.” Vanessa slapped the keys out of my hand. Tears streaming, she grabbed my shoulders, “Luke, come home with me right now! Do you know how much Mom, Dad, and I missed you all these years?” I shook her hands off and bent down to pick up the keys. My prosthetic banged against the bumper. Vanessa’s eyes locked on my missing leg. Tears fell. I didn’t get why she was crying. After all, she was the lawyer who believed I’d raped her best friend and personally sent me to prison. …… “Luke, what the hell happened to your leg?” Vanessa’s voice woke up the drunk Greg. He sneered at me, “Well, well, if it isn’t Luke.” “When’d you get out? Should’ve told your boy. I’d have picked you up.” Greg leaned on Vanessa’s shoulder, half-lidded eyes on me. Vanessa wiped her tears and glared at Greg, “Greg, you’re drunk. Watch your mouth.” Greg shrugged and pulled Vanessa’s waist, dragging her into him, “I’m not talking shit. Luke here fucked up and went inside. I’ve been praying every day he’d turn his life around.” Vanessa gasped, “Greg, you’re wasted. Don’t move.” The concern in her voice—exactly like how she used to talk to me. After calming Greg down, she looked at my prosthetic again, “Your leg… what did you go through in there these five years?” Her eyes were bloodshot, but I ignored her. I walked straight to the driver’s seat. “Excuse me. Move.” My movements were clumsy. The wind lifted my pant leg, exposing the cheap metal frame. Vanessa covered her mouth. Tears kept falling. “Luke, don’t be like this. Come home with me. Let’s talk this through…” She reached for me. I dodged. “Ms. Attorney, are you taking this ride or not? If not, I’m canceling.” I pulled out my phone, all business. Greg laughed and yanked Vanessa into his arms. “Babe, why bother with this rapist?” “He didn’t even spare your best friend back then. He’s getting what he deserves now!” “If you ask me, losing one leg’s too light.” Greg reeked of alcohol. Every word stabbed my chest. Five years ago, this so-called best friend got me drunk and threw me into a hotel room. When I woke up, Mia was crying and running out half-dressed. My wife Vanessa burst through the door with the cops. She didn’t listen to a single explanation. Slapped me right there. Even more pathetic—she was a top attorney, and she personally represented Mia and sent me to prison. I pulled my thoughts back and looked at Vanessa. Greg had his arm around her. She frowned but didn’t push him away. “Greg, stop it.” She turned to me, “Luke, let’s continue the ride.” “Money’s tight for you now anyway.” I didn’t say anything. She was right—I was broke. After adjusting the seat, Vanessa helped Greg into the back. The whole drive was dead silent. Only Greg’s occasional mumbling broke the quiet. “Babe, my head hurts. Rub it for me…” Vanessa cooed at him softly. I stared ahead, foot steady on the gas. Half an hour later, we pulled up to a luxury villa complex. This place used to be home for Vanessa and me. “We’re here.” Greg pulled out several hundred dollars and threw them at my face, “Keep the change. Use the rest to buy a decent prosthetic.” “Stop limping around embarrassing yourself.” Smirking, he got out with Vanessa. Vanessa stared at the cash on the floor, frowning, “Luke, don’t take it personally. Greg’s drunk.” “Take the money. Tomorrow… come to the firm tomorrow. I’ll get you a real job.” I opened the door and only picked up exactly the fare. “I don’t take his dirty money.” “Ms. Attorney, don’t forget that five-star rating.” Greg lunged to hit me, but Vanessa stopped him. I walked into the night without looking back.

I went back to my rental. When I unstrapped the prosthetic, the skin beneath was chafed to a bloody ruin. Five years ago, right after I got locked up, Greg visited. He laughed like a maniac, “Luke, you know how wild Vanessa is in bed?” “Don’t worry. Stay inside. I’ll take real good care of your wife, your house, even your company.” I lost it and slammed the glass, screaming. That same night, some inmates dragged me into a blind spot with no cameras. They used metal rods to smash my leg inch by inch. “Someone paid good money for this leg.” I was bedridden for six months. The infection got so bad they had to amputate. Back then, I hated. But five years in prison turned that hate into nothing. The next morning, urgent knocking woke me up. I thought it was the landlord chasing rent. It was Vanessa. “Luke, I made you chicken soup and mashed potatoes.” She walked right in, “Don’t take Greg’s words to heart yesterday. That’s just how he is.” “I came to talk about your future.” I leaned against the doorframe, staring coldly, “What future does a designated driver have?” “Ms. Attorney, go home. Don’t dirty your designer clothes.” Vanessa turned around and sighed, “Luke, don’t talk like that. Just apologize to Mia and get her forgiveness. I’ll let you come back to the firm.” “You can’t practice law, but there’s a cleaning position available.” “30 grand a year. Enough to live on.” She lifted her chin slightly, waiting for me to be grateful. I couldn’t help but laugh, “Vanessa, you want me to apologize to someone who framed me?” Vanessa’s face darkened instantly, “Luke! You still won’t admit your mistake?” “If I hadn’t pulled strings for leniency as your wife, you think you’d only get five years?” She got more worked up and stepped forward to drag me out. I shoved her hand away, “Vanessa, did you actually read the case file back then?” “Why did the hotel hallway cameras conveniently break?” “And what drug was in the drink I had that night?” My questions made her freeze for a second. But quickly, she cut me off impatiently, “Enough, Luke! Are you saying Greg and Mia teamed up to frame you?” “I came here to help you. Don’t be ungrateful!” I pointed at the door, voice ice-cold, “I don’t need your help. Get the fuck out.” Vanessa’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe I’d talk to her this way, “Luke, you’re delusional! Think you’re still that hotshot lawyer from before?” “You’re a cripple now! An ex-con!” She slammed the door and left. That afternoon, as I was about to take an order, the platform sent a notification. My driver account was permanently banned due to customer complaints. The complaint: disabled pervert driver attempted to assault female passenger. Didn’t need to guess who did it. Greg, you really couldn’t wait.

Before I could even lock my door, the landlord showed up with some thugs blocking the entrance, “Luke, someone’s paying ten times the rent for this place. Get the hell out now!” Before I could react, they threw me onto the street. My clothes and belongings landed all over me. Outside, it was pouring rain. My prosthetic throbbed in the water. A Maybach pulled up, splashing mud all over me. “The great attorney reduced to a dead dog? Luke, you’re pathetic.” Greg blew out a smoke ring. Vanessa rushed out of the car with an umbrella over my head, “Luke, stop being stubborn. Just admit your mistake and bow your head.” “I’ll not only give you a job, I’ll help with housing too. Why push yourself this far?” I braced myself on the ground and stood up. “I don’t need it. So can you two lovebirds fuck off?” Vanessa’s face went stiff. “Luke! When you went to prison, if Greg hadn’t been there for me, I would’ve killed myself!” “I’m trying to help you out of kindness. Do you have to be a porcupine about it?” “Even if you won’t accept my help, don’t break your parents’ hearts. They’ve been looking for you.” Right after she said that, two figures ran over from the distance. Mom and Dad didn’t even have umbrellas. They rushed over frantically. What I didn’t expect—the first thing my parents did when they saw me was slap me across the face. “You bastard, you actually got out! We don’t have a son like you!” “Greg’s our godson now. You rapist should’ve died in prison!” After getting out, I didn’t dare see my parents. I was afraid they’d be hurt by gossip. Never expected they’d already claimed Greg as their son. Greg quickly got out to help them into the car. “Godfather, Godmother, Luke still won’t admit his mistake. Won’t even apologize to the victim.” “Let’s just forget about him. You’ve got me and Vanessa at the firm now. You can retire in peace.” Mom and Dad looked at me with disgust, “Luke, if Greg hadn’t managed the firm all these years, our life’s work would be gone.” “If you still won’t admit your mistake, you’re on your own from now on!” The Maybach drove off. I limped into the night. Even my parents didn’t believe me. I really was a failure. But to survive, I went to a construction site for labor. The foreman looked at my prosthetic and waved me off. “Get lost. We don’t hire cripples. Who’s liable if something happens?” I grabbed his arm tight, “I’m strong. I’ll take half the pay. Just give me meals.” The foreman was getting annoyed and about to push me off. A cleaning lady nearby suddenly gasped, “You… you’re Mr. Luke?” I froze. I looked closely at the woman. The cleaning lady glanced around and pulled me to a corner. She took out a voice recorder from her pocket. “Mr. Luke, I’m so sorry. Greg gave me a hundred grand back then to break the cameras.” “But I secretly recorded audio. It’s got him and Mia plotting to frame you for assault.” “Don’t tell anyone I gave this to you. My conscience just couldn’t take it anymore, so I kept this hidden.” So that was it. Five years wrongfully imprisoned. My leg gone. Finally, the truth.

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I am Dominic Vane’s Dona. He took me from his underboss Killian. A man who stole another man’s woman doesn’t sleep easy. He watched every man who came near me. Once I fed a stray on our block. He had someone confirm the dog was female and its owner wasn’t a man in disguise. Then the family promoted a young guard. Twenty-two, still carrying that fresh-out-of-training look. One morning he opened my car door at the estate gate and I smiled at him out of politeness. Dominic said he didn’t care. That night he had the kid handled. He didn’t break out in hives or throw a fit like some jealous boy. He just sat by the fireplace, cleaning his Beretta with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes cold and flat. “Kid’s muscles were all needles. Couldn’t even handle the recoil on a .45. Pathetic.” He flicked something onto the table. A bloody strip of cloth. The guard’s tie. “And that height he reported? Six-one. Maybe if you count the bones they stuffed under his feet after.” His private physician came by later to bandage the cuts on his hands. In the hallway, the doctor pulled me aside. “Mrs. Vane, your husband has been taking that new male contraceptive. The one that just hit the market. The side effects are severe—extreme paranoia, mood instability. He’s taken triple the dose in one week. He seems… obsessed with making sure you never have to bear the risk of pregnancy.” I stopped walking. I was three months pregnant. … He was asleep when I picked up his phone. The passcode was my birthday. His photo gallery was all me. Candid shots, screenshots of my texts, surveillance stills of him watching me sleep. His search history: *”How to install covert GPS tracker on spouse’s car”* *”Best undetectable phone cloning software”* *”How to make a grieving wife emotionally dependent”* His notes app: *”March 20. She dreamed about the old man again. Cried hard. I need to cut off all contact with her father’s people.”* *”March 21. Morning sickness getting worse. Made her dinner myself. She ate a little. She can only eat what I give her.”* My eyes burned. Then a notification from the navigation app: *”Based on your frequent routes, we’ve planned your trip to 812 Sutton Place. Estimated arrival: 15 minutes.”* Our safe house was at 814. —

My fingers opened the route history before my brain caught up. For three months, every day at noon, he drove to that address and stayed for two hours. The morning sickness had hollowed me out. Fifteen pounds gone in three months, and the only food I could keep down was whatever Dominic cooked. He ran the whole operation and still came home every day to make me lunch, up until two or three in the morning handling business. I told him to stop. To rest. We fought. He said he’d rather die than let me eat alone. I had to fake feeling better before he finally agreed to stay out through lunch. Except he hadn’t stayed out. Every day, for three months, he’d been two doors down with someone else. A message came in. “Dom, I left a pair of panties at your place. She didn’t find them, did it? I left them on purpose. Unwashed. Bring them for my birthday?” I tapped the profile picture. Bianca. My father’s bastard. The girl whose mother destroyed mine, who moved into my house before my mother’s grave had settled. She spent her whole life grabbing everything I had—my clothes, my father’s love. Even Killian. I found them in our bed. That was the crack Dominic walked through. He didn’t comfort me. He collected me. He held me and said it to my face, slow enough that I’d remember every word: “I will never want anyone but you. I don’t care what she does, what she tries. She doesn’t exist to me.” And he’d proven it. When Bianca sent him nudes, he forwarded them to the police. She got seven days in holding and he made sure her university expelled her. Career over before it started. I thought leaving that wreckage and finding Dominic was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. So why her. Why was it always her. I opened their messages like pressing a finger into a wound. Dominic calling her *babe*. Bianca threatening to tell me everything, and Dominic shutting her down, blocking her, punishing her—then taking the punishment to bed. Me in the hospital, crying over a bad prenatal result. And the two of them in the room I’d decorated with my own hands, Bianca wearing my robe. Behind me, the bed shifted. “Sera?” —

He saw my red eyes and reached for me. I smelled it on him. Purfume faint and sour underneath his cologne. I shoved him back, grabbed the glass ashtray off the counter and hurled it at him. “Get away from me!” It caught him on the temple. Blood ran down his brow. He didn’t touch it. He just watched me with something close to panic. “Is it the baby? Are you in pain?” I sat on the floor and watched him bolt out, then come back with water and pills, blood dripping onto his white collar. He held out the pills like I might shatter if he moved too fast. “Why?” I looked at his face and the tears came. Days ago we were picking out names. We were talking about the future, the three of us. Minutes ago he was mutilating a guard because I smiled at him. “Why did you betray me?” Dominic went still. His hand tightened around the pills. “You know.” I waited for him to explain. I told myself I would believe anything. Anything at all. “I’m sorry.” His voice almost cracked. “I know you’ll be upset that I had the guard handled behind your back. But I can’t stand the idea of another man looking at you.” He stepped closer. “You have no idea what it took to pull you away from Killian. What I had to destroy just to stand next to you. And some kid gets to open your door like it’s nothing.” “I know what I am. I’m not apologizing for it.” “Hit me. Scream at me. Just don’t leave. You leave, and I’m done.” I looked at him and knew I should walk out. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give up the way he held me. I couldn’t give up these days that felt like the only good thing left. So as long as I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I could pretend none of it was real. I smiled. “I want your mother’s pot roast.” His eyes lit up and he turned toward the kitchen. Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Something came up. I’ll make it when I’m back.” He was out the door before I could answer. I got in my car and followed him. —

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I was carrying my father’s best friend’s baby. Not Victor’s — at least, that’s what I thought then. It started two months ago. My name is Ella Whitley. On a rainy night, Anthony — my boyfriend of three years — threw all my things out of the apartment. His new girlfriend Vivian stood in the doorway wearing my Jimmy Choos. “Stop bothering me, We’re done. You’re nothing to me.” I didn’t cry.”When did you fall for someone else?” He laughed. “Go ask your daddy for money.” I’d spent everything on Anthony. The apartment was mine. The wool rug, the Dyson — all mine. But he and Vivian didn’t hesitate. One suitcase. A few clothes. That was it. The rain was cold. I had no umbrella. I was soaked and shaking. I called my father, Alexander. It took several tries. When he finally picked up, I heard music, women laughing — some party. His voice was drunk. “Baby? What’s wrong?” “Anthony threw me out.” He said something. Probably flirting with whoever was beside him. Then: “Sweetheart, find a hotel. Use my card. I can’t get away right now.” Since Mom died, there had been a parade of women. I never kept track. I waited, hoping he’d help. He said “I’m busy” and hung up. Three men came out of the alley. Hoodies. Hats pulled low. One blocked my path. “Hey, got a light?” “I didn’t smoke.” “Then give us something else.” They came up behind me and snatched my bag. My phone was inside. I screamed. A hand clamped over my mouth. They dug through my bag — wallet, phone. The screen lit up. He jabbed at it a few times. I don’t know what he pressed. The phone let out a sharp, piercing alarm. An emergency signal. He flinched, threw it — it skidded across the wet pavement. Across the city. Lower Manhattan. An abandoned warehouse. Victor Moretti was holding a man’s head underwater in a bucket of ice. His boots stood in a puddle of blood on the concrete floor. Water torture. Old mob tradition. Victor had just led his crew to victory. His men watched him in silence. He was expressionless. Covered in blood. His shirt clung to his body, sleeves rolled up, soaked dark red. Then his phone buzzed. He nodded to one of his men, released his grip, and pulled out the phone. An auto-sent emergency text. One new message. Sender: Ellie. He stared at it for three seconds. Then he turned and walked out. “Sir — what do we do with him?” someone called after him. No answer. He was already at the door. He got into the black Pagani parked in the alley. The engine roared like something alive. He’d never driven this fast. He called the number — Ellie — as he drove. Straight to voicemail. He tried Alexander. No answer. Damn it. He said it quietly. He knew. Alexander was busy. Too busy to notice his daughter’s SOS. Victor floored it. The car cut through the rain. He made it in time. He found me being dragged into an alley by all three of them. The black Pagani came roaring around the corner and jumped the curb. The headlights hit us. Blinding. The men let go and squinted at the light. The door opened. Victor stepped out. Rain soaked through him. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, bare forearms wet. He walked toward us. His face was stone. He looked at me. Then at the three men. The leader said, “Hey, brother — we were here first.” Victor didn’t look at him. He said my name: “Ellie.”

Only Victor called me that. My father called me Ella — like a stranger’s name. Victor said it differently. “Ellie” came from somewhere deep in his throat. Low. Short. One of the men decided to push back. “Who the hell do you think you—” Victor turned. The headlights caught his face. Rain dripped from his jaw. The man’s hand froze in midair. His eyes went wide. “M-Moretti… Mr. Moretti…” The man’s voice collapsed from threat to trembling. “I’m sorry, sir, we didn’t do anything, please—” Victor wasn’t listening. He was looking at me. “Get in the car.” I got in. The man kept apologizing behind us, one word after another. Victor shut the door. The engine swallowed everything else. Silence inside the car. The heat was on full. I was still cold. My wet dress clung to my skin. Water ran from my hair down my neck and into my collar. I held Victor’s coat. It smelled of blood — iron and rain. “Did my father send you?” I asked. No answer. “Where is he? Still at the party?” Victor reached into the side pocket and tossed a pack of tissues onto my lap. Casual. Almost rough. “Dry off,” he said. “You’ll get sick.” Not concern. A command. I pulled out a tissue and started on my face. It soaked through immediately, falling apart in my fingers. Then I saw his arm. His right sleeve had been sliced open — wrist to elbow. The edges of the tear were dark red. Blood ran down his forearm and dripped onto the steering wheel. Onto his trousers. “You’re bleeding,” I said. He didn’t look. Just kept his eyes on the road. The wipers swept back and forth. “Yeah.” “Shouldn’t you do something?” “Help me clean it,” he said. Simple as that. I hesitated. Then I pulled a few clean tissues and leaned across to press them against his arm. The moment the tissue touched his skin, his muscle tensed. He didn’t pull away. I started at the elbow. The blood was warm, thinned by rain, dripping from his fingers. I worked upward. The tissues soaked through fast. Then my fingers touched skin. His sleeve was torn all the way up. The tissue slipped. My fingertips pressed against his arm — bare skin, hard and burning hot, like heated stone. His wet shirt was still plastered to his shoulder. The fabric was thin. The lines of his body were very clear. My face went warm. My heart rate jumped. Not from the heat. I kept going — across his upper arm, down the inner side. The muscle there was sharper. A vein traced faintly beneath the surface. My fingers slipped lower, further in— “Ellie.” His hand covered mine. “It’s dry there.” I stopped. Two seconds passed before I understood. My fingers were on the inside of his arm, inches from his chest. The tissue was gone. Just my hand — bare, cold — against his skin.

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The night of our graduation party—the one for turning eighteen—Ryder marked me.Out of nowhere. We were both drunk.I’d gone downstairs to get some air.Found him leaning against the garage door.He crooked his finger at me.Just that.One little gesture.And I followed him upstairs. It hurt. I bit down and stayed quiet,fingers twisting into the back of his shirt.When he pulled away,my head was still buzzing.He was already standing up straight,fixing his collar. I’d had a crush on him for six years. I thought I finally had my answer. First thing, the next morning, I opened my laptop and pulled up the college application portal. Ryder’s school was out east.Massachusetts.Long winters. I hate the cold. I was willing to deal with it. I wanted to tell him in person. The hallway was loud. I walked up to his classroom and reached for the door handle—then stopped. Someone inside was talking.Loudly. “You marked Luna Hale? The one who bolts every time she sees you——” “How long has she had a thing for him?” “Who knows.She’s so easy.Throw her a little attention and she’s hooked.” Laughter. A lot of it. I stood there outside the door,waiting.Waiting for Ryder to say something.To deny it.To tell them to shut up. “Alright,relax,”Ryder said.”It was just a temporary mark.It’ll fade in a few days.Not a big deal.” More laughter. “Right.Didn’t Ryder say he wanted to practice with someone before going after Chloe?” “Classic.She’s been chasing you forever and you give her a temporary mark?” “She was into it. I didn’t make her do anything,”Ryder said. “She’s totally going to think it meant something.” “That’s her problem,”Ryder said.”Either way, I’m making things official with Chloe before school starts.” The tears came fast. I pressed my hand over my mouth and walked away. I stood in the bathroom for a long time.Staring at myself in the mirror.At the red mark on my neck. It was fresh.The edges were still sharp.In a few days it would be gone.Like none of it ever happened. He never meant to choose me. I was just practicing. My phone buzzed.Mia. “You coming to the graduation dance tonight?” Then another.”Oh,and I just saw Chloe posted—she’s gonna be there too.And Ryder.Don’t tell me they’re actually a thing now?” I started typing.Deleted it.Tried again. I’ll be there. I slid my phone back into my pocket and took one last look in the mirror. I needed to talk to him face to face.

I changed into a different dress and let my hair down to cover my neck. The temporary mark was still warm. I dug a concealer out of my drawer and dabbed it on.In the mirror, there was nothing to see. Mia was waiting for me at the door.One look and she was already suspicious. “You look off.Something happened?”She looked me up and down. “Let’s just go.” I spotted Ryder the second I walked in.He was on the couch in the corner.Chloe was next to him. Not next to him.On his lap. She had on a crop top and shorts.His hand was resting on her waist. When she turned to say something to him, he leaned in naturally to listen.Their arms were linked together. Ryder never leaned down for me. I’m shorter than him.Six years of conversations,and every single one of them, I was the one on my tiptoes,stretching my neck,tilting my head up just to catch his eye. They started playing a game.Someone held up a phone to keep time.Everyone around them was egging them on. Simple rules.Chloe lay back on the couch.Ryder planted both hands on either side of her and did push-ups without touching her. Chloe laughed and sank into the cushions.Ryder lowered himself down with each rep,chest meeting chest before pushing back up.The crowd was screaming. On the tenth one, he didn’t hold himself up.He dropped down and stayed there. Chloe’s face went red.She shoved at him.”You did that on purpose.” Then he kissed her.Full on the mouth.She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Three whole minutes.Okay,I’ve seen enough,”Mia said. When Ryder pulled back from Chloe,his eyes swept across the room. He saw me.His hand was still on the back of Chloe’s head,but for half a second his expression went blank. Then he looked away.Chloe said something in his ear.He bent down to listen.Then he smiled. The crowd closed around them. Mia grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door.”Stop looking.” She pulled me outside. “What’s that on your neck?”she said. I reached up to touch it.The concealer had sweated off.The bite mark from the temporary mark was showing.

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The pack has a rule. Every ten years, the pack will give birth to twin she-wolves. One will take a mate. The other must stay behind and become the Lunar Seer to guard the pack. The Lunar Seer never takes a mate, and she is never permitted to leave the pack territory. When we were kids, my older sister said she would become the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. So under my efforts I was chosen by the Citadel, which meant I could make a living in the capital, far from this isolated pack. And I made a promise with my love, Soren. When I turned twenty-two, he would claim me as his mate. We will live in the capital. The day arrived, I prepared myself and waited, my heart pounding with nervous excitement. Soren came and stopped at my family’s lodge. Pushing down the wild joy in my chest, I heard him lean against the carriage, speaking to someone. “I came here to claim Elodie as my mate. We will move to the capital.” “You do not understand. Their parents favor the older daughter. If I do not take Elodie, she will be forced to become the Luna Seer.” “Tamsin at least earned her place at the Citadel. She can leave and make her own life. Their parents definitely will not force her into anything.” I silently wiped the makeup off my face. Tomorrow is the day of the consecration ceremony, for the Luna Seer. I sat on the edge of my bed. My chest felt tight with bitterness. Because of my sister’s promise, I had to yield everything to Elodie. Our parents favored her, too. But compared to all of that, freedom was too important. All these years, I carried guilt and shame, pushing myself to the breaking point with barely any rest. Just for a position in the Citadel. But now she used my mate to play the victim. She did this on purpose. She never truly wanted to spend her life confined to the pack, just wanted to reap the benefits without sacrifice. I sat on the bed, wiping off the foundation layer by layer. The woman in the mirror slowly revealed her true face. Nothing special about it. Just an ordinary face, ordinary eyes, an ordinary nose. Identical to my sister Elodie’s face. But since childhood, everyone said she was beautiful, said she was gentle, said she looked like the Lunar Seer. They said I was wild, said I was rough, said I was improper. Outside the window came the sound of the carriage door closing, then footsteps approaching. Soren was coming but I did not move. I gripped the cloth in my hand, staring at that face in the mirror, forcing myself to see it as a stranger’s face. He knocked on the door. “Tamsin, I am here.” I said, “Come in.” He pushed open the door and froze for a moment. He probably had not expected me to have removed my makeup and not be wearing the ceremonial dress I had prepared, just an old tunic as I sat on the bed. “You…” He walked in. “Why have you not changed clothes?” I looked at him. “What are you here for?” He paused, then forced a smile onto his face and walked closer. “To claim you, of course. We made a promise, did we not? Twenty-two years old, I come to take you as my mate.” “Whose mate?” He stopped. I continued watching him. “Soren, I am asking you. Whose mate did you come to claim?” His smile slowly faded. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. “Tamsin, let me explain—” “No need to explain.” I stood up and placed the cloth on the table. “What you said just now, I heard everything.” His expression shifted. “You said Elodie did not earn a place at the Citadel and cannot leave, so you came to take her as your mate.” I said. “You said I earned my place and can make my own life, so it does not matter for me.” “Tamsin—” “You are saying you weighed both of us,” my voice remained even, “and decided I was less deserving of your protection, so you came here to take her away instead?” He opened his mouth but could not form words. I knew it. He could not deny it because that was the truth. Soren and I have known each other for five years, been bonded for three. He has seen Elodie fewer than five times. But he still weighed us. On both sides of the scale, one side held me, the other held her. And he decided I could carry my own weight, so he did not need to help me. “Soren,” I took a step back. “Go off.” He frowned. “Calm down. I have my reasons for this—” “I am calm,” I said. “Much calmer than you think.” He looked at me, hesitating to speak. Footsteps sounded outside, then came Elodie’s voice, soft and sweet with a hint of tears. “Tamsin, I know you are angry, but you do not know, I actually…” She pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed with tears clinging to her lashes. She looked beautiful when she cried. It had always been this way since childhood. One tear, and everyone felt sorry for her. Even I used to feel sorry for her. But now I only looked at her and said, “Elodie, you do not need to explain to me.” She froze. “Tamsin…” “I have no right to blame you,” I said. “I was too foolish to think the promises between us meant anything.” I was speaking to both Soren and Elodie. Silence fell for a moment. Then I said, “I am going to the Sacred Cavern. You two can wait here.” “Wait,” Soren followed. “What are you going to the Sacred Cavern for?” I did not turn around. “To tell Elder Torin,” I said, “that I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.”

The Sacred Cavern lies in the deepest part of the pack territory. Moonstone torches lined both sides of the stone path, their flames casting dancing shadows on the ground when the wind blew. I walked slowly. Not because I was reluctant. My mind was just chaotic, and I needed to sort through everything before moving forward. I was thinking about what happened five years ago. That year I was seventeen, Soren came to our valley as an emissary from the Citadel. He sat on the stone steps reading, the setting sun painting his profile in gold. I had never seen anyone like him before. Clean, graceful, like he came from another world entirely. Later he asked me where the road outside the pack territory led. I said it led down the mountain to a town, and beyond the town was a city, and beyond that city were even greater cities. He asked what I wanted to see in the future. I said I wanted to see everything. He smiled and said, then see it all. I believed him right then. After he left, we began mind link, and it went on for five years. He said when I turned twenty-two, he would come to claim me as his mate and take me away. I asked him how he knew I would be willing to accept him by then. He said I would be willing, because I cared for him. I called him shameless at the time. But I truly did care for him. Five years, and I never fall in love for anyone else. When I reached the entrance to the Sacred Cavern, Elder Torin sat on the steps smoking his pipe. When he saw me, he narrowed his eyes. “You came,” he said. “I thought you would not come tonight.” I crouched down across from him. “Elder, I want to ask you something.” “Please.” “The Lunar Seer’s duty, does she truly have to remain within pack territory?” Elder Torin drew on his pipe. “The ancient law states the Lunar Seer guards the pack and protects the wolves. She never leaves pack territory, never takes a mate, devoted until death.” I nodded. “If the Lunar Seer left the territory, what would happen?” He paused and turned his head to look at me. “Which Lunar Seer would dare leave?” “I am just asking.” He drew on his pipe again, exhaling slowly. The smoke dispersed in the torchlight. “Have you decided?” he said. “Will you accept the consecration?” “I have not decided yet,” I said. “I just want to understand the rules clearly.” He watched me for a long time, then said something that surprised me. “Tamsin, do you know that your generation is the first time I have ever misjudged?” I froze. “What do you mean?” “You two sisters,” he paused. “I always thought the one who would stay would be your older sister.” “But that child, I watched her grow up. Her eyes have never truly fallen on this pack territory.” The wind blew past, and the torch flames flickered. “But you,” he said, “every time you come down from the mountain, you always look back.” I said nothing. “Truly look, not out of reluctance, but to remember,” he said. “Remember the paths, the mountains, every blade of grass and tree here.” “People who love a place and people who want to escape a place have different eyes.” I lowered my head. Something caught in my throat. “But I am not someone who should stay here,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. “I have my own path to walk.” “You walk your path,” Elder Torin tapped out his pipe and stood. “But Elodie cannot walk that path. You need to understand that.” With that, he pushed open the door to the Sacred Cavern and walked inside. I remained crouched on the steps, watching his back disappear into the candlelight. Of course I understood. Elodie could never become the Lunar Seer. Not because she was inadequate, but because she could not hide that restless heart that wanted to leave. And according to the ancient law, the Lunar Seer must guard not only the pack, but also her own heart. If she could not guard her own heart, she could not guard the pack. I stood up and brushed the dust off my knees. The night wind lifted my hair. Footsteps sounded behind me. I did not turn around, but I knew who it was. “Are you really going through with the consecration?” Soren’s voice. I said, “I have not decided yet.” “Then why did you come to the Sacred Cavern?” “To understand the rules clearly.” He walked up and stood beside me. After a moment of silence, he said, “Tamsin, if you accept consecration as the Lunar Seer, you will never be able to leave for the rest of your life.” “I know.” “You earned your place at the Citadel. You have so many paths you could take—” “Soren,” I interrupted him and turned to look at him. “Did you come here today to claim me as your mate, or to claim her?” He didn’t say a word. I said, “Then there is nothing more to discuss.”

When I returned home, Elodie still sat in the main hall. Our parents were there too. When they saw me, Mother spoke first. “Tamsin, where did you go?” “The Sacred Cavern.” Mother froze. “You…” “I went to ask Elder Torin about the rules for the Lunar Seer consecration.” I sat down in a chair and looked at them. “Tomorrow is the ceremony. I wanted to understand clearly.” Father drew on his pipe and said nothing. Elodie lifted her head, her eyes still red. “Tamsin…” “Sister,” I called to her. “You said in the beginning that you would volunteer to stay behind as the Lunar Seer and let me go to the Citadel. Those were your words, correct?” Elodie’s fingers tightened. “Yes, but…” “There is no but,” I said. “You said it, and I remembered. Because of those words, I yielded everything to you. Mother and Father yielded to you. Whatever you wanted, the family found a way to give it to you.” My voice remained even. “You said you would give me the way out. I was afraid of failing you.” The hall fell silent for a moment. “But Sister,” I said, “what are you trading that promise for now? Trading it so Soren would come take you away?” Elodie’s eyes reddened and tears fell. “That was not my intention. I did not scheme against you. Soren and I just…” “Just what?” She choked out, “We just got along well, and he also thought I was pitiable…” Mother wiped her eyes beside us. “Tamsin, your sister has suffered too. She has known since childhood that she might have to stay here. You should understand her situation…” I looked at Mother. “What about me?” Mother froze. “I have known since childhood that if I was the one who stayed, I would never get out,” I said. “I understand her. Who understands me?” No one spoke. Father snuffed out his pipe and spoke, his voice muffled. “Tamsin, this matter is your mother’s and my fault, not your sister’s fault.” “We were the ones who contacted Soren.” I froze. “What?” Father sighed. “Your sister’s health is weak. These past two years it has gotten worse. We were afraid if she stayed in the pack territory…” He could not continue and paused. “We contacted Soren and begged him to come take your sister away.” “If we were going to beg him to come, we had to give him a reason.” “So we told him Elodie was pitiable and asked him to claim her as his mate.” Mother lowered her head. “You had been bonded with him for three years. He is someone who values bonds, so it was difficult to ask him directly. We told him you earned your place at the Citadel, that you could make your own way out, and only your sister had no way to leave…” I sat there and went through these words from beginning to end in my mind. Then I laughed once. “So,” I said, “the three of you schemed against me alone.” Father raised his head. “Tamsin—” “It was not scheming,” Mother rushed to explain. “We truly had no other choice. If your sister stayed here, she…” “What if I stayed here instead?” Mother stopped. “Mother,” I said. “If I were the one staying behind, would you work so hard to find a way out for me?” When I asked that question, the hall became as silent as stagnant water. No one answered me. I did not need an answer anymore. Some things, the moment you ask them aloud, you already know the answer. I stood up. “I will participate in tomorrow’s consecration ceremony.” Mother shot to her feet. “You cannot go! You earned your place at the Citadel. You have your future—” “My future is not something you need to worry about,” I said. “I fulfilled the promise with my sister. Now that she has taken back that promise, I should give her this way out.” “Tamsin!” I said nothing more and turned toward my room. Behind me, Elodie suddenly said, “Tamsin, I am sorry.” My steps paused. I did not turn around. “You are not sorry to me,” I said. “You just regret that this plan did not stay hidden from me.” I pushed open my door and closed it behind me, leaned my back against the door, and tilted my head to look at the ceiling in the darkness. My mind was chaotic yet clear. Chaotic with all the emotions accumulated over these years that had nowhere to go. Clear that starting today, some things could finally be let go.

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

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

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“Mom, Dad. She’s the transfer student who spread those lies about me. The one who gave me anxiety so bad I had to see a therapist.” “So please don’t ask me to call her my sister.” I walked through the front door of the Montgomery estate to find Victoria already sobbing in my parents’ arms. The girl who had been living my life for the past year. I was the real daughter. The one they had finally tracked down after eighteen years. Mom had her arms wrapped tight around Victoria, whispering that everything was okay. Dad stood with his jaw locked, staring at me like I’d already ruined everything. “I can’t believe we raised you with every advantage in the world, and this is what you do with it.” “Henderson. Escort her out. No daughter of mine bullies someone in their own home.” I stood there stunned, my hands already moving. Fingers flying like I was casting a spell. Me? Spread rumors? I’m mute. …… I hadn’t even made it past the entryway. The cold from outside still clung to my fingertips. Victoria was buried in Mom’s neck, shoulders heaving. When she finally looked up, her eyes were red and swollen. “You don’t know what she did.” Her voice dropped. “After midterms, when I ranked second in our grade, she went around telling everyone I cheated. That Dad paid off the teachers. That I slept with the guidance counselor to get into the honors program.” With every word, Mom’s hand on Victoria’s back pressed harder. Dad’s frown deepened. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Just a thin rush of air. It had always been that way. Congenital vocal cord damage. I had used ASL and written notes my whole life. I raised my hands. Fingers just starting to shape the sign for no when Xavier pushed up from the couch. My brother. Three long strides and he was in my face, looking down at me. “Ella. How long are you going to keep this up? You’ve pushed Victoria to the point of a breakdown. And you’re going to stand there and play innocent?” I froze. Hands hanging in the air. Xavier had been glued to Victoria’s side since I arrived. He looked at her like she hung the moon. He looked at me like I was the reason it fell. “Xavier, don’t.” Victoria tugged his sleeve, her voice honeyed. “Maybe she just wanted attention. She doesn’t know how to fit in yet. I don’t blame her. Really.” “You are too good for her.” Mom pulled Victoria closer and turned on me, eyes cold as January. “We brought you home to give you a real family, Ella. Not so you could make this girl’s life hell. Whatever you learned out there, leave it at the door.” Dad’s knuckles hit the coffee table. Low. Final. “A daughter of Robert Ashworth does not behave this way. I don’t care where you’ve been. You have embarrassed this family. Henderson, get her out of my house.” The housekeeper and the staff clustered near the hallway, whispering. “Apparently she was running wild before they found her.” “Sweet Victoria would never. I don’t know how anyone could go after her like that.” “Look at her doing that hand thing. Probably faking it for sympathy.” Each word landed like a pin in my eardrum. I reached for my backpack. I always kept a notepad in the side pocket. I could write out everything that had actually happened. My hand barely touched the zipper when Xavier’s fingers snapped around my wrist. “What are you trying to pull out?” I yanked free and dug in with my other hand. Got the notepad. Started to open it. Xavier snatched it. Two clean rips. Paper rained down over my shoes. I stared at the scraps on the floor. The last warmth I had for this house went cold. Victoria let out a soft sob and buried herself deeper in Mom’s shoulder. “Xavier, please,” she breathed. “She’s just trying to…” “She pushed you to the edge and you’re still defending her.” He was practically shaking. “Someone like that doesn’t belong under this roof.” Dad gave Henderson one nod. “Get her out.”

I slept in the school dorms that night, curled on a narrow mattress. By 7 AM, my homeroom teacher was calling me into her office. Victoria was already there when I pushed the door open. Crumpled tissue in her hand. Eyes swollen to slits. She shrank back the moment she saw me. That perfect, practiced flinch. “Ella.” Ms. Hartley’s voice was flat. “Tell me what you did to Victoria yesterday.” Victoria sucked in a trembling breath. “Ma’am, please don’t. Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway. She called me a cuckoo in someone else’s nest. Said she’d make sure I couldn’t stay at this school.” Ms. Hartley picked up her phone. “I’ve already called your parents. They’re on their way.” The office door opened minutes later. Dad walked in iron-faced. Mom came in right behind him, already reaching for Victoria’s hand. “Is she at it again?” Dad’s voice was a grinding wheel. Ms. Hartley folded her hands. “Based on Victoria’s account, Ella has repeatedly targeted her with verbal abuse and threats, including threatening to get her expelled. This school has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying.” Dad turned on me. The disappointment in his eyes had weight. “Are you trying to destroy everything? Is that your goal?” I opened my mouth. Air. No sound. My hands came up, fingers starting to sign *no*, when his palm cracked across my face. The slap rang through the room. My head snapped sideways. My ear rang for three full seconds. I turned back slowly. Tears were already falling. “You want to cry? After what you did?” His voice dripped contempt. “You’re performing. Always performing. Trying to make everyone feel sorry for you.” Victoria tucked herself against Mom’s side and made a small, wounded sound. Mom looked at me like something spoiled. “Born rotten. Can’t stop going after my girl.” The office door had drifted open. A few classmates pressed into the gap, necks craning. “So she actually did all that.” “Seemed so shy and harmless. Funny how that works.” “No wonder her foster families kept sending her back.” I breathed in. Counted. Raised my hands again and signed: I didn’t do it. Ms. Hartley cut me off. “Ella. I need you to stop doing that. If you have something to say, say it out loud. Don’t perform for the room.” My hands dropped. So even my silence was a performance. Then, from the doorway, small and unsteady: “She’s not performing. That’s ASL.” Everyone turned. A girl stood at the threshold, fingers twisted in her jacket hem, chin barely up. “My little brother is Deaf. I grew up with sign language. She just signed I didn’t do it. And I think…” She swallowed. “I think she might be mute.”

The room froze. The girl in the doorway didn’t back down. Her cheeks were red but her voice stayed level. “I’m not guessing. ASL signs are standardized. What she signed was I didn’t do it. And she hasn’t spoken once since she started here. Everyone’s noticed.” Ms. Hartley’s skepticism cracked just slightly. “You’re certain?” “I’d stake it on it.” Silence pressed down over the office. Mom’s face shifted. Something small and reluctant moved behind her eyes. Something close to guilt. Then Victoria straightened. “Oh, Ella.” Her sigh was heartbroken. “Even if you don’t want to admit it, you didn’t have to rope someone else into covering for you. Pretending to be mute is not…” And just like that, whatever guilt had flickered in Mom’s expression vanished. Dad pivoted to me, white-hot. “You coached her. You planned this whole thing. You’re beyond help.” I reached into my jacket pocket. Unfolded the paper I always kept there. My medical documentation. Congenital vocal cord dysplasia. Official letterhead. My name in the diagnosis field. Dad ripped it out of my hand before I could show anyone. He didn’t read it. Tore it in half. Then quarters. Let the pieces fall. “Keep faking. I’ll have you sent somewhere they don’t reward it.” Mom’s voice dropped to something uglier. “We thought you were just damaged. Turns out you’re manipulative. I’m done.” Victoria’s face, half-hidden in Mom’s shoulder. The corner of her mouth curved up. So small. So fast. Gone before anyone could catch it. Ms. Hartley looked at the torn papers on the floor. She looked at me. Looked at the parents. Sighed. She waved toward the girl in the doorway. “Go back to class. We’ll handle it from here.” The girl looked at me. Eyes full of something helpless and sorry. Then she turned and walked away. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces of my documentation. The edges were sharp. My fingertip started bleeding. I barely felt it.

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The Moon Goddess said I carried the spirit of the White Wolf, so the Lycan King chose me as his heir’s mate. But on the day of my mating ceremony, my father’s bastard daughter stole my place and my mate. I found and exposed her scheme. My father fell to his knees before the king, and she was exiled to the slave quarters. So I thought I had won. And I mated with the Lycan King heir, Darius, and carried his pup. Until the day I went into labor. The healers said the birth had gone wrong, and I might not survive. When I was at death’s door, Darius walked into my chamber with that bastard, Sienna, on his arm. “Aria,” he said, “did you really think you could be my Luna? If you hadn’t tricked my father with that White Wolf nonsense, I would never have touched you.” “Your mother screamed for three days before she died. The rogues took turns with her until there was nothing left to bury.” Sienna leaned close to my ear, smiling. “The prophecy, the mate bond, the Luna’s throne. It was always meant to be mine.” Finally, I died with my unborn pup. When I woke up, I was back on the day of the mating ceremony. I sat up and found my hands were smooth. My belly was flat and the mating mark on my neck was gone. I was eighteen again, and the Mating Ceremony was still hours away. This life, I’ll let them have each other. But I still will be the Luna, and the next Alpha King’s throne will change hands. “Aria, once you enter the Royal Pack, you must control your temper. Never defy the Alpha Heir.” My mother was crying outside the ceremonial carriage. “Mom. I will. Don’t worry about me.” I decided to sit quietly in the carriage and wait for the ceremony to begin. Then the carriage lurched to a stop and I heard a voice I knew too well. “STOP!” It’s Darius. In my past life, I never saw him until the mating ceremony started. He had stayed in the Citadel, waiting for his mate. But now he was here and charging straight toward the servant’s carriage behind me. “This whole ceremony is a fraud!” he announced to the crowd. “Aria used a fake prophecy to steal what belongs to my true mate. Sienna is the real one chosen by the Moon Goddess!”

Hearing his words, I understood that he remembered what happened in the last life, too. He had been reborn, just like me. And he thought switching mates early would fix everything that went wrong in our past life. My mother was alarmed and lunged at him. “What are you doing now? Where was Aria?” He shoved her to the ground without looking and pulled Sienna out with his own hands. She wasn’t wearing the servant’s clothes. My jewelry was on her neck, and my ceremonial furs were put on. They had already made the switch before. Darius held her like she was something precious. “The Luna’s position belongs to Sienna. I’ve already informed the King. A liar like Aria will never set foot in my pack.” After he finished speaking I stepped out of the carriage. Sienna hid behind him, playing the victim. “Sister, I don’t know how we got switched. But since this is what the Alpha Heir wants… I can’t refuse him.” Every word dripped with false sweetness. The same act and the same lies. My mother could not control herself, her face went white with rage. “You ungrateful bitch! Your father pitied you enough to let you serve as Aria’s handmaiden, and you repay us by stealing her Luna place?” “This match was blessed by the Moon Goddess and decreed by the Lycan King! You’ll get our whole pack killed!” Darius stepped forward, eyes cold. “Shut your mouth. Sienna is my true mate. If Aria hadn’t lied her way into the King’s favor, I would never have looked at her twice.” He walked toward me then. Stopped inches from my face. Leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Aria. I killed you once. I can kill you again.” In my past life, those words would have made me beg and scream, even fight. Now I just smiled. “Then I wish the future Lycan King gets exactly what he wants.” He stared at me. He had expected tears and rage, but didn’t know what to do with calm now. I watched him leave with Sienna. She turned to smirk at me one last time. Let her smirk. Let her take the carriage, the jewels, the Luna’s throne. She had no idea what she was stealing. Darius thought he could change his fate by changing his mate. He seemed to have forgotten that even if I’m not his mate, I am still me. I carried the spirit of the White Wolf, which was the key to the next Alpha King’s success.

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The night before my engagement, I scrolled into a post. “Fell for my carpool buddy—what do I do?” The poster wrote: “He drives a Maybach. Same commute, same route every morning.” “Last week someone rear-ended me at a red light. I fell. He got out and helped me up…” Top comment with thousands of likes: 【If you don’t tell him, how will he know you like him?】 【What if he likes you back?】 I scrolled down. The post included a photo from the accident. A hand reaching out. On the wrist—a watch. Patek Philippe. Limited edition. I zoomed in on that image. Stared at the watch for a long time. I picked it out myself. His engagement gift. Engraved with our initials. Mine and Lucas’s. … The post was old, but trending harder than ever. I clicked on the poster’s profile. A girl’s heartbreaking chronicle of secret love. Until six months ago. She thanked everyone who told her to shoot her shot. Said they were together now. After that, sweet couple updates. He bought her flowers. Took her out on weekends. Last month, he gave her a ring. She posted it. Fingers intertwined. “He put it on me himself. Said when the time’s right, he’ll propose.” I zoomed in. Stared at it. For so long my eyes stung. I designed that ring. Nine revisions. Countless all-nighters. Every time I couldn’t go on, Lucas would wrap his arms around me from behind. Kiss me softly on the lips. I’d lean into him. “Almost done. One more draft.” He’d say, “I’ll stay with you.” Then he’d sit beside me. Working on his laptop. Waiting. Now, the design files are still on my computer. One-of-a-kind. But later, Lucas told me the jeweler lost the ring. I believed him. Cried my eyes out. Lucas kissed the tears from my eyes that day. Said he’d find an even better ring. Told me not to cry. Turns out it wasn’t lost. It’s on her finger. Two days ago, she posted again: “He’s so busy lately, barely has time for his girlfriend.” I scrolled past. Didn’t like. Didn’t comment. Just set my phone face-down on the table. Watched the drizzle outside. Busy planning our engagement gala, probably. My phone buzzed again. A new post from her. With location tagged. A restaurant. “He told me to meet him here at 8. Said he’s introducing me to his friends.” Ironclad evidence. The watch I chose. The ring I designed. But I still couldn’t believe it. That man was Lucas. Like I was possessed, I changed clothes. Called the family driver. Told him to take me to the restaurant. 7:20 PM. I arrived early. The hostess smiled, asked who I was meeting. I gave her Lucas’s number. She checked. Led me to a private room. The hallway stretched long, carpeted in deep red. My heels made no sound. At the door of the private room— Not fully closed. Voices drifted out. “Bro, you’re really rolling out the red carpet for your girl, huh? 8 o’clock dinner, but we’re all here at 7:30.” “She’s shy. Wanted you guys here early so you don’t say stupid shit when she shows up.” “Relax, man. We got you.” Laughter. The clink of glasses. Through the chatter, someone brought me up. “What about the one at home, bro? I mean, we all grew up together.” “Clara? Come on. She’s the daughter of Lucas’s lifesaver, if we’re being nice.” “But let’s be real—she’s just a charity case. The stowaway her mom left behind when she kicked it.” “At best, she’s a childhood playmate.” I stood frozen. Waiting for Lucas to say something. He’d shut them down. He had to. Like back in high school, when someone called me an orphan. He didn’t say a word—just grabbed the guy and beat him into the ground. Afterward he looked at me, eyes red with anger and hurt. “Anyone says that again, I’ll wreck them.” He would. He’d tell them to stop. He’d say I wasn’t a charity case.

“Facts are facts.” Lucas’s voice floated through the crack in the door. Light. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather. “But.” He paused. “Don’t say that stuff to her face.” “She’s sensitive.” Someone laughed. “Ooh, protective much?” “Protective of what?” His voice was lazy now. “My mom’s dying wish. I’m supposed to take care of her.” “She lives at the house. I provide. It’s the least I can do.” “Think of it like keeping a pet.” “Not that much work.” More laughter. I stood frozen at the door. Tears streaming down my face. My whole body shaking. A pet. I didn’t care how I looked. I shoved the door open. Everyone stared. Lucas sat at the head of the table, casually swirling a glass of wine. The second he saw me, his face changed. “Clara.” He stood. “What are you doing here? I told you to rest.” The others didn’t dare breathe. I smiled. My face was wet with tears. Must’ve looked pathetic. “Lucas, did you just call me a pet?” He opened his mouth. “Let me explain—” “Explain what?” “That I’m just an extra mouth to feed?” “That keeping me isn’t that much work?” “Or—” Emotion choked my throat. I stopped. Tears surged again. “That my mom who saved your life was just a housekeeper to you?” His expression shifted. Not panic. Something else. I’d seen it before. The way he looked at beggars when we were kids. That exact look. Annoyed. Disgusted. Why are you here again? He frowned. Looked away from me. Said nothing. But that look said more than words ever could. Someone in the room glanced at their watch. “Bro, it’s almost eight.” He hummed. Didn’t move. Didn’t look at me either. A few minutes later, he finally spoke. Dismissive as hell. “Clara, go home.” “Tomorrow’s engagement party is still on.” “You’ll get what you want.” “Stop making a scene.” What I want… I opened my mouth. Tried to say something. He raised his hand. Cut me off. Eyes fell on my hands. Red from the cold. Still trembling. Lucas frowned, grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “It’s freezing.” He draped it over my shoulders. Quick. Like he was afraid he’d change his mind. The jacket still held his warmth. I froze. Looked up at him. He looked back. Something flickered in his eyes. Too fast. Too fast for me to tell if it was pity or just habit. “Go home.” His voice softened slightly. “Focus on the engagement.” Security stepped forward. I didn’t move. Wearing his jacket. Standing there. Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for that look to come back. But it didn’t. All I got was security urging me to leave. They escorted me out. At the elevator, the doors opened. Inside stood a girl. Phone in her hand. Screen lit up. A photo of her kissing Lucas. As we passed each other, she glanced at me. Just once.

“Babe!” She ran past me, threw herself into his arms. He caught her. Looked down at her and smiled. A smile I hadn’t seen in so long. The elevator doors closed. I couldn’t see them anymore. Just my own reflection in the elevator walls. Face covered in tears. Ugly. The jacket draped over my shoulders. Warm. But I couldn’t stop shaking. When I walked out of the restaurant, security handed me an umbrella. I didn’t take it. Rain pounded down on me. Bone-chilling cold. I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to wake up. Wanted to wash away these twenty years. By the time I got back to the villa, I was soaked through. His jacket still on my shoulders. I took it off. Fell onto the bed. Cold. My head felt numb. Don’t know how long passed. My eyelids got heavier. When I woke up, my whole body was burning. Head splitting like it was cracking open. I touched my forehead. Scalding. I had a fever. Images started flooding in, chaotic and blurred. The first time he held my hand. I was seven. Mom was gone. They brought me to the Ashford house. He was three years older. Stood at the door, watched me for a long time. Like a prince from a fairy tale. Held out his hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” When I had cramps, he’d get me some ibuprofen. And tuck a heating pad around me. On my eighteenth birthday, he snuck in a cake. Just the two of us. He lit the candles. “Make a wish.” I asked, “What should I wish for?” He looked at me. Word by word: “Wish that we’ll always be together.” But then, the scene shifted. Mom lying in a pool of blood. When that car came at them, she pushed Lucas out of the way. She couldn’t dodge it. He knelt on the ground. Hands covered in blood. I ran to her. Held her. She looked at me one last time. “Clara, take care of yourself.” I kept crying. Tears so hot they felt like they’d evaporate. I wanted Lucas. I needed him. Wanted to hear him say “I’m here” one more time. My phone on the nightstand rang. I fumbled for it, half-conscious. A voice came through. Not his. A woman’s. Moaning. Over and over. I gripped the phone. Tears sliding down my face. Onto the pillow. Soaking it. The other end went quiet. Then his voice. Amused. Breathless. “Sorry. Butt dial.” He hung up. I stared at the ceiling. The room spinning. My stomach lurched. I tried to get out of bed. Too late. I threw up on the floor. Nothing in my stomach. Just water. Sour. Bitter. Mixed with tears. I slumped over the edge of the bed. The world was shaking. The fever hadn’t broken. The images kept looping in my head. Mom’s last words. The woman’s moans. Back and forth. I threw up again. Nothing came out this time. Just dry heaving. Convulsing. I collapsed back onto the bed. Closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was morning. I was in a hospital. The fever had broken. My body ached. Lucas sat by the bed. Don’t know when he got here. Leaning against the wall. Eyes closed. Like he’d been keeping watch all morning. I moved slightly. He woke up. Opened his eyes. Looked at me. For a second, there was confusion in his gaze. Like he’d forgotten everything that happened between us. Then he stood. Reached out. Touched my forehead. His palm was cool. “Fever’s gone.” His voice was hoarse. I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. He looked into my eyes. “Why didn’t you call a doctor?” “……” “Why didn’t you call me?” “……” “Clara, do you even realize you had a fever?” When I didn’t answer, he said one more thing. “The engagement’s off.” “Happy now?” I froze. “I—” “Enough.” He cut me off. Tucked the blanket around me. “Stop tormenting me.”

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