Everyone in New York knows Victor Roccanti is a bloodthirsty killer who never touches women. Julian was terrified his adopted sister Mia would suffer if she married him. so he forced me to impersonate her. “Just act like a slut. He’ll be disgusted enough to call off the engagement. Then I’ll come get you.” One reckless night. I walked out of the Roccanti estate barely able to stand. Julian rushed over to check my body. My collarbone and chest were covered in hickeys.He lost it, screaming: “I told you to act! Who said you could actually fuck him?” “You that desperate for dick? Even the goddamn Grim Reaper?” I calmly fixed my collar. “You’re wrong, Julian.” “Victor… he was gentle.” … Julian stared at the hickey on my neck. His hand shot out and grabbed my throat, squeezing like he wanted to crush my windpipe. “Gentle? That monster’s buried three fiancées and he wrecked you like this—you call that gentle?” “I sent you there to ruin the alliance, not to actually spread your legs for him!” “You’re mine. How dare you let him touch you?” My head tilted back from his grip, face turning red. But I didn’t fight back. I just looked down, watching his rage. “Julian… you promised me money…” Julian let go like I’d burned him. My legs gave out and I stumbled into the shelf behind me. He pulled out a handkerchief. Wiped his fingers clean, then threw it in the trash can nearby. Flames swallowed it instantly. Three years ago, my father’s embezzlement was exposed. He took a bullet for me and swore to protect me for life. Now he has personally pushed me into another man’s bed. He is even stingy with my brother’s medical bills to keep him alive. He stared at me, eyes full of pain: “If Mia weren’t terrified of Victor’s violent temper and refusing to marry him, I would never have sent you…” Seeing my numb expression, the guilt in his eyes instantly turned to anger. He pulled out his wallet, yanked out dozens of crumpled hundred-dollar bills, and threw them viciously in my face. He ripped the cash from his pocket and threw it at me. Hundred-dollar bills mixed with checks scattered on the floor, rolling into the dusty corners. “Take your money and go clean yourself up. ” “Victor’s paranoid as hell. ” “If he finds out you impersonated Mia, you and that half-dead brother of yours will be at the bottom of the Hudson feeding the fish!”” He turned to leave. I held onto the cabinet and slowly crouched down, fingers searching the cold floor. One. Two. I picked up each scattered bill. Blew off the dust and carefully tucked them away. Julian stopped at the door and looked back at me. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Born cheap. Even when it’s money from selling yourself, you think it smells sweet.” It does smell sweet. This money keeps my brother Leo alive. I just looked at him calmly. “Julian. Where’s the Plan B?” Julian stopped, turned back to look at me. Something complicated and painful flashed in his eyes. Like he remembered the socialite who once dazzled New York. Then my humiliation seemed to hurt him, turning into deeper disgust. “What? Scared you’ll get pregnant with Victor’s kid? ” “Relax. The private doctor said after your miscarriage hemorrhage, your uterus is ruined. ” “You can never get pregnant.” “Stop worrying about things that won’t happen!” The door slammed shut. Cold air rushed in. I gripped the money tightly. This money, plus what I’d saved before, was just enough for Leo’s medication for one month. I walked to the table. Poured a cup of cold water and swallowed the cheap painkillers from my pocket. Bitterness spread in my throat. I didn’t care what Julian thought of me. As long as Leo could live, even if it meant being Victor’s mistress forever, I’d do it.

Next morning before dawn, the maid dragged me out of bed. “Miss Vance, Boss says you need to dress up. There’s a gala tonight at the Plaza, you’re going as Miss Mia.” The maid’s grip was rough, hurting my arm. I forced myself up despite the soreness. Let them paint makeup on my face. Mia was Julian’s adopted sister, his precious darling. She was too delicate for these exhausting galas. Julian always made me go as her stand-in. We looked similar enough anyway. Just wear a veil, stay quiet, and nobody would notice. In the car, Julian kept his eyes closed. Didn’t even glance at me. Only when we reached the hotel ballroom did he finally speak. “Victor will be there tonight. Behave yourself.” “If he sees through this, you can start planning your father’s funeral.” My father. He’d been dead in prison for two weeks. Julian knew, but still used him to threaten me. I couldn’t expose the truth. Leo still needed money for treatment. I lowered my head. “Yes.” At the gala, champagne flowed. I sat beside Julian, eyes down, peeling grapes on my plate. A burning gaze stayed fixed on me. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Victor sat at the head table in a black suit, dark hair slicked back. The Don of New York’s largest crime family. The man every mobster in this room answered to. Even radiating violence, his face was devastatingly handsome. He played with his wine glass. But his eyes never stopped roaming over me. He raised his glass toward Julian, but his gaze licked across my collarbone as he smiled. “You’re a lucky man. Your sister may be fragile, but that body…” “I’d recognize it anywhere. Unforgettable.” Julian’s face went pale, but he could only force a smile and drain his glass. Under the table, he dug his fingers into my thigh. The pain made my hand shake. The grape I’d peeled rolled onto the floor. “Useless piece of shit.” Julian cursed under his breath. After three rounds of drinks, Victor stood to leave. As he passed our table, he paused. A lighter slipped from his pocket, landing right at my feet. Heavy platinum Zippo. Everyone around was talking, nobody noticed. I bent down instinctively to pick it up. The metal was warm, silky smooth against my fingers. Long and thick, with just enough heft. Victor didn’t walk away. Instead, he used one finger to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. Right in front of Julian. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Such skilled hands.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “You know exactly how to handle things.” He leaned closer, breath hot against my ear. “Keep it. Take it home and… practice with it.” “Get yourself familiar with the shape. The weight. How it feels.” His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. “I want you well-trained.” Julian’s wine glass shattered in his grip, liquid spilling everywhere. I didn’t dare look up, just pressed my lips together. This lighter is worth a fortune, enough to cover three years of Leo’s treatments. In the car going back, I carefully hid the lighter in my sleeve. “Hand it over.” Julian’s voice suddenly cut through. I froze, didn’t dare disobey, and gave him the lighter. Julian held the lighter. Examined it by the car’s interior light, then let out a cold laugh. “Custom Zippo? Victor’s feeling generous.” He glanced at me dismissively. “Think this is some kind of love token? It’s just how he plays with women.” “Something like this, only someone as cheap and desperate as you would treasure it.” He casually flicked his wrist. The lighter arced through the air, out the window, falling into a gutter on the side of the road. “No… that was…” I cried out, trying to stop him, but Julian pulled me into his arms. “Shut up! It’s just a piece of junk, contaminating my car.” I didn’t care about dignity, threw myself at the window staring at that puddle of filth. Cold spread through me from my feet upward. That wasn’t just a lighter. That was Leo’s medicine. Leo’s last breath, the lifeline he was desperately clinging to at death’s door! Julian watched my agony and seemed pleased. “Remember this. You’re just a substitute.” “Victor wants Mia Moretti, not you, Clara Vance.”

We got back to the estate late at night. Before I even walked in, I heard suppressed coughing from inside. It was Leo. My heart tightened and I rushed through the door. Only one dim lamp lit the room. Leo was skeletal, curled up on the bed, his cheeks burning red. “Sis… I feel awful…” He called out in a daze. I touched his forehead. Burning hot. The medicine we bought before was gone. The doctor said if we didn’t get the serum in time, he wouldn’t make it through winter. I searched my entire body. Aside from the cash Julian threw at me last night, I had nothing. That money couldn’t even buy a single dose. I gritted my teeth and ran to the main house. Mia’s room was bright with lights. I knelt in the hallway, kowtowing toward the room. “Julian, please have mercy. Leo can’t hold on much longer…” “You promised before, as long as I did what you said and went to see Victor, you’d keep Leo safe.” “Please give me one dose of serum to save his life!” “As long as Leo lives, I’ll do whatever you want, I swear!” Laughter came from inside. After a long time, the door finally opened. Julian walked out with Mia in his arms. Mia wore thick furs, her face glowing, looking nothing like someone sick. “Clara Vance, what are you freaking out about now?” I crawled forward and grabbed Julian’s clothes. “Julian, my brother is dying. He needs serum to survive.” “Please, for all the times I stood in for Mia, save him!” Julian frowned. “The storage still has a few vials,” he said. Mia suddenly interrupted him, covering her chest and letting out a soft, fragile cough. “Jules, the doctor said I need regular medication too.” Julian immediately tensed and supported her. “Your health comes first. Those vials are for you.” He turned back to me, his tone cold. “Leo’s condition is a bottomless pit. Even with treatment, it’s just pouring money down the drain.” I stared at him in disbelief. Mia treated it as routine care. For Leo, it was life support. “Julian, Mia just needs maintenance. My brother needs this to survive…” Julian absently stroked Mia’s hair, not even looking at me. “How can your brother compare to Mia?” “Don’t even think about it—if Mia needs any vial in this house, she gets them first.” Mia leaned into his arms and gave me a smug smile. “Clara, it’s not that I won’t help.” “I’ll have them save the leftover doses for you. If there’s anything still worth using.” Humiliation. Pure humiliation. I stood up from the ground and wiped my tears. “No need.” If the estate wouldn’t give me a way to live, someone else would.

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The day Chicago got its first snow of the season, Ethan Mercer told me he was getting married. Seven years. I knew the rules of that world. A woman who made her living in front of cameras had no place at the threshold of a family like his. The night we ended things, we were strangely calm. “The apartment and the car are yours,” he said. “The projects I promised you still stand. And that check for three million — I added a zero.” “Anything else you want?” “No.” I took his settlement money like the sensible woman I was, and disappeared from his life. Until three months later, on a live celebrity panel show, when Bianca Holt told the entire internet I was pregnant. …… “Zara — oh my God, are you pregnant?!” The studio erupted. The live comment feed went insane. [ ??? ] [ Did Bianca actually just say that on live TV? What is WRONG with her ] [ That’s just Bianca being Bianca, she’s so real for this ] [ The only thing I care about: who’s the father ] [ Who else? Her billionaire, obviously ] [ Bianca is SO cooked. Zara’s guy will bury her ] [ … ] I was facing the screen. I read every single one. The host broke into a sweat and stepped in. “Bianca, are you sure you didn’t mix something up?” Bianca was already doubling down. “I’ve been watching her all week — she hasn’t touched a drink, she went pale during the afternoon break, and she’s been pressing her hand to her stomach when she thinks no one’s looking.” She smiled at me. “I know the signs. I’m right, aren’t I, Zara?” Three months. I did the math. It would have been the last night before Ethan and I ended things. Seven years together, and we’d always been careful. He was consistent; when things went further than planned, I took care of it after. That last night, maybe because we both knew it was the last night, we didn’t stop until morning. I went straight to set the next day. In the chaos of filming, I forgot. Across the table, Bianca was still waiting for my answer. I slid my wrist out of her reach and said nothing. At the level I was at now, she wasn’t worth the energy. The host laughed nervously and dragged the conversation somewhere else. By the time I got into the car after filming, my publicist had her phone in my face before I’d even buckled my seatbelt. Twitter trending, top three: #ZaraVossPregnant #WhoIsZaraVossBillionaire #MercerGroup Ethan had always kept a low profile. But when it came to making sure the industry knew I was protected — that I had someone behind me — he’d never been subtle about it. That someone was him. It started the year I broke into the industry, when a well-connected actor used a scene as cover to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was too green to know it wasn’t about my performance. I didn’t even think I deserved to be upset. Ethan was furious. He said I was an idiot. Gently. The next day, the actor was blacklisted. I’d asked quietly, “He has people behind him. Are you sure you want to do that?” “The people behind him should be worried about crossing me,” he said. For seven years, he poured every resource he had into my career. Oscar winners cast as my co-stars. The best directors offering me first pick of their projects. On the red carpet, industry veterans stepped aside. “My Zara should only ever be at the top,” he used to say. I hadn’t let him down. I’d made myself a household name. Which meant that with an influence like mine, a trending topic about a pregnancy was almost certainly going to reach Ethan Mercer. It did. His number lit up my screen the second I walked into my agency. I stared at those digits — ones I knew by heart — and let it ring out. When it went to voicemail, I sent three texts. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow for a proper test. If I am, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I won’t make this your problem.

It was already March, and the snow hadn’t stopped. Snow like this — thick and relentless — always brought me back to the night I first met Ethan. I was nineteen. A sophomore at NYU Tisch. He was the kind of investor that made school administrators straighten their spines and smile too hard. I was chosen to attend the fundraiser dinner. The reward was a supporting role in an upcoming production. A few glasses of whiskey in, the gentlemen in the room stopped pretending. They started pushing drinks on me. Ethan was at the head of the table. He tapped one finger against the side of his glass, unhurried. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.” Just that. No one pushed another drink on me for the rest of the night. I looked up, startled. He glanced over at the same moment. One second, in a room full of noise and flattery. Our eyes met. I thanked him and didn’t think much of it. A man like that had no reason to ever cross paths with someone like me again. But after that night, he kept appearing. Always the one rescuing me. A role stolen by the dean’s daughter — one word from him and it was returned. A blizzard night when I couldn’t get a cab — he drove me back to the dorms himself. My father’s surgery, the hospital out of O-negative blood — Ethan Mercer, in his tailored suit, donated four hundred cc’s without being asked. He was too good to me. Good enough to scare me. I was afraid it was just boredom. That I was a distraction for a man who had everything. I was the one who broke first. “What do you want?” I said. “Is it to sleep with me? Then let’s get it over with.” I reached for my buttons. “After that, we’re even.” He stilled my hands. Pulled my shirt closed. Let out a quiet breath. “Zara. What do you want?” My lashes trembled. I made myself hold his gaze. “I want to be loved like I’m enough,” I said. “Can you do that?” Ethan went still. Then, slowly, a smile. He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. His voice was soft enough to undo a person. “Yes.” He wasn’t lying. He loved me the way I’d asked to be loved. But love isn’t everything. It wasn’t strong enough to close the distance between where he came from and where I did. Class is a wall you can’t charm your way through. No matter how high I climbed, I couldn’t make it disappear. The day we ended things, Chicago was under its first snow of the year. The night before, we moved through every room of the apartment. He cooked dinner. When I finished eating, he said: “I’m getting married.” A few seconds of silence. Then I set down my chopsticks and said, “Okay.” We sat there for a long time. The food went cold. Eventually he spoke. “The apartment and the car are yours. The projects I promised, still yours. That check — I added a zero.” “Anything else?” “No.” Ethan nodded. He stood, turned, and walked out into the snow. I watched his back until it was gone. Somewhere in that moment, I felt the faint pull of something I couldn’t name. We’d been together seven years and I didn’t think I’d ever said it out loud. Those three words. Seven years. Snow after snow after snow. I’d let myself believe we might grow old in it. I let myself believe there would still be time. What a shame. The snow thickened. His silhouette dissolved into white. My vision blurred. I touched my face, slow and dull, only then registering the cold. Tears.

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The night I was thrown out, there was blood pooling beneath me, and I was rushed to the emergency room. The doctor said my ectopic pregnancy had ruptured. Surgery was immediate, or I would die. With trembling hands, I dialed my husband Ryan’s number. But what came through the other end was his mistress Kate’s cheerful laughter: “Ryan! Oliver’s so happy today!” Oliver was their two-year-old illegitimate son. Then I heard Ryan speak in a voice colder than anything I’d ever heard from him: “Ellie, stop with the theatrics. Besides—” “You think some half-formed embryo matters more than a living child?” The line went dead. Later, I signed the divorce papers, changed every piece of contact information I had, and disappeared completely. Until one year later, when I ran into him at an industry summit—this time as a partner at a top architectural firm. He was clutching my medical records, on his knees in front of me, weeping. … … The first year Ryan transferred to the New York headquarters, he video-called me every night until midnight. The second year, it became once a week. The third year, the calls stopped entirely. All that remained were texts so short they read like office memos. I kept telling myself that marriage required trust. Until that afternoon, when he sent me a single message. “Ellie, Mom wants you to come back home. She says she needs to talk to you.” I thought his mother Elaine was ill. I took time off work and booked the earliest flight I could find. But when I walked into Elaine’s old house, the person sitting in the living room wasn’t a doctor. It was a woman I’d never seen before. She was young, blonde, wearing a loose beige knit dress, both hands cradling her belly. “Who is she?” I forced my voice steady, though it still trembled at the edges. “Ellie, sweetie, you understand.” Elaine sat by the fireplace, her voice so gentle it made my blood run cold. “I’m not asking you to divorce Ryan. I just think you should be generous enough to give Kate a proper place in this family.” “She’s been with Ryan in New York all this time. You know how much pressure he’s been under these past few years. She’s helped him enormously.” For a moment, I felt as though I’d been struck over the head. My entire body went rigid, and I couldn’t form words. Kate. Ryan’s secretary. The woman Ryan had sworn he only ever saw at the office. I shifted my gaze to her. Kate’s eyes were red-rimmed. She kept her head down, her voice as soft as milk diluted with water: “Ellie, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” I looked at her belly. “So?” Her voice was light as a feather. “I’m pregnant. The baby needs a father.” A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Elaine was already barreling ahead, as though announcing some perfectly respectable arrangement. “Ryan is a responsible man. Ellie, you haven’t been able to conceive—no one’s blaming you entirely. We can find a doctor to help you along. But Kate’s baby can’t just go without recognition.” I sat on the sofa and suddenly found the room laughably unfamiliar. “Recognition?” Elaine nodded. “You’re still Ryan’s wife. No one’s going to take that away from you. It’s just that Kate and the baby deserve a respectable status too.” “Sounds like you’ve already made the decision for me.” I let out a short laugh. “Then you should be talking to the man who got her pregnant. Not me.” I stood, grabbed my coat, and walked toward the front door. Just as I reached it, I heard a car pulling up outside. A black Bentley stopped in front of the house. Ryan stepped out of the driver’s seat. The moment he saw me, the color drained from his face. The passenger door opened too. A little boy, maybe two years old, reached out his arms, calling in that high, milky voice: “Daddy! Up!” I stopped on the steps. Two years old. Ten months of pregnancy, plus two years. That lined up perfectly with Ryan’s first year in New York. The man who had video-called me every night until the small hours, who whispered “I miss you” over and over through the screen, who would order hot soup delivered to my door at midnight just because I mentioned my stomach felt off—during all of that, he had already fathered another woman’s child. Ryan stood frozen beside the car. He clearly hadn’t expected to find me walking out. “Ellie…” Then Kate rushed out of the house behind me and grabbed my arm. “Ellie, please don’t blame him. It was all my fault. That night—I’d had too much to drink, I threw myself at him. His heart has always been with you…” I shook her off. “Don’t touch me.” Ryan finally snapped out of it and strode toward me—but instinctively positioned himself in front of Kate. “Ellie, let me explain.” “Explain what?” I stared at him. “How you fucked her during the day and called me Honey on your phone at night?” Ryan’s face went sheet-white. He lowered his voice, a plea threading through it. “Don’t do this here. Mom’s right there.” I stared at him for two full seconds, then laughed. “What? You think this is embarrassing? Didn’t seem to bother you when you were cheating.” Elaine walked over too, the little boy in her arms, not a trace of guilt on her face. “Ellie, what’s done is done. Oliver is Ryan’s son, and Kate’s carrying another one. You can’t conceive—you can’t expect Ryan to have no heir.” I looked at Ryan. “You didn’t tell her?” Ryan wouldn’t meet my eyes. I stepped closer. “The year you drank yourself into a stomach hemorrhage trying to close that deal—I quit my project. I stayed in that hospital with you for three months, days and nights blurring together, until my body completely broke down. When my hormones crashed and the doctor told me to stop pulling all-nighters, who kept calling me at two in the morning saying he couldn’t cope alone?” But Elaine only frowned. “Ellie, don’t pin everything on Ryan.” Ryan said quietly: “Ellie, enough.” “It’s not enough,” I said. Kate hid behind him, eyes glistening. “Ellie, I really don’t want to hurt you. If you’re willing—I don’t need a wedding, I don’t need a ring, I don’t need to be called Mrs. Blackwell. The children can call you Mom. I’ll just stay and take care of them. All I want is to be near Ryan.” How touching. Ryan’s gaze softened the moment he looked at her. When he turned back to me, his voice had already gone cold. “Kate has already compromised this much. What more do you want?” I looked at him and almost didn’t recognize the man. “Ellie, if it weren’t for Kate helping me in New York these past two years, I’d never have gotten a foothold there. You stayed in Chicago drawing your blueprints. You have no idea how hard things were for me.” I nodded. “You’re right. I don’t.” All I knew was that his first round of startup capital came from me selling the house my grandmother left me. All I knew was that I waited for his weekly text until three in the morning, and that made me a fool. I reached into my bag and pulled out a black voice recorder. He’d given it to me before he left for New York. He’d said: “When you miss me, just listen to this.” Ryan’s face changed instantly. “All I know is you said to wait three years, and then you’d bring me out to join you.” I pressed play. Ryan’s voice—young and tender—floated out of the speaker. “Ellie, give me three years. I’ll bring you to New York. I’ll give you the home we’ve always wanted.” “Ellie, I love you. Forever.” The air went dead silent. Ryan lunged for it. “Ellie, don’t—” I let go. The recorder clattered onto the stone steps. Then I lifted my foot and brought it down, hard. A clean, sharp crack. I looked at him. “Ryan, we’re done.” I turned and walked away. His voice came from behind me. “Ellie!” But the next second, his footsteps were cut short by Kate’s gasp— “Ryan, my stomach—it hurts so bad…” Ryan turned instinctively to catch her. I didn’t look back. I flagged down a cab waiting at the curb and pulled the door shut cleanly behind me. “Airport.”

I went to the airport and bought the next available ticket back to Chicago. That apartment had been one we’d picked out together. Open kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, our fifth anniversary photo hanging on the wall. In the picture, I was smiling like an idiot, leaning against his shoulder, as if I actually had a home. When I pushed open the door, the silence was deafening. Two pairs of slippers in the entryway. His razor still in the bathroom. A sticky note on the fridge in his handwriting. “Don’t skip dinner. Love, R.” I stared at those words for a few seconds, peeled the note off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash. I hauled out a suitcase. I didn’t touch a single thing of his. Of my own things, I took only my documents, a few changes of clothes, my laptop, and some design portfolios. I’d just zipped the suitcase shut when the electronic lock at the front door clicked open. Ryan stood in the doorway, windblown and haggard, his tie yanked loose, eyes bloodshot. He’d followed me here. When he saw the suitcase, he panicked. “Ellie, don’t do this.” I looked up. “Move.” He strode over and pressed his hand down on mine. “I admit I’m a bastard. I admit I was wrong. But I never once thought about divorcing you.” “Let go.” “No.” He pulled me into his arms, holding on so tight it was as though he thought I might vanish. “That time with Kate was genuinely an accident. The headquarters celebration—I blacked out. By the time I woke up, it had already happened.” I laughed coldly in his arms. “Then she got pregnant. The doctors said her body was fragile, that there was a high risk of miscarriage.” “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just stand there and watch her die—watch the baby die.” He’d offloaded every ounce of responsibility onto accident and circumstance. I shoved him off me with everything I had, then slapped him across the face. The crack echoed through the living room. Ryan’s head snapped to the side. The skin reddened almost instantly. I stared at him. “Fine. The first child was an accident. What about the second one she’s carrying now? Did you black out for that one too?” He said nothing. In that single second, I had every answer I needed. He wasn’t some universally soft-hearted man. He was simply soft—for her. And through her, that child had become his weakness. Ryan clenched his jaw. “Ellie, do you have to be this cruel about it?” “Cruel?” I laughed. “Was it pretty when you were cheating?” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “I told you—you’re my only wife. Most of the assets will stay with you. Kate doesn’t want anything. She just wants to give the children a complete family.” His shamelessness actually made me laugh. But midway through the laughter, tears started falling. “And what about me?” I asked. He blinked. “What?” “What am I? Your legal roommate? A decorative piece now that your career’s taken off? A free stepmother for you and Kate’s kids?” “Don’t say that.” “Then what do you want me to say?” My voice shook. “Congratulations? Should I throw her a baby shower? Or maybe just find myself a spot next to your family portrait?” “Ryan Blackwell—do you think that because you’ve made it to the top, you’re entitled to have both a wife and a mistress?” “What is this marriage to you? What am I to you?” “Then what exactly do you want me to do?” he snarled. “Strangle the two-year-old? Push Kate off a building?” Ryan lowered his voice. “Ellie, you never used to be this vicious.” A chill ran through me. “So refusing to accept a mistress and a bastard child makes me vicious.” My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. I opened it. A photo. Kate lying in a hospital bed, face pale, an IV in the back of her hand. The caption read: “Ellie, I know Ryan went back to find you. I’m here alone in the hospital trying to save the baby. I’m really scared. But I don’t blame you. As long as you two are okay, I can endure anything.” A second message popped up immediately after. A photo of a share transfer agreement. Ryan had transferred thirty percent of Blackwell Group’s equity into the name of Oliver Blackwell. His two-year-old illegitimate son. I held the phone up to Ryan’s face. “This is what you meant by ‘most of the assets stay with me’?” Ryan saw the contents and his expression crumbled. “Listen to me—my mother forced me to sign that. She said the child needed security.” “The child needed security,” I repeated. “And what do my eight years count for?” “Ellie…” I didn’t want to hear another word. I grabbed the suitcase handle. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. City hall.” He froze. “What?” “We’re getting divorced.” I said it word by word. “If you don’t show, I’ll file. And while I’m at it, I’ll upload this agreement, Kate’s photo, and every wonderful thing you and your mother said today straight into the company’s internal system.” Ryan’s eyes reddened further. “Ellie, I can’t—” His phone rang. Kate’s name flashed on the screen. He didn’t answer. I looked back at him. “Pick up. Isn’t she all alone in the hospital, scared?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. The phone kept ringing. I dragged my suitcase toward the door. Ryan didn’t come after me. Because in the end, he answered the call. Kate’s weak sobbing drifted out from behind me. “Ryan, the doctor says the baby might not make it…”

The next day, Ryan didn’t show. At 9:07 a.m., he sent me a long message telling me not to be impulsive. “Kate had a bad night. I couldn’t leave.” “Ellie, I’m not signing any divorce papers. Let’s both cool down.” I didn’t reply. I contacted a lawyer directly and had litigation papers drafted. But I hadn’t expected Ryan to move faster than me. A week later, Blackwell Group held its annual gala. I was the lead designer at the Chicago division, responsible for the year’s most important commercial project. Attendance was mandatory. The venue was in Manhattan, where the New York headquarters was located. The moment I walked into the ballroom, I sensed the unusual stares. Someone whispered: “That’s her? Ryan’s wife?” “Heard they’ve been married for years and she still hasn’t had a kid.” “Kate’s already pregnant with the second one, and she’s still clinging to the Mrs. Blackwell title.” “If I were her, I’d take the money and go. How embarrassing.” I swept a cold glance across those gossiping faces and walked straight to my seat. Onstage, Ryan stood in a dark gray Tom Ford suit, delivering the annual summary. His gaze cut through the crowd and landed on me. A warning. I met it calmly. When the awards segment began, the host’s voice rang out. “This year’s Best Commercial Space Design Award goes to—Kate Miller!” My head snapped up. Kate wore a silver gown, her slightly rounded belly unmistakable under the lights. She glided onto the stage amid applause, accepted the trophy, eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, everyone.” She gazed at Ryan through glistening eyes. “Especially Ryan. Without his guidance, I never could have completed this project.” Thunderous applause. I sat in my corner, shaking. That project—from concept to execution—had been mine alone. I’d bled over it through countless sleepless nights. Kate couldn’t even read a construction drawing. Ryan took the microphone. “There’s one more announcement tonight.” He looked at me, his tone as formal as a board meeting memo. “Due to personal health reasons, Ellie Blackwell will be taking indefinite leave. The position of Design Director at the Chicago division will be temporarily filled by Kate Miller.” A beat of silence, then murmurs rippled through the room. Some looked sympathetic, some watched for the spectacle, most were waiting for me to break. I finally understood. Ryan wasn’t trying to save the marriage. He was trying to make me submit. He’d stolen my work, hollowed out my position, and publicly trampled my dignity—all to send one message: without him, I was nothing. I stood up. No hysterics. No panicked flight. I walked to the front of the stage, step by step, and looked up at Ryan towering above me. “Mr. Blackwell, plagiarizing someone’s intellectual work is a legal violation. You’re aware of that, yes?” Ryan’s expression darkened. He lowered his voice. “Ellie, tonight is not the place for you to have a meltdown. Putting Kate’s name on the project was my way of compensating her.” “I can give you double the money if you want. Just stop making a scene.” “Compensating.” I smiled. “You take my life’s work, hand it to your mistress to pave her career, and expect me to applaud?” “Ryan Blackwell, you never cease to amaze me.” Kate spoke up softly from beside him. “Ellie, don’t blame Ryan. I wanted to prove myself. I’ll give you all the prize money. I really didn’t mean to take what’s yours.” Her words drew a wave of sympathetic murmurs. “Kate’s so gracious.” Another woman chimed in: “Honestly, Ellie’s being way too aggressive.” I looked at Kate. “You wanted to prove yourself? Then explain—right now—why the atrium skylight uses triangular steel framing. Why the fire egress plan went through three revisions.” Kate went white. “I… those details were a team effort…” I cut her off. “You don’t even know where the drawing files are stored.” Ryan stepped forward. “Enough.” I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden, searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. Like a blade being driven in from the inside. I doubled over instinctively, pressing my hand to my stomach. Cold sweat broke across my forehead. Ryan looked at me coldly. “The same act twice isn’t interesting anymore.” I could barely form words through the pain. “I’m not—” He turned to security. “Please escort my wife out.” Two guards approached, flanking me on either side. I tried to struggle, but my body had gone limp with pain. “Let go of me…” I gritted my teeth. “I need a hospital…” No one listened. Kate stood onstage and murmured: “Ryan, don’t—Ellie might really be unwell.” Ryan didn’t even glance at me. “She’s just trying to ruin tonight.” I was dragged out of the ballroom and deposited on the steps outside the hotel. As the doors swung shut, I heard Kate’s honeyed voice from within. “Ryan, the baby just kicked.” Applause and laughter seeped through the closed doors. I sat on the freezing steps, doubled over in pain. Then I felt something warm and wet spreading along my inner thigh. I looked down. Blood.

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

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

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

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Ten years after I died, they finally caught the bastard. Thirteen murders. One of them — me. The trial is livestreamed to millions. He sits there, rattling off crime after crime. Victim locations. Body dumps. Cold, mechanical, bored. Then he gets to number nine. Me. He stops. Looks straight into the camera. And smiles. “This one — oh, this one was the saddest little thing. And she deserved every second of it.” His grin stretches wider. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Bring me her family. Every last one. Or I take it all back — every confession, every location. Gone.” “Good luck finding the rest of those bodies without me.” The internet loses its mind. My name is everywhere — trending, screaming across the live chat. Strangers are already posting, trying to track down my family. And Lucas Crane — my Lucas — rips off his cap and grabs his phone like he wants to crush it. “Nora.” His voice is ice. “You’ve been partying overseas for ten goddamn years. What — you still can’t let it go? You hate them that much?” “Paying off a serial killer to put on a show? That’s a new low. Even for you.” … Ten years. The shy rookie I fell in love with is gone. Detective Captain Crane now. All sharp edges and authority. Even when he’s furious, it barely shows — just his voice going dangerously quiet. “Tomorrow is my wedding to Audrey. I put up with your bullshit for a decade, and you pull this? Now? Today?” “Nobody’s falling for it, Nora. Not anymore.” God. If I were still alive, I’d already be tripping over my own words to apologize. But I’m not alive. I haven’t been for ten years. I can’t answer him. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service—” He freezes. Pulls the phone away from his ear. Stares at it. Right. I’ve been “overseas” for ten years. The number’s been dead almost as long as I have. All that rage — nowhere to land. Like screaming into a void. He picks up his cap. Puts it back on. Sits down. Locks his jaw. Back to the mask. Someone in the chat finally connects the dots. “Wait — Nora Sinclair? THE Nora Sinclair? The architect prodigy? She vanished right after the bridge project launched!” “Holy shit. She didn’t vanish. She was KILLED.” “She was twenty-four years old.” The chat floods with grief. For me. And Lucas — unshakable, by-the-book Lucas — suddenly can’t sit still. He’s on his feet. Practically shouting at the camera. “Nora didn’t vanish. Her real identity got exposed. She was a fraud. She ditched everything and ran off to live her best life abroad.” “She nearly tanked the entire bridge project by walking away.” “If Audrey Sinclair hadn’t stepped up — poured ten years of her life into finishing it — that bridge would be rubble right now.” The second Audrey’s name leaves his mouth, something shifts in him. His whole face goes soft. He sounds like a kid bragging about his first crush. Breathless. Proud. Stupid with it. I’ve seen that face before. The first time he got his commendation — Medal of Valor, youngest officer in the precinct — he grabbed my hand in front of everyone. Pulled me forward like I was the real prize. “Everyone — this is Nora Sinclair. Ashford’s most brilliant architect. And my fiancée.” “Half this medal belongs to her.” He unclipped that bronze pin from his own chest and fastened it to mine. His hands were shaking. The whole room erupted. Wolf-whistles, cheers, someone banging on a table. And Lucas — face red as a fire truck — kissed me right there. In front of all of them. That was then. Same man. Different woman. Every medal since, every award, every proud moment — they all belong to her now. Audrey Sinclair. The real daughter. The one who replaced me in every way that mattered. That heart of his — the one so pure it made me cry — he gave it away. Whole. Unbroken. To her. And now, when someone says my name, all I see on his face is disgust. “Nora — even if you paid a murderer to say you’re dead, I won’t buy it.” “Show your face and end this. Or I’ll have you arrested.” He turns on the killer. Eyes like knives. “Where. Is. She.” Every cop in that room drops their gaze. Nobody dares meet his stare. But the killer? He just laughs. “Officer.” Slow. Amused. “I already told you. Thirty minutes. Bring me her family.” He lifts one finger toward the clock. Something cold and ancient in his eyes. “Ten minutes gone. I’d hurry if I were you.”

The chat goes dead silent — then erupts. Everyone’s rattled by the killer’s threat. Within minutes, the internet is plastered with posts trying to find my family. “Don’t let Nora fool you!” Lucas is on his feet. Voice calm. Controlled. Already building his case against me before anyone else can think. “Nora’s jealous. She’s trying to wreck my wedding to Audrey.” “I made Audrey a promise — swore it on that bridge. The day the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge opens, that’s the day I marry her.” “Nora timed this whole stunt to blow it all up.” He’s glaring at the screen like he wants to reach through it and shake me. I can practically hear what’s running through his head: Nora, you lived Audrey’s life for thirty years. What more do you want? “Lucas!” The courtroom doors slam open. Audrey staggers in, drenched head to toe from the storm. Lucas has his jacket off and around her shoulders before she takes two steps. “What are you doing here in this weather? I told you I’d come to you after work.” His voice is tight. Barely hiding the panic underneath. Like the thought of her suffering even a little bit is more than he can take. Then he turns to the camera. Hard. Cold. “Nora — you can see what you’ve done to Audrey. Are you satisfied now?” Audrey shakes her head, pale-faced, clutching his sleeve. “She has every right to resent me, Lucas. Please — don’t blame her.” She pulls out a folder, perfectly dry inside a rain cover, and holds it up to the camera. “Nora — if you’re upset about the bridge project, I’ll have the committee put your name back as lead architect at tomorrow’s ceremony.” “Just please stop making things harder for Lucas. He’s only doing his job to keep people safe.” Not a trace of anger in her voice. Not even close. Her eyes are actually glistening — on the edge of tears. Soaking wet. Trembling. The perfect picture of grace under fire. The chat flips instantly. “Nora is disgusting. Dragging the real daughter through this for her own ego.” “Must be nice living abroad. Rich enough to bribe a serial killer for attention.” But the bridge project? Audrey took it from me. The day she walked off with my blueprints, she didn’t even flinch. “Nora — you lived my life for over thirty years. Think of this as interest. Seems fair, don’t you think?” Just like that, the lead architect’s name on the internal system was changed to Audrey Sinclair. “Nora! Haven’t you done enough?” Lucas snaps the safety off his gun. Presses the barrel against the killer’s temple. His whole body is shaking with rage. “You like performing? Fine. Let’s keep the show going. Tell me — where is Nora’s body?” “Captain — stand down!” Officers scramble toward him, trying to wrestle the weapon away. The killer doesn’t even blink. He watches Lucas spiral — and laughs. “I’ve seen every face in that family photo of hers. Bring me all of them. Every single one. Or you get nothing.”

“What photo? What are you talking about?” Lucas looks completely lost. Obviously doesn’t remember. Of course he doesn’t. He’s taken thousands of photos over the years — work events, award ceremonies, commendations. Why would he remember one unremarkable group shot? But that photo was my only family portrait. After Audrey was confirmed as the real Sinclair daughter, both families took one photo together. My adoptive parents and my birth parents — all smiles. All clustered around Audrey. Not one of them willing to stand within arm’s reach of me. But even that lopsided, heartbreaking picture — I kept it like treasure. Carried it with me for ten years. After I went back to my birth parents, they couldn’t even be bothered to smile at me. To be closer to Audrey, they gave up everything and moved to Ashford. Even when they came back to Bridgeport for the holidays — just one day a year — they’d sigh the entire drive, complaining about the three-hour detour. “If only there were a bridge connecting the two cities. Then we could see Audrey every day.” That one sentence. That’s all it took. I turned down an offer from a Fortune 500 firm overseas. Poured everything I had into getting the bridge project approved. The day it was greenlit, I walked out of the construction trailer I’d lived in for over two hundred days. Went home to tell my birth parents the good news — for the first time. I was so happy I didn’t notice the man following me. By the time I saw the knife in his hand — by the time I tried to run back inside — the front door had a new lock. A new code. My parents had changed it without telling me. I was locked out. I died on my own doorstep. That half-inch threshold felt like a mountain I couldn’t climb as I collapsed. “Oh, sweetheart — Mommy and Daddy are so sorry we’re late!” An elderly couple stumbles into the courtroom, wailing at the camera. “You’ve been overseas for ten years — do you really still resent us?” “Baby, just let it go.” I’ve heard that line a thousand times. Haven’t I let go enough? I let go of being the Sinclair heiress. Went home without a fight. I let go of my dream job overseas — threw myself into building that bridge. I let go of the blueprints I’d slaved over for months — handed the credit to Audrey without a word. And for Lucas, I let go of my life. What else is there left to let go of? Lucas slaps the table impatiently, glaring at the killer. “Talk. Now.” The killer glances at him with open contempt — then pounds the table so hard it shakes. “You’re trying to fool me with actors? Those aren’t her parents!” I freeze. Then laugh at myself. Ten years. I’ve forgotten what my own parents look like. I can’t even tell these are imposters. A vein pulses at Lucas’s temple. “Her birth parents are in Bridgeport! Her adoptive parents are in Ashford! The bridge doesn’t open until tomorrow and there’s a goddamn hurricane out there — how am I supposed to get them here?” The killer grins to himself. “Then thank you, Officer, for giving me a reason to recant.” “You’ve got six minutes.” The chat is furious on my behalf — calling Lucas heartless, cruel. Thousands of people across both cities start searching for my parents on their own. Lucas, terrified of the backlash spiraling further, has no choice. He calls in a police helicopter to fly both sets of parents in. “Thirty seconds left.” The killer props his feet up on the table, counting down with obvious pleasure. “Three…” “Two…” “One!” The courtroom doors burst open on the final second. Everyone exhales. But my birth parents and adoptive parents stroll in — unhurried, arm in arm. All four pairs of eyes go straight to Audrey. “Oh, baby girl — you came in the rain? Look at you, you’re soaked!” “Are you cold, sweetheart?” When someone mentions me, all they do is scoff. “Nora, dead? Please. She’s probably sunbathing on some beach abroad.” Lucas snaps. Grabs the killer by the collar. Roars in his face. “TALK!” The killer looks around the room — at all of them — and suddenly smiles. Quiet. Almost sad. “She really was pitiful…” The audience holds its breath. Then the killer lifts his head and finally says it: “Her body is inside the central pillar of the Ashford-Bridgeport Bridge. Sealed in concrete.”

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I was reborn. Reborn to the day my whole pack got slaughtered. Same night. Same spot in the woods. I’m hiding behind the same rock. Killian finds me again. He’s standing over me, breathing hard, blood on his chest. Not his. “Anyone else from your pack make it out?” Last time, I said no. I didn’t know Vanessa was alive. I didn’t know she was three miles away, hiding in a hollow tree, waiting. The rogues found her before he did. They kept her three months. She came back pregnant. He blamed me for it. Took me as my mate anyway, because he owed my father. And then he punished me for ten years. His last words to me were, “Next time, I won’t pick you.” Funny. Here we are. I look up at him. “My sister. Vanessa. She’s in the old hollow tree by the creek.” The second the words leave my mouth, a figure comes running out of the dark. She grabs my hands, tears all over her face. “Cara — Cara, are you hurt — I thought I’d never see you again —” Her hands are warm. “I’m okay,” I say. Killian steps closer. His shadow falls over both of us. He takes off his cloak and puts it around Vanessa. “It’s cold. You’re shaking.” His voice is soft. His eyes never touch me. Not once. So that’s why he was fifteen minutes late this time. Vanessa wipes her face. “Cara, this is Alpha Killian. He visited our pack once when we were pups, do you remember?” She tries to say more. Her face crumbles. She can’t. Killian’s hand on her arm goes white. “Not here,” he says. “I’m taking you both home.” Killian walks with Vanessa. I follow behind. His eyes never come back to me. He’s keeping his promise. The one he made on his deathbed. Next time, I won’t pick you. Good. This life, I can finally breathe. Three days through the forest. We reach Killian’s territory. Vanessa and I get placed in the same wing of the pack house. Misty Pear House. The wing he banned me from, last life. It’s hers. White pear blossoms in the courtyard, just like our family home. Her incense burning. Her tea on the table. Except the painting is gone. Last life, I walked in here once. By accident. Killian was standing in front of a painting of a she-wolf. His eyes were soft — the kind of soft I never saw, would never see. Before I could see her face, he turned and caught me. “Who let you in?” “I told you. You don’t step foot in here. Not in this life.” I didn’t understand the regret in his eyes then. He punished me anyway. Three nights, no fire, dead of winter. My knees ached so bad I couldn’t sleep. I begged him to stay in his bed a little longer, just for the warmth. He laughed. “The Whitepine pack was supposed to raise respectable she-wolves. How did they end up with a slut like you?” That night he ripped me apart. I almost died. “Anything else you need? I’ll have it sent over.” His voice. Right behind me. Soft. Sweet. Talking to her. Vanessa laughs. “Alpha, you spoil me. I have everything.” She turns. “Cara? What about you?” His eyes land on me for the first time since the woods. Like a hand around my throat.

The pressure is suffocating. My legs ache again. I drop my head. “Thank you, Alpha. I don’t need anything.” A quiet laugh. I don’t have to look up. I heard that laugh ten thousand times last life. Cold, with mockery underneath. That life was too heavy. Whatever happens this time, I’m done with this male. But I can’t avoid him. Because of Vanessa, he’s here all the time. Honey cakes. Romance novels. Little gifts to make a she-wolf smile. She’s falling for him too. I can see it. Good. Without me in the way, they were always meant for each other. “Cara, do you think it’s pretty?” Vanessa holds something up. A wolf-tooth pendant, two wolves curled around each other, tied to a leather cord. I nod. “It’s beautiful. Your hands are the best in our pack. He’ll love it.” She lowers her head, smiling. “You always know what to say.” Then her smile thins. “There are so many high-ranked she-wolves here. I don’t know if Alpha Killian would even —” “He will.” I say it too fast. Because I remember. Last life, after Vanessa came back, after Killian and I were already mated, I was desperate. A she-wolf told me — males can’t resist a handmade token. Carve one. Put your scent on it. My hands are clumsy. The two wolves I carved looked like drowned rats. I kept cutting my own fingers. There was blood on the cord by the time I finished. That same week, I saw Killian walk out of Vanessa’s wing, smiling. A wolf-tooth pendant on his belt. Hers. Of course. The she-wolf wasn’t wrong. Males do melt for tokens. She forgot to add — only from the female they actually love. For a few days after that, Killian was almost kind. Even brought me cakes from the bakery on the east side. I never gave him my ugly pendant. It disappeared. Someone probably thought it was trash. A maid calls Vanessa out. She sets the pendant down and goes. I stare at it. If I could carve like that, would someone love me too? A shadow falls over the table. I think it’s Vanessa. I pick the pendant up to hand it back. I look up. Black eyes. Right in front of me. Killian’s mouth twists. “Cara. What are you trying now?” The disgust hits me before the words do. “You’re really that cheap? Crawling into my bed again?” “I told you. I will never take you as my mate. Get it through your head.” The old fear rolls through me. He smells like that winter — pine, frost, blood. My hands shake. It takes forever to find my voice. “Alpha. This isn’t mine. Vanessa carved it for you.” He freezes. Something twists across his face. Half a second. Gone. “Alpha?” Vanessa, in the doorway. He steps back. His face smooths out. Soft again. “Cara was showing me something. Said it was yours.” Vanessa goes red. But she stands tall. “Forgive me, Alpha. I don’t have much to offer. But my hands are decent. I made it for you.” I shove the pendant into her hand and run. My legs are still shaking outside. I wipe sweat off my forehead. Spring in this territory. Why is it still so cold.

By that afternoon, the whole pack house knows. Alpha Killian has claimed Vanessa as his Luna. The mating ceremony is set for the third of next month. It moves through the halls like fire. Maids, guards, everyone buzzing. Red banners going up by sundown. Alphas from neighboring packs sending gifts before nightfall. So this is what it looks like when an Alpha takes the female he actually wants. Last life, my mating ceremony took one day to plan. He looked at me with empty eyes. “My parents are dead. You’re a rogue’s daughter. We’re not making a fuss.” I nodded. He saved me and wanted to make me his Luna. I had no reason to say no. His parents had been Alphas. Guarded the northern border for two generations. Died there. That was the official story. My father was Beta of the Whitepine pack. Got dragged into a power struggle between two of the Lycan King’s heirs. Our whole pack got slaughtered. Thirty-five wolves. Dead in one night for nothing. Killian taking in the only orphan to clear his debt to my father — nobody questioned it. He just didn’t love me. That was all. I touch my face. Wet. I wipe it fast. Cried once. That’s enough. That night, Vanessa crawls into my bed like we’re little she-pups again. “Cara. Are you happy I’m getting mated?” I pick my words. “Of course. Alpha Killian is good to you. He’ll be a good mate.” She looks at me. “Yes. He will.” Her voice changes. “But I’m worried about you. We’re rogue’s daughters, Cara. The King hates our pack name. One day even an Alpha won’t be able to protect you.” I don’t fully get it. But ten years with Killian taught me how to read a face. Something cold in her eyes. Something pulling away. I make my voice small. “Sister — what should I do?” She strokes my hair. “Don’t be scared. I’ll find you a mate of your own.” Next day, she takes me out. Excuse: buying things for the ceremony. Real reason: she lines up four males for me. I turn down them all. Warriors remind me of Killian. The last one is Caleb. Beta of a smaller pack on the south side. Soft eyes. Quiet voice. Hands that have never held a blade. He gives me a small handmade rabbit toy at our first meeting. Little wood-carved thing with floppy ears. I want to give him something back. I sneak into the kitchen the second we’re home. I’m not good at much. But I can bake. Even Killian — who never said a kind word — used to eat what I made without complaining. Honey cakes. My mother’s recipe. I want Vanessa to taste one first. I head to her wing with the box. The first person I see in the courtyard is Killian. I drop my eyes. “Alpha.” He walks toward me. Slow. His eyes drop to the box. The mockery is so casual it burns. He reaches in. Takes a cake. Crushes it between his fingers. “Cara. You really aren’t afraid to die, are you.” Low and mean. My lips go white. You don’t owe him anything anymore. I step back. Keep my voice flat. “These are for my sister. And for Caleb. If the Alpha wants honey cakes, the kitchen can make some.” His hand stops. “Caleb. Who is Caleb.” The door opens. Vanessa walks in, light as anything. “Caleb is the Beta I picked for Cara.”

Something flickers across Killian’s face. Gone in a second. His voice goes flat. Cold. “She’s too young. No rush to find her a mate.” Vanessa laughs. “You don’t know how a she-wolf’s mind works. Caleb and Cara are alike — both gentle, both kind. His pack is a little small, sure, but that means no politics either.” She looks at me. “Besides, Cara likes him.” I nod fast. Anything to make Killian stop looking at me like that. “Caleb is great. He made me a rabbit toy on the first day.” Killian says nothing. His eyes are dark. Unreadable. But he’d never get mad at Vanessa. That stare is terrifying. I slip back to my room before he can say another word. Behind me, Vanessa’s voice floats through the door. “Are you upset with me?” A little pout in it. Playful. “It’s my fault. I should’ve told you first. Punish me if you want. I can take it.” I can’t help it. I glance back. Killian’s mouth curves, just barely. He leans down and says something low. Vanessa swats his arm, blushing. Last life, watching this would’ve torn me apart. Jealousy, bitterness, all of it crashing over me like a wave. This time — nothing. Good enough. The honey cakes never made it out. Killian sent word: giving gifts in private is what loose she-wolves do. It shames the pack. His pack doesn’t need that kind of embarrassment. Last life, after I became his mate, that’s the word he used most. Loose. Shameless. If it weren’t for my father, he’d never have taken me. He hated that I couldn’t read. Hated that I wasn’t smart enough. Three days after our mating ceremony, he brought in a tutor. History. Math. Everything, crammed into my skull until my head was splitting. Every night he tested me. Every wrong answer — his hand came down. Hard. The pain shot from my palm through my whole body. “Cara. Again.” His face like stone. I was so scared I passed out. When I woke up, the tutor was gone. Killian never brought it up again. “Cara, you’re the dumbest wolf I’ve ever met.” He stared at my bloody palms, mouth full of ugly words. “What the hell did your father teach you? How did you turn out like this?” But then he took my hands, one at a time, and dabbed medicine on them. Gentle. Careful. Light through the window on his lowered brow. That was Killian. Always like that. Hit you, then patch you up. Like training a dog. That night I couldn’t sleep. Killian’s face kept snarling through my dreams. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. But none of it happened. Not this time. The ceremony is getting close. The pack house is busier every day. Caleb keeps sending little things. He’s not a talker, but he makes you feel safe. I write him back every time. The dark cloud from the last few days starts to lift. Until a servant from Caleb’s pack delivers a message. “Beta Caleb says he’s been reassigned to a pack down south. Leaving today. He wants to know if you’d go with him. If you’re willing, he’ll meet you at the south gate.” I go quiet. Before I can answer, one of Vanessa’s maids rushes in. “Miss! The Luna-to-be broke out in a rash — her whole body — please come quick!” My stomach drops. I run. It’s an allergic reaction. Someone put hazelnut in the morning porridge. I tell the maids to boil herb water and wash her down. After one round, the rash fades. Vanessa falls asleep, exhausted. I pick up the basin and head out. A tall shadow blocks the doorway. “What’s wrong — your perfect little mate gets taken away, so now you’re walking around with a face like a corpse?”

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On our wedding night, my husband plotted to have me gang-raped by five men. At that wedding night, Felix Cruz was suddenly passionate. He was rough, wild, insatiable. I woke up sore and smiling, convinced that our new life together had begun. For ten years, I had loved him from a distance. Ten years of waiting, of hoping, of telling myself that one day he would see me. When he finally agreed to marry me, I thought it was because he had finally realized how much I loved him. I was wrong. Fifteen days later, I found out I was pregnant- its confirmed twins. I drove to the private club where he spent most of his evenings, my heart bursting with the news to share the joy. But at the door of the private room where he was laughing with his friends, I stopped. I heard Mina’s voice first — that syrupy, girlish lilt that made every man in his circle melt. “You guys are too much,” Mina Moore giggled. “I made a joke—whoever gets Zara pregnant on her wedding night gets a million dollars from Felix. And you actually went through with it? Five men, all night?” Laughter exploded around him. Male laughter. Five distinct voices. I couldn’t move. My blood turned to ice. Felix’s cold voice cut through: “Five of them took turns. If she still doesn’t get pregnant after that, I should ask for a refund.” “I heard virgins get pregnant easily,” one of them snickered. “That million is mine.” “The taste was amazing. We were so thorough that night. The baby is definitely mine.” “Please — I lasted the longest. If she’s carrying anyone’s, it’s mine.” Mina took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes flicking toward the door. Toward me. She knew I was there. “Stop fighting, boys. It’s not like any of you are short on cash.” One of Felix’s friends laughed. “Who needs the money? We just want to know who’s the best among us.” Mina turned her smile to Felix. “Would you be angry if she really got pregnant?” Felix shrugged. “Why would I be angry at a whore who spreads her legs for five men and moaned like she was enjoying it. She was disgusting that night. And she begged me for more.” They laughed again. “Besides —” he paused, “— you boys kept the HD footage, didn’t you? Something to revisit on a slow night.” The room erupted. “The princess of Kingsley, writhing underneath me— I’ll replay that till I’m old.” “She wouldn’t dare say anything. We were just following Felix’s orders.” Every word reached me through that gap in the door. My body was shaking. My lungs had forgotten how to expand. My vision tunneled to a single bright point — Mina’s face, watching me through the crack with the faintest curl of a smile. “Zara!” She waved me in, voice dripping with warmth. “When did you get here? You should have said something!” Felix glanced at me. No shame. No guilt. Just irritation. “We were just joking. Don’t take it seriously.” I looked around the room at the faces of the five men who had taken turns raping me on the night I thought I was becoming Felix’s wife. I gathered what was left of my voice. “What kind of joke involves *that*?” One of them walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. His eyes crawled over my body. His eyes traveled down my body with a familiarity that made my stomach lurch. “Don’t be mad, Zara. It was just a kidding.” Felix’s voice hardened. “That’s enough. Everyone’s watching.” Felix’s voice not at him. At me. I turned and walked out. The tears came before I reached the elevator. We were an arranged marriage — a business alliance between the Kingsley and Cruz families. But I had loved Felix Cruz since I was fifteen. Ten years of quiet, stubborn devotion before he finally agreed to the wedding. He hadn’t been moved by my love. He’d been moved by leverage. That night — our wedding night — the champagne had tasted slightly off. I’d drunk it without suspicion, because why would I suspect my own husband? I had been unconscious while they took turns. I had woken up with bruises and thought it was passion. I had tried so hard to please him. I had watched those stupid videos, learned those degrading positions, forced myself to be the woman I thought he wanted. And all of it—every humiliating second—was because Mina had made a bet with them. Back at the house, I found the camera first. High-definition. Hidden in the corner of the bedroom. I ripped it off the wall and smashed it. My tears wouldn’t stop. *I don’t deserve to be alive. I’m filthy. I’m disgusting.* Felix appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? I told you, it was just a joke.” My voice cracked. “Then why did you put a hidden camera in our bedroom?” He sat on the edge of the bed, looked at the shattered remains on the floor, and said without blinking: “That’s for your safety.” *My safety. Or your collection?* He took my cold hand. “You went to the hospital today. Where’s the test result? You’ve always wanted a baby. You should be happy.” My throat was scraped hollow. “You really want me to have your child? Felix — you haven’t touched me once since the wedding night.” He softened his voice. “I was worried you were too tired, Zara. You’re my wife. Do you think I would hurt you? And that night, I was so ‘hard’ that you couldn’t have been left unattended—how could you not be pregnant?” I pulled my hand back. But the ultrasound printout slipped from my bag and fluttered to the floor between us.

Felix picked up the ultrasound from the floor and glanced at it. A crease formed between his brows—then dissolved into something cold laugh. “Tomorrow I’m taking you to the hospital for a proper check. Twins in one go—impressive.” He locked me in the bedroom that night. I spent the night curled on the bed, my hand pressed to my still‑flat stomach, not sleeping. Just waiting. The next morning, before I’d even finished dressing, his driver was at the door. I was taken to the hospital like cargo. — There were five men were already waiting outside the entrance hospital. The moment I stepped out of the car, their eyes crawled over me—shameless, familiar, proprietary. Like men inspecting something they’d already used and were deciding whether to use again. Mina appeared at my side, looping her arm through mine with practiced sweetness. “Zara, you’re amazing. Twins! You’re amazing.” Felix pulled me behind him—not protectively. Possessively. “Enough. Let’s get this done.” We didn’t go to obstetrics. We went straight to the paternity testing center. Felix’s voice was clipped, commanding. “How soon can you run a paternity test?” A doctor in a white coat looked at the crowd of men trailing behind me and frowned, then back at Felix. His brow furrowed deeply. “She’s less than four weeks along. I strongly advise against any invasive procedure at this stage.” “And if I insist?” “Ten weeks minimum.” doctor’s tone was firm. “I won’t compromise patient safety.” Mina let out a theatrical sigh. “Three months? That’s so long. We came all this way for nothing.” I stood at the front of the group, surrounded by men who had violated me, and smiled with pale. “Do it,” Felix cut him off. His voice was flat, final. “I’m not leaving until I have results. And I want all five of my friends tested too.” The doctor stared at him. “Sir, this is a medical facility, not a drama place. I have ethical obligations I will not violate.” “I know what this is.” Felix pulled out his phone. “I’ll pay whatever it costs. Just run the tests.” Mina tilted her head, voice dripping with false concern. “But doctor, we need to find the real father. And with twins—isn’t there a chance they could have *different* fathers?” Behind me, the five men snickered. One of them spoke up, loud enough for the entire waiting room to hear. “Bro, the stakes just doubled. One thousand per kid—that’s two million now.” “Wedding night, five men and one bride. The groom was tired. We did all the work.” The waiting room had gone silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. I stood in front of them all, staring at the floor. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t let anyone see. A woman in the waiting area stared at me, then at the men, then at my stomach. Her face twisted with disgust. Then the crazy man appeared. He’d been sitting in the corner—unwashed, muttering to himself. Something about the commotion drew him up from his seat. He shuffled toward me, a Styrofoam container of soup clutched in one hand. Before I could react without warning, he threw a cup of hot chicken soup into my face. Hot broth soaked into my face and my collar and burned. “Dirty whore,” he spat. The words came out garbled, half-crazed. “You like being passed around? Disgusting bitch.” Pain seared across my skin. I gasped—and the tears came before I could stop them. Tears mixed with the soup. Felix flinched. For a moment, his hand reached toward me. Then Mina let out a cry and bolted for the exit, one hand pressed to her mouth as though *she* were the one who’d been hurt. He pulled his hand back. “I’ll explain later. Mina’s not stable right now.” He turned to the five men. “All of you, let’s go.” They left. All of them. Scrambling after Mina like loyal dogs, cooing reassurances at the woman who had orchestrated everything. I stood alone in the middle of the waiting room. Soup dripping from my hair. The skin beneath the broth was already blistering. No one helped. No one apologized. No one moved to help me. — I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and found the burn unit myself. The nurse on duty looked me up and down. Her lip curled. “Husband that handsome and you couldn’t keep your legs closed?” She dabbed antiseptic on my raw skin with unnecessary force. “Five men on your wedding night—honestly, they should’ve thrown holy water on you, not soup.” She pressied harder than necessary. I flinched. I asked for another nurse. “Can I have a different nurse?” “Different nurse?” She snorted. “Sweetheart, no one here wants to touch you.” I sat still. Let her finish. I didn’t cry again—because there was no point. Tears wouldn’t change anything. They never had. — By the time I walked out of the hospital, the sky was black. “Hey—how much for a night? I’ll pay. Come with me now.” I turned and saw the crazy man from earlier. He was following me—three steps behind, grinning with broken teeth. “Don’t run. You’re pregnant—I don’t mind. I’m not picky.” Ice flooded my veins. I turned and ran. I ran for my life, as if something savage were chasing me. My lungs burned. Behind me, his shuffling footsteps grew louder, then faded as I rounded a corner and threw myself into the back of a taxi. “Drive. Now.” The cab pulled away. I pressed myself against the door, shaking so violently my teeth clicked together. Even the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror felt wrong. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the floor until the car stopped. Back home, I leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, feeling like I had just escaped death. I was alive. I was home. For a moment, that felt like enough. Before I could catch my breath, I saw clothes scattered on the floor by the entryway—a jacket, underwear, torn stockings. And from behind the door, wave after wave of moaning, almost tearing me apart. The sounds of my husband fucking another woman in our bed.

I really broke down. Why was this happening to me? Through the crack in the door, I saw Mina give me a provocative look. They did it on purpose, just to disgust me. But I had no strength left to run. I don’t know how long it went on. The sounds. The moaning. Then Mina stood over me. She was covered in marks of intimacy, wearing my newest nightgown. “Zara, you want to compete with me? Take a look at yourself.” “You shamelessly threw yourself at Felix, and got gang-raped by five men on your own wedding night. Now you’re carrying their bastards. Are you happy? Next time, I’ll arrange ten for you.” Her face was a mask of jealousy, twisted and ugly. She bent down, seized my chin between her fingers. “Felix has never touched you. He married you only for the company. His body? His heart? They belong only to me.” Despair spread through my whole body. I looked at her and said sarcastically, “I stayed by him for ten years. You’re just a secretary who slept her way up.” Her expression snapped. That saccharine facade cracked wide open, replaced by something raw and venomous. “What are you so proud of? Tomorrow I’ll have Felix send you to a nightclub.” I slowly stood up and said calmly, “Mina, what do you really want? If you want my position, I’ll give it to you.” Mina was jealous to the point of madness. She grabbed my wrist. “Give? I will pull you down from that position myself.” She picked up a vase from nearby and smashed it on the floor, her eyes fierce. Then she picked up a piece of broken porcelain, cut her own cheek, and quickly shoved it into my hand. “Help! She’s trying to cut my face!” Mina shrieked, stumbling backward. “I just came to check on you, and you attacked me!” Then, louder: “We found a priest. He said your children will bring bad luck to Felix and kill him.” Felix appeared in the doorway within seconds. He took one look at Mina’s bleeding face, one look at the shard in my hand, and crossed the room in three strides. Mina sobbed against his chest. “I was only trying to help her. Why would she do this to me?” Felix stood in front of me, took the shard from my fingers, and dragged it across my cheek. One clean line. Just deep enough. “Now we’re even,” he said. It was always like this. Any scratch on Mina’s skin, and he’d carve the same wound into mine. “I didn’t do it—” Mina pressed closer to him, her voice trembling with calculated fragility. “Don’t be angry at her, Felix. I don’t mind being scarred. After all, she’s the Kingsley heiress…” He looked at me with eyes that could freeze marrow. Then he picked Mina up—bridal style—and turned to leave. As he passed me, he shoved me with his shoulder. Hard. I was already unsteady. My stomach hit the sharp corner of the coffee table. The teapot and cups crashed to the floor. I doubled over, arms wrapped around my abdomen, a scream trapped in my throat because the pain was too enormous for sound. “Zara, all these years—how did I never see what a hypocrite you are?” His voice came from above me, cold and final. “Mina is an innocent blank slate. Don’t hurt her.” I clutched my stomach. Sweat had soaked through my clothes. I forced words out through clenched teeth. “Felix—I didn’t do it. I would never—” “Enough! The priest told us your first pregnancy would kill me. Mina was looking out for me—for us. ” He carried Mina out of the room. As he passed, his heel came down on my foot—deliberately, grinding—before lifting away. “You’re quite the actress, Zara. Too bad there’s no audience tonight. Enjoy the solo performance.” Over Felix’s shoulder, Mina turned her head. And gave me a triumphant smile. — I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. *Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. If you lose consciousness now, no one is coming.* Blood was pooling beneath me. My legs had no strength left. I couldn’t stand. So hands and knees across the cold marble floor, dragging my body toward the couch where I’d left my bag. Every inch sent white-hot agony ripping through my abdomen. My fingers found the zipper. Found my phone. I dialed the only number that mattered. I gasped the address between ragged breaths. “This is my location… please hurry…”

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At the Crestfall City gala, my father—Victor Steele, the current Don of the Steele crime Family—wanted me to lead the opening dance as the face of the Steele Family. The three childhood friends and my fiancé, I’d already secured as my partners avoided my eyes—every single one of them—and walked straight toward the impostor, that fake heiress in the Steele Family. “Noelle’s position is delicate.” they murmured. “She’s the adopted one. If she has no partner at our Family’s event, it would be humiliating.” I stood alone in the center of the ballroom, watching the girl who had stolen my life take my place. I stood frozen as Ashton Shaw—heir apparent to the Shaw Syndicate, future Godfather of the most powerful arms operation on the eastern seaboard—finally approached. I thought he was about to make our engagement public. Instead, he leaned close and murmured an apology against my ear. “You’re the true Steele heiress. You’re clever and ruthless. You don’t need my protection.” My eyes stung. I tugged at his sleeve. He pulled away and walked toward Noelle without looking back. When Noelle blushed and placed her hand in his, the crowd began to whisper: *“So she was waiting for Shaw all along. No wonder she refused everyone else.”* *“The Steel heir and the Shaw heir—a perfect match.”* The whole room turned to congratulate my father. His face was black as a thundercloud. No one knew that in my family, everyone was waiting for me to fall in love—so they could hand my inheritance to the adopted daughter. The opening dance was the face of the Steele Family. I’d lived twenty-two years outside this house. I’d only been claimed back three years ago. This was the first gala the Family had thrown in my honor since then—the first formal acknowledgment that I was the real heiress. Ashton knew exactly what tonight meant to me. But he still walked away. The room shifted. I stayed where I was, throat tightening, watching him guide her into the center of the floor. I watched Ashton lead Noelle into the center of the dance floor. The lights followed them. And the whispers followed me: *“I heard the Shaw and Steele families had an engagement in mind… I guess we know who the real heiress is now.”* *“Looks like Shaw came to give his future wife a public show of support…”* The music began. Ashton tilted his head down to catch something Noelle was saying. His expression had gone soft—softer than I had ever seen it. So that was what he looked like, when he cared. People only ever softened like that for someone they truly wanted to protect. I had only ever seen his cold, ruthless side—the man whose name made grown men in the Crestfall City underworld flinch. Now the side he showed to someone he thought was a hardened survivor who didn’t need softness. Because to him, the daughter who’d come crawling back into the Steele name twenty-two years late was calculating. Even my grief came across as theater. My aunt came to stand beside me, her voice loud enough for half the room to hear: “Well, well. Our true Steele heiress, standing all alone. Some people just aren’t born with the right luck.” “The moment you came home, your grandfather handed you everything that mattered. But Noelle—Noelle has that natural shine. The kind you can’t squash, no matter how hard you try.” Her words slid under my skin like a thin blade. I tightened my grip on my champagne flute. Ashton had told me, before the gala, that his position as the Shaw heir was complicated. Every move he made was a signal—read by every Family in the city. He couldn’t make a public statement without his parents’ —the Don and his consigliere— explicit approval. Which was why I’d planned ahead. I’d quietly secured all three of my childhood friends as backup—each one promising to stand up with me on the floor. Every one of them had agreed without hesitation. And when the lights came up, every one of them had walked to Noelle instead. I had predicted the beginning. I never saw the ending coming. Ashton hadn’t refused to dance with the Steele heiress. He’d just chosen the wrong one—Deliberately. There were no Family signals to consider after all. He simply hadn’t bothered to protect my standing within the Family, and instead spent every drop of his public influence making sure she felt safe—signaling to every capo and underboss in the room that she had his backing. And that I did not.

The first dance ended with applause. Noelle leaned into Ashton’s shoulder, her cheeks prettily flushed. The three childhood friends who had originally promised to be *my* partners were now crowding around them, champagne flutes extended like offerings. Ashton cut through the guests and walked toward me. He bent close. “”Noelle’s position in this Family is fragile. You know what happens to people without protection in our world.The moment you came back, everything fell into your lap—the succession shortlist, the status. She fought for years, and because of blood alone, it’s all gone.” “It was one dance,” he added. “You’ve always been generous.” “If word of tonight gets out,” I cut him off, “what will people say? That the Steele heiress couldn’t even hold her own family’s event together?” His brow furrowed. “You overthink everything. Who would dare laugh at Vivian Steele?” When I didn’t answer, his voice softened. “Vivian, you’re strong. You can stand on your own. But Noelle is different.” “If I hadn’t chosen her tonight—if people thought I didn’t value her—she’d become the Family’s castoff.” I lowered my gaze. What he didn’t know was that the succession battle inside the Steele Family had reached a knife’s edge. My father had made his position clear: either I married into a family as powerful as the Shaws, so Grandfather would have an excuse to remove me from the succession, or he would “arrange” a marriage to some backwoods nouveau riche and end the problem forever. I’d hoped to buy time. Stay on the board a little longer. But this one dance shattered every inch of ground I had left. Noelle came trotting over, her gaze expectant as she looked up at Ashton. “Ashton, will you introduce me to the other families? I’m not like Vivian. I don’t know how to work a room.” “She always keeps a little notebook, you know—recording which family’s son is great, which uncle has the rarest connections…” She caught herself, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I—I’m not calling her calculating… she’s just… thorough.” The smiles of the nearby wives cooled. “Recording each family’s value? The Steele heiress certainly has *strategic*.” “No wonder she clawed her way onto the succession list within three years of coming home.” The whispers drifted over like smoke. My blood went cold, degree by degree. That notebook was Grandfather’s assignment. When I first returned to the Family, he’d told me to study each family’s strengths—their connections, their influence. Ashton had even helped me with it. Yet he said nothing in my defense. Let me become the eye of the storm. Noelle tugged at Ashton’s sleeve. “Did I say the wrong thing again? I just admire how capable my sister is. I’m too stupid…” He patted her head. “It’s fine. Your sister has a big heart—she won’t hold it against you.” Then he led Noelle away to greet the other guests. “Ash—” The whispers around me drowned out my voice. “I actually felt sorry for her getting upstaged… turns out she really is that calculating.” I stood rooted in place. Cold to the bone. I remembered the heavy rain three years ago, the day I was first brought back to the Steele mansion. I had grown up in an orphanage, then adopted into a family with decent means—but nothing compared to Crestfall City’s true elite. The day I was claimed, Crestfall City was drowning in rain. I stood alone outside the ancestral estate gates. Grandfather had wanted to test me—kept the doors shut for nearly an hour. That was where I met Ashton Shaw. He’d walked up with an umbrella, stopped beside me, and said: “New to the family? Don’t worry—I’ll look out for you from now on.” Now he held his umbrella over someone else. I set down my glass and turned toward the terrace. The night wind was cold on my face. The composure I had forced myself to maintain cracked, just a little. Grandfather would be back in seven days. If tonight’s story reached him, it would be a mark against me in his eyes—proof that the heiress he’d bet on couldn’t command a room. I stood there a long while before walking back inside. Callum appeared suddenly, walking fast toward me. “Viv—don’t go over there.” I followed his gaze. Ashton and Noelle were still spinning across the dance floor. So he thought I was going to make a scene. Fight for a man. Of the three childhood friends, Callum was the only one who’d shared those years with me before the adoption—those winters in the state orphanage on the south side of the city. Back then, every time they handed out apples, I’d charge to the front and grab the biggest, reddest one. Then hand it to him. Because he was slow at everything. I was afraid he’d starve. Later, when I was adopted, I used every penny of my allowance to persuade my adoptive parents to pay for his education at an expensive arts academy. I pushed him up, step by step, until he became a respected appraiser. But even that—all that effort, all that soil I gave to a weed that grew from the same mud—could never compete with an untouchable moonlight that floated just out of reach. I tried to walk past him. His hand closed around my wrist from behind. “Be smart. Ashton already made his choice—if you go up there now, you’ll only humiliate yourself more.” “Let go!” I tried to wrench free. He gripped tighter. In the struggle, my heel caught. I lost my balance backward— My back slammed against a pillar. My knees hit the marble with a dull, sickening crack. Pain exploded through me. Callum froze. “Why do you have to be like this? These three years you’ve had everything at the Steele estate—what does Noelle even have left?”

Rowan Yates—heir to the Yates mineral operation, a family that supplied raw materials to half the syndicates on the coast—and Sterling Chase, whose family ran the dirtiest private equity fund in four states, heard the noise and walked over. “Miss Steele, there’s no need to hurt yourself to win sympathy, is there? Weakness isn’t a bargaining chip in this world—it’s a death sentence. Sterling gave a lazy smile. “Is there anything our Vivian Steele wouldn’t do? We’re probably all in that little notebook of hers—stepping stones for the great heiress.” Rowan pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Vivian, you’ve already taken everything from Noelle. She was actually happy tonight—for once. Can’t you stop performing for five minutes?” “If you really want the spotlight so badly,” he said evenly, “I’ll dance with you. Would that be enough to satisfy your ego?” I staggered to my feet. “Move.” “Vivian!” Rowan lost patience. His hand shot out and seized my wrist. “If it weren’t for Sterling and me looking out for you back then, you’d still be nobody!” I tried to pull away. He twisted harder— *Crack.* A soft, sickening sound. Pain exploded from my wrist. I doubled over. Rowan froze. He stared at his own hand as if he hadn’t meant to do that. “You…” His voice went tight. “You pulled that hard just to run after a man?” I bit down on my lip, clutching my right wrist with my left hand. Cold sweat slid down my temple, dripping into my eyes. Sterling pulled a thin, cold smile. “It’s nothing. Our Vivian has weathered worse storms. A little injury like this is nothing compared to what Noelle has suffered.” The pain made the edges of my vision go dark. But I looked at him and laughed. “You’re right. It’s not enough.” I let go of my wrist. The joint hung at a wrong angle, swelling fast. My forearm looked like a broken branch. Sterling’s lazy smile finally faded. He looked away. Rowan’s voice was tight. “Stay here. I’ll call a doctor.” “No.” I pulled the corner of my mouth. “If word gets out, Grandfather won’t be pleased.” “You’re insane.” Rowan’s voice shook with anger. “You only ever care about that damn dignity. Even when Noelle had a fever so high she was seizing, you locked her in the attic and kept entertaining guests—all for your perfect heiress image.” His chest heaved. “Always calculating. Always putting your reputation and your plans above everything else.” He turned and walked away. Sterling shook his head. “Vivian, it’s one dance. Nobody asked you. Did you really have to do this to yourself?” His eyes flickered with mockery. “Or are you still playing the game, waiting to see who breaks first?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked toward the back corridor. The wind cut cold against my skin. I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. With my left hand, I touched my swollen wrist. The pain made me shudder. But this time, I didn’t let go. The bone still connected. The pain still connected. That was enough. At nine o’clock, I returned to the Steele estate—past the iron gates, past the armed guards who checked vehicles with mirrors on poles, past the dogs. My father was waiting in the study. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old leather—and beneath that, the metallic edge of something darker. “You saw what happened tonight,” he said. “Ashton Shaw doesn’t want to marry you.” I didn’t answer. “Your grandfather is old. Your marriage needs to happen soon.” “You also saw that I’ve just been humiliated,” I said. “I’m in no state to marry anyone right now.” He looked up. “Then what do you want?” “Give me the Crestfall City territory to run,” I said. “Three years. I’ll prove I can manage an operation.” After three years, I’ll marry whoever you choose.” He studied me. “Seven days. Your grandfather comes back in seven days. By then, I want to see you married to a ‘suitable’ match.”

The word “suitable” hung in the air. My father said it with a strange emphasis. The groom’s Family rank didn’t matter. Looks, talent, education—none of it. What mattered was that the man I married had to be someone Grandfather would never accept. Someone who would make him take away my inheritance for good. Either I married into a top‑tier family like the Shaws—powerful enough to rival the Steeles—or I married someone far from Crestfall City. Someone no one would approve of. But before Ashton Shaw gave his permission, which Crestfall family would dare take me? At ten‑thirty, I walked out of the Steele private clinic. My wrist had been set and wrapped in a white cast. The night air was cold. Two armored sedans—tinted windows, reinforced chassis, the kind that cost more than most houses—pulled up in sequence. Noelle Steele got out, leaning on Ashton Shaw’s arm. A small bandage wrapped her fingertip. She walked with a delicate limp, brow faintly creased—the picture of fragile suffering. Rowan Yates and Sterling Chase climbed out of the car behind them. “Vivian?” Noelle saw me, her lashes fluttering. Her eyes quickly dropped to my right arm, hanging in a sling. “What happened to you?” Ashton looked up at me. His gaze touched the white bandage. His brow twitched—barely. Rowan stood beside Noelle, his lips pressed into a thin line. Sterling leaned against his car door, hands in his pockets, watching like it was entertainment. “Dislocated wrist,” I said shortly. I started to walk past them. “Vivian.” Noelle’s voice was soft. “I heard from Father that your wedding is set for seven days from now.” The air went still. Ashton’s face stiffened. “Seven days?” His voice turned cold. “Vivian, what game are you playing? When did I ever agree to a wedding?” I stood in the shadows and said nothing. From the time I left my father’s study until now, barely an hour had passed. Noelle had not only learned the news—she had “accidentally” told exactly the person who most needed to hear it. “Ashton…” Noelle’s eyes reddened on cue, a single tear sliding with surgical precision down her cheek. “If you and my sister are really getting married, I’ll give you my blessing.” She lowered her head. “I just… didn’t expect it to be so soon…” Annoyance flickered across Ashton’s face. He looked at Rowan and Sterling. “Take Noelle inside. Don’t let her cut get infected.” Rowan nodded without a word and stepped forward. Sterling let out a lazy laugh. “We’ll make sure Miss Steele is well taken care of. As for you, Shaw—” he glanced at me, “you’d better be careful. Someone dislocated her wrist tonight and waited until now to see a doctor. Who knows what she’s plotting.” Ashton’s brow furrowed. He watched until the three of them disappeared through the clinic doors. Then he walked closer to me. His gaze landed on the white bandage—stark against my skin in the clinic’s fluorescent spill—and lingered for approximately two seconds. He didn’t ask how I’d been hurt. “Unconfirmed rumors don’t leak from your father’s study without purpose,” he said, ice in every syllable. “Vivian, don’t play these games with me.” I looked down at my arm, at least it made the contrast crystal clear. Some people get a paper cut—and three men mobilize like it’s a declaration of war. Others can have their bones snapped—and no one even asks what happened. I lifted my eyes to him. “Does it matter to you?” “Does it matter?” He almost laughed. He grabbed my chin and forced my head up. “You belong to me. Everyone in Crestfall City knows it—our Families have an understanding. A public betrothal signal. If you walk away now, you’re not just breaking a promise. You’re breaking a pact between crime families. That has consequences.  “His eyes burned with warning. “Cancel it.” “If necessary, hold a press conference. Publicly clarify it’s a rumor. I can pretend none of this ever happened.” “What if it’s not a rumor?” His fingers tightened on my jaw. “Vivian.” His voice dropped—dangerous, absolute. The voice of a future Don issuing a final warning. “Don’t test my patience. I am not a chess piece you can trap with a marriage. If you don’t want to end things between us—stop this.” “Then let’s break up,” I said. The air went dead. Ashton stared at me like I had lost my mind. He knew me too well. He knew the way I calculated every move, every word. Most of what I had learned—he had taught me himself. Over the past three years, he had shown me what lay behind the smiles of my so‑called relatives. He had taught me to be patient, to wait, to let go of unnecessary pride when the goal mattered more. “Vivian, in this world,” he used to say, “softness and naivety are the original sins.” I had learned well. So well that now he thought even my wedding date was just another move in a game to trap him. “Vivian, I taught you those skills to protect yourself. Now look at you. You’re no different from the people you wanted to escape.” I listened, and I almost laughed. Difference? The difference was that they calculated against others, and others calculated back. But at least they knew exactly what they were doing. And me? I had once really believed that he was teaching me so that one day I could stand beside him. The ache in my wrist pulsed. But the last wave inside my chest went still. “What I am now is no longer your concern.” I kept my voice level. “I’d advise you to keep your distance, Shaw.” “Vivian.” His voice came from behind me—cold, certain, the tone of a man who’d never once doubted his own authority. “You can walk away now. But the day you come crawling back to me—remember what I taught you. The prettiest surrender is pressing your own face into the dirt.” My stride didn’t falter. I got into the car. Darkness closed in around me. My phone screen lit up in the silence. A message from my father. Brief as a blade: *Wedding announcement sent to all families.* He was using public pressure and fait accompli to wall off every exit I had left. I turned off the screen and looked out the window toward the Steele estate, where the lights blazed in every window. The household staff was already working through the night—hanging decorations, preparing the ballroom. My groom still didn’t know who he was. But soon, everyone would.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé slapped me across the face. “Can you stop picking on Freya?” My cheek was burning. My ears were ringing. All I could see were Damon’s eyes, pupils blazing gold with rage. His hand was still hanging in the air. On his knuckle — our engagement ring. Platinum band. I designed it myself. Behind him stood Freya, eyes red, wearing my moonlight wedding gown. The one I’d spent eight months making by hand, stitch by stitch. I’d known Damon for fifteen years. Today was supposed to be our wedding. The open lawn of the family estate was filled with white roses and baby’s breath. A breeze rolled in off the lake, carrying the smell of water and fresh grass. Everything was perfect. Like something out of a dream. That is, if Damon hadn’t spent the entire time since he walked in looking for Freya. “Isn’t she your bridesmaid? Where is she?” That was the first thing he said to me. No you look beautiful. No I missed you. Not even a hug. I was standing in front of the mirror in my robe while the makeup artist filled in my brows. Damon stood in the doorway, suit immaculate, eyes wandering around the room. “It’s Freya’s first time at an event like this. Make sure she’s not nervous.” “She’s probably in the lounge. Did you want to see me in my dress?” “It’s fine. I still have guests to greet.” And then he left. I stared at my face in the mirror — blush not yet applied — and swallowed the words: I designed the dress myself. Freya had joined the pack three years ago. It was a blizzard that night. Damon brought her back himself. After that, she started showing up in our lives more and more. At first, I told myself it was just pity. But Damon remembered her favorite foods. He bought her gifts. After pack meetings, she was always the first person he went to find. He even left my birthday dinner early because Freya had a fever. I shouldn’t mind, I told myself. As future Alpha, Damon has a responsibility to take care of every member of the pack. There were a few maids standing outside the dressing room. The moment they saw me, their expressions shifted. “Miss Lyra…” “What is it?” No one answered. I pushed the door open. And then I stopped. Freya was standing in front of the mirror, wearing my wedding dress.

There she was — Freya, in front of the mirror, in my wedding dress. “So this is what it feels like to be the Alpha’s mate.” She tilted her head, admiring herself. “No wonder every woman wants to marry Damon.” The silver-white train pooled across the floor, the moonstone embroidery along the entire skirt catching the light. I had designed that dress for half a year. Revised the pattern twenty-seven times. Lost count of how many nights I stayed up, how many times the needle broke skin. “Take it off.” Freya didn’t react. She gathered the skirt in her hands and spun slowly in front of the mirror. “It fits me perfectly — isn’t that something. Even better than I expected. Are you really this thin? Will it even fit you?” “I said,” I repeated, “take it off. Right now.” Not a trace of panic on her face. “Don’t be so stingy. I’m just checking how it looks.” “You have no right to touch it.” “Really?” She smiled. “Because Damon was with me till midnight last night helping me pick out a necklace. He said white diamonds suit me better than blue.” Something tightened in my chest. Because Damon had told me last night he was busy with wedding preparations. “You know, Lyra,” Freya said, “I’ve always wondered. If it weren’t for the engagement contract — would Damon have chosen you at all?” “Freya.” My voice was flat. “I’m only going to say this once. Take it off. Now.” I walked up to her and reached for her arm. That’s when Damon’s voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” My hand hadn’t even touched her. But the second she heard his voice, Freya crumpled to the ground — as if I’d shoved her. Damon rushed in and caught her. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, and leaned softly into his chest. “I just wanted to check the fit for Lyra,” she said quietly. “I was worried the dress wouldn’t be right for her. She got upset out of nowhere and said she was going to throw me out of the estate.” “Lyra.” Damon’s jaw tightened. “Apologize to Freya.” I stared at him. “On what grounds? She’s wearing my dress.” He frowned. “So what? It’s just a dress.” “It’s my fault,” Freya murmured. “I’m sorry. All of this is on me.” “What are you talking about?” I said. “You’re the one who—” I didn’t finish. Damon’s hand came up, and he slapped me across the face. “Enough. Can you stop picking on Freya?”

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From the ashes of the Phoenix Divine Bird, only one true bird was supposed to rise. But my parents were having sex all the time, trying to get pregnant. Then they birthed two daughters from the sacred ashes instead of one. The Phoenix Clan had never seen such a scandal in thousands of years. And Moros, the god of fate, broadcast his prophecy across all of Mount Olympus. The true god would be born from the ashes, and she was destined to be the wife of Ares. That was the prophecy. But the strangest thing happened. My sister was a brilliant red ball of fire, but she didn’t have any divine markings. I was a ragged, scruffy, and pathetic low-level bird, yet my forehead glowed with that powerful mark. My parents stared at me. They believed that I stole the power from my sister. They thought I was too ugly for such divine power. I didn’t get a chance to explain. My mother yanked the powerful mark right out of my forehead. Then she tossed me into the dead, mist-choked wasteland known as the Fields of Erebus. In the Phoenix Clan, bloodline was everything. Pure divine blood ruled everyone. But my people had muddied our bloodline with monsters and beasts for centuries. Our divine power faded. And we even got kicked out of Mount Olympus by Hera because we accidentally offended her. Now, with extinction breathing down our necks, everyone pinned their hopes on my mother. She was the last Phoenix Divine Bird with pure blood left. However, my mother fell for a freak. My father had a sparrow’s body and a human face. But he was also sharp and charming. And he knew how to talk sweet. My mother let him in despite the elders cursing their union. Their forbidden love only diluted her pure blood even more. The entire clan watched my mother’s belly and waited for a miracle. My dad spent his days squatting on those ashes. He talked to me, caught sunbeams, and told sappy love stories about him and my mother. If an elder got angry at his antics, he just pointed at the ashes and boasted about me. Then the day of our birth arrived. Every shaman, every elder, and Moros watched. Even Zeus and Hera watched from Mount Olympus, ready to judge us. My sister and I hatched together. She emerged bathed in holy crimson. Her feathers blazed like a piece of the sun. It was the proof of pure blood. But I was a disaster. I was grey and had bald patches. I was just an ugly chick who looked nothing like a Phoenix. I looked like a dirty little sparrow. All the elders lost their minds over my sister. “The true pure blood! She’s the chosen one!” they shouted. They practically wept onto her feathers because she was their last hope. No one cared about me. I shivered in the cold ashes and tried to speak up. I wanted to say that I was the true pure blood, but a rough hand yanked me up. Heads swiveled toward me. All eyes blasted through me and stared at the blood-red mark glowing on my forehead. My mother’s shriek could shatter worlds. “You damn useless thing! How dare you steal the True God’s mark? You filthy little thief!” My dad jumped beside her and shouted. “Such evil, already at birth! You’re a disgrace to our kind!” I spread my ugly, patchy wings. My eyes were wide as I tried to scream the truth. “Mom, Dad! Look at me! I’m Carson, your daughter! I’m the real Phoenix Divine Bird!” “Shut up! You hideous, ragged bird! You think you deserve to be my child?” my mother screamed. “You dared to steal my darling’s divine mark. I’ll tear you apart!” Then a firestorm of agony shattered my world. My mother clawed the mark from my forehead. She ripped out a bloody feather that burned with power. Gold-streaked blood ran down my face. I couldn’t even make a sound. I just thrashed silently in the cold ashes. Moros finally broke the silence. His voice was full of awe. “Her blood shines with gold. That’s the mark. That’s the blessing. Only a true Phoenix Divine Bird has that.” But my mother wouldn’t believe him. She was hysterical. “Impossible! That curse is no blood of mine. Only my beloved Carson is worthy. That thing is just a thief.” The elders agreed with her. “Exactly! Birds like that deserve to die. Let’s not waste our time.” Moros fell silent. My mother looked at me with hate and disgust. She raised her god-whip. I closed my eyes and braced for the pain. Before she could strike, Moros spoke once more. “She’s a Phoenix Divine Bird, no matter what. Her blood heals any wound. The War of the Giants left Ares in a coma. Could you let me have her and offer her to the God of War?” Phoenix Divine Bird blood was god-tier medicine. That was why the entire divine realm was panicking over Ares. My parents traded glances and finally gave in. “If it’s for Ares, fine,” they said. “But that freak is never welcome here. Let her die far away from Phoenix lands.”

I woke up blurred and broken in a pitch-dark ravine. Pain leaked out of my battered bird body. Moros looked at me with pity. He drew a blade and sliced my brow. Warm blood gushed into a gleaming obsidian bowl. The agony ripped through me. I shook and couldn’t scream. I fought to keep from passing out. I caught a glimpse of a towering shadow of a man lying on a stone bed. Before I could see more, blackness swallowed me whole. Moros ran his hand gently down my feathers. “Hold on, little one. Only your blood can save Ares now.” He carved open the man’s arm and merged my magic blood with his. Divine power hummed in the air. Once he was done, he brought a cold chalice to my beak. It was Olympian water. First he bled me dry, and now he tried to heal me? It felt like divine roulette. But my survival instinct took over, and I gulped it down. The chill burned hot. A rush of fire coursed through me and sealed every wound I had. I barely had time to catch my breath before Moros picked me up. He dragged my limp body to the edge of a forgotten abyss. The next time I woke up, I was nowhere near the golden skies of Olympus. I was in a wasteland blanketed with death and gray mist. It was the Fields of Erebus. This was the borderland between the Underworld and the mortal realm. It was the playground of the god Erebus. Here, the ground cracked and cursed magic steamed up. Monsters prowled and damned souls cried in the darkness. I staggered to my feet and flapped my crooked wings. I was desperate to fly, but I found a wild boar instead. It had yellow tusks and drool stringing from its lips. It slinked out of the fog and locked its hungry eyes on me. A wicked sneer crossed its face. “Well, well. Erebus delivers a real treat! I didn’t expect a snack today.” Terror ripped through me. I fought to get away. “Stay back! Get away! Don’t touch me!” My tiny voice chirped frantically. The beast’s snout twitched as it sniffed me. It drank in my scent. “So sweet. God-blood tastes different. If I eat you, I’ll level up!” Slobber splashed everywhere as it dove for me. Its razor tusks tore through my wing. I blacked out. I was sure I was dead. But then, I saw a light. A burning gold shield appeared and surrounded me. The boar slammed into it and snarled. It was catapulted through the mist. Its huge body spun mid-air and crashed into a tree. The impact snapped the tree clean in half. Blood spilled out of the boar’s mouth. “Damn it! What the hell?” the beast grunted. Before it could get up, a man dropped out of the sky. He was tall and broad. He slashed his sword, and silver flashed. The metal bit into the beast’s flesh. The brute squealed and shuddered in agony as blood poured from its jaws. It kicked twice and then died. The man scooped me up in his enormous hand and nestled me in his palm. He fastened a necklace around my throat. It was plain, but it glowed with divine gold. He didn’t say a word. He mounted his beast and carried me to a wooden hut deep in the Fields of Erebus. I was half-conscious, but I felt his warmth as he put me down. As I faded again, I saw the outline of his powerful back vanishing into the gloom.

When I woke up again, I was trapped inside a cold iron cage. Black roses curled up the bars. Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, had made me his pet. I remembered it clearly. A tall man had saved me. It definitely wasn’t that gloomy bastard Hades. He only fed me once a day. The food was cold, rotten scraps that pulsed with the tainted Underworld air. It wasn’t fit for a vulture, let alone a Phoenix-blood like me. But that wasn’t the worst part. He clamped iron chains around my claws. He locked me down as if I could sprout wings and vanish. It was laughable. Even if I broke free, I had this scrawny, ashen sparrow body. How far could I fly? I had no divine power. I only had feathers and grit. “Kraa!” A hoarse screech sliced through the suffocating silence. I jerked awake. Black flames charred my soul again. The pain seared every nerve. This was torture. This was murder. Hades’ calculating eyes drilled into me. They were cold, cruel, and unblinking. He summoned the black fire. He scorched my feathers until they turned to ash. “Pathetic. Useless. All these years and still not a single Phoenix feather. You are just as worthless as your ragged father.” The smell of burning flesh and despair filled the air. Every nerve in my body screamed. I bit down hard. There was no way I would whimper. I refused to let that monster see me break. I refused to let him bask in his twisted game. Anger flared inside me. He was testing me and torturing me just to see if I would shatter. I couldn’t stay here. If I did, I would die soon. I would just be another broken thing in his collection. When Hades’ maidservant came to feed me, I struck. My beak darted out and bit her finger hard. She howled, and I bolted from the cage. I was too careless. The chain was still locked tight on my leg. I crashed to the ground and my bones rattled. Pain exploded through me, but I refused to quit. I was bleeding and raw. I thrashed and tore at the chains with everything I had. Then, one moment changed everything. A tear, red with blood, slid from my brow. It splashed against the worthless trinket I wore on my neck. Golden light blazed. Somewhere deep inside my fragile bird chest, ancient power surged. The chains erupted. Fragments flew like shrapnel, and I broke free. My wings beat wild and frantic. I ran. I scrambled. I clawed my way out of Hades’ dark palace with every last drop of strength. Shouts echoed everywhere. “Hades’ pet bird has escaped!” If he caught me now, the next time would mean a hell so much worse. I would never leave that cage alive. I swore I would rather die than go back. I didn’t hesitate. I ran fast. I dodged his hellhounds. I dove into the twisted fog at the edge of the Fields of Erebus. It was the borderland, crawling with wild things and monsters. It was a dump, but right then, it was the only place where I had a chance. I stumbled onto a shack. It was rickety and half-collapsed in a pile of boulders. There were scratch marks on the door. They looked weirdly familiar, but my head was a foggy mess. That chain around my neck caught a bit of my god-blood and glowed with a freakish, golden shine. Since then, the scars from Hades’ dark flames had healed. Some lucky godly heir must have dropped it, and I had snagged it for free. I set up a shelter. Every day, I perched in the scraggly tree outside and sunned myself. Below me, mutant monsters with five heads tore each other apart. It was honestly way more entertaining than the backstabbing in Hades’ palace. Just as things got good, a black shape streaked above me. I tried to curse out whoever was tossing trash from the sky, but something slammed into the back of my skull. The world spun. Everything blacked out. I tumbled out of the tree, dazed. When I came to, there was something in my arms. It was small, scaly, and dark as midnight. It was a snake. It was barely breathing, sickly, and battered. It had a lone white mark on its tail. I circled it a few times. “Damn, bro, you look like hell. Nobody wants a mess like you. You fit perfectly with a lost cause like me.” I wiped dirt off my face and dragged it inside. “Lucky you crashed here instead of landing in Hades’ stew pot. He would have dropped you in soup for sure.” I dug through the cupboards and found some leftover god-herb roots. I chewed them into a bitter mash and shoved it at the little black snake. “Come on! I picked this up while the monsters brawled. If you weren’t as pitiful as me, I would never waste these scraps on you.” The stubborn thing wouldn’t open its mouth. It didn’t matter. I jammed the herb in my own beak. I broke his jaws open and force-fed him. Watching this little black wreck, something warmed in my chest. It felt like finding a shitty brother in this hellhole. For once, I wasn’t totally alone. “In a place like this, ugly fuckers like us? We stick together. It’s the only way to survive.”

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