My name is Helen Silvermoon. Werewolf princess. Heir to the Silvermoon throne. Three days ago, my father was assassinated. His body wasn’t even in the ground yet when the Darkmoon family stirred up humans to deface his memorial portrait with stones. “The Coexistence Agreement is the biggest lie of the Silvermoon crown!” — a human council representative spits into the camera. “The Moonbridge Project is racial segregation! Humans will never be slaves!” #MoonbridgeProjectConspiracy #WerewolvesOppressingHumans Trending worldwide. My grandfather turns off the TV. He is the Silvermoon Alpha King. “The Darkmoon family is pushing to abolish the Coexistence Agreement. The Saint Moon Parliament votes in three weeks. Your crown heir’s trial is being accelerated.” He leans down. His voice scrapes like a rusted blade. “Helen. Go to Silvermoon Academy. As a human. Find proof that the Darkmoon family is sabotaging the peace. Otherwise—” Otherwise, Silvermoon falls. Darkmoon rises. The agreement collapses. Humans become slaves. I push the inhibitor into my vein. The liquid is silver — like liquid moonlight. Three seconds later, I can no longer smell werewolves. Three minutes later, I become a human. The gates of Silvermoon Academy open before me. I bend down to lock my bicycle. “Did you hear? Two transfer students today. New Moonbridge kids walking right into the trap—” A hand holding coffee. A high heel stepping exactly where I’m about to put my foot. Coffee pours all over me. A scream explodes.

“Are you freaking blind?” The blonde girl gets close to me. She sniffs the air around me. “Chelsea, look. Director Nielsen said one of the transfer students today is the daughter of a human cleaner.” She pokes at my T-shirt. “That’s you, right?” “No, it‘s not.” I get shoved hard. A passing girl catches me. Brakes screech. A black SUV stops. A girl steps out — sharp-dressed, oversized sunglasses hiding half her face. “Emily Nash. Transfer student.” She takes off her sunglasses. “My dad is the cousin of Council Chairman Nash.” The blonde girl laughs. “There are only two transfer students today. What about your father?” “He’s dead.” “Oh. So you ARE the cleaner’s daughter.” She steps closer. “Know your place, lower-class.” The laughter stings. “We have class.” The girl who caught me earlier lowers her head. “Mrs. Weimar’s class doesn’t allow tardiness —” The blonde girl shoves her. “Abigail. Human girl. No one asked you to speak.” Abigail stumbles. Her textbooks hit the ground. I crouch down to pick them up. “You’re helping her?” The blonde girl grabs my wrist. “First — I am not the cleaner’s daughter. Second — You know nothing about who I am. And third —” —SLAP— My face stings. I lift my head and look into her eyes. “You’ll regret messing with me.” She laughs out loud. “You’ll regret coming to Silvermoon Academy, Moonbridge freak.”

Abigail lowers her voice. “You shouldn’t have helped me. Chelsea is the werewolf princess of the Darkmoon family. Zoe is her sidekick. No one dares to go against them.” “I know.” “Then why —” “Does ‘no one dares’ makes it right?” The bell rings. Mrs. Pamela walks into the classroom. “Today we’re talking about the origin of the Moonbridge Project. Thirty years ago, the Silvermoon Alpha King founded the Moonbridge Project, admitting one hundred human students every year. This is a hand of friendship extended by werewolves to humankind.” Emily raises her hand. “What do you think about the negative rumors spreading online about the Moonbridge Project?” “The Moonbridge Project may have some —” “Some discrimination?” Emily finishes the sentence. “Some areas that need adjustment.” (Mrs. Pamela) “Like what?” (Emily) “Like — human students should not question the teaching methods of werewolf teachers.” Chelsea’s voice cuts through from the front row. In Ancient Werewolf Language. “What?” Emily looks completely lost. “Like — werewolf students should not deliberately use Ancient Werewolf Language to isolate human classmates.” Chelsea glares at me. Abigail whispers, “What did she say?” My grandfather’s voice echoes in my head: As a human. Find proof. This is your heir’s trial. I lower my eyes. “Ancient Werewolf Language. I don’t understand it.” Chelsea’s lips smile. Her eyes don’t. “Ms. Conner, if you can’t understand Ancient Werewolf Language, I suggest you transfer schools.” I lift my head. Calm. Steady. “I’ll learn.” But not the language. Your secrets and conspiracy. That‘s what I came for.

Dorm assignments. Werewolf students live in the main tower — floor-to-ceiling windows, private bathrooms. Human students live in the basement — water dripping from the ceiling, the smell of mold in the air. “Helen Conner.” The dorm manager reads my name. “A converted storage room.” “Wait.” Zoe leans against the wall. “Isn‘t Conner the cleaner’s daughter? She should live in the cleaner‘s dorm — with her own kind.” Laughter. The dorm manager’s eyelid twitches. “Miss Zoe is right. The cleaner’s dorm is outside campus, next to the Forbidden Forest. An extra twenty-minute walk.” I don’t argue. I grab my backpack and turn toward the east exit. Zoe‘s voice floats after me. “Let’s see how long she lasts.” My phone buzzes. Campus forum. Pinned post: 【Full Moon Festival Eve Alert: After moonrise tonight, werewolf students may roam the campus freely】 Top comment: “Full Moon Festival night = hunting season. Twelve humans got clawed last year.” Abigail catches up to me. The old scar on her arm turns pale in the setting sun. “Tonight is the eve of the Full Moon. Tomorrow night is the Moonlight Hunt. You have to hide —” The intercom crackles: “All human students must return to their dorms immediately.” The footsteps in the hallway grow heavier. Denser. Around the corner, Zoe leans against the wall. A baseball bat in her hand. Raised. Aimed at my knees. “Well, well. Two humans. Heading back to your dorm?” Her pupils turn gold. “I can walk you there.”

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I walked into Serena’s apartment with our wedding invitation in hand. Too hurried, so that I grabbed Damian’s phone by mistake on my way out. The second I stepped through the door, the screen lit up. Connected to Wi-Fi automatically. I froze for a moment. Damian had never been to her place. How the hell did his phone know her network? Serena glanced at the phone in my hand and smiled. “Stop guessing. Every time he told you he was on a business trip these past three years, he was sleeping here.” I stared at the invitation in my hand, ten years of my life suddenly feeling like a sick joke. She picked up an ultrasound scan from the coffee table and waved it at me. “Two months along. If you still want this wedding, perfect—you can be my free nanny.” The fingerprint lock beeped. Damian walked in carrying takeout soup. Our eyes met. His smile froze on his face. I folded the invitation and slipped it into my pocket. From this moment on, Serena Croft and Damian Sterling were dead to me. …………………………………. “Why the hell are you running around with my phone?” Damian kicked off his shoes and set the soup container on the entryway table. His eyes swept over the ultrasound in Serena’s hand, then landed on my face. After a brief pause, he loosened his tie and sat down next to her. “Since you already know, there’s no point hiding it.” He looked up at me. “The scan’s real. She’s pregnant with my kid. Almost two months.” The invitation crumpled in my pocket as my fingers tightened around it. “So?” I could barely hear my own voice. Damian frowned, clearly pissed at my reaction. “What’s with the attitude? I haven’t even called you out for snooping through my phone.” He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, his tone self-righteous. “You’ve had two miscarriages. The doctor said your uterine lining is too damaged to carry another pregnancy.” “I need an heir. Serena’s willing to have my child—she’s doing us a favor.” “The kid will call you Mom when it’s born. You’re getting a free baby. What’s the problem?” Ten years. I’d starved with him. Destroyed my stomach drinking for his business deals. Lost two unborn children for him. And now he was telling me that screwing my best friend was for my own good. Serena leaned against Damian’s shoulder, her hand resting on her flat stomach. “Sienna, I never had parents growing up. I’ve always thought of you as my sister.” “The three of us can live together. My baby will be your baby too.” She lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming with victory. “You’ve always wanted a complete family, right? Well, now you have one.” Damian stroked her hair. “See how understanding Serena is? Unlike you, walking around with that bitchy expression all the time.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This is a supplemental agreement. My lawyer drafted it.” “Next month’s wedding goes ahead as planned. You’ll still be Mrs. Sterling.” “But publicly, Serena will be my cousin. She’ll move into our penthouse for the pregnancy.” I stared at the document without reaching for it. “Serena moves into our home as your cousin?” “Yes.” Damian nodded. “I can’t leave her alone in this condition.” “And after the baby’s born?” I forced a bitter smile. “Registered under your name. Serena’s still young—she can’t let a kid hold her back.” Damian pulled out a pen and held it toward me. “I’ll add an extra ten grand to your monthly allowance, specifically for taking care of Serena and the baby.” “Sienna, don’t be greedy. I’ve given you the best of everything. What more do you want?” He looked into my eyes with terrifying sincerity. He genuinely believed he’d done nothing wrong. To him, I was nothing but an accessory with no income of my own, completely dependent on him. As long as he tossed me a few scraps, I should be grateful. Serena grabbed the pen and shoved it into my hand. “Just sign it, Sienna. If you don’t, those ten years will have been for nothing.” “You don’t even have a job. What are you going to do without Damian?” The pen dug painfully into my fingers. I watched them play their synchronized game, and suddenly the whole farce felt absurd. Ten years of my youth, traded for a contract to be the mistress’s free nanny. I set the pen down on the table. “I’m not signing.” Damian’s expression darkened. “Don’t push your luck, Sienna. I’ve felt guilty about those two miscarriages.” “Think of this baby as compensation. What the hell else do you want?” He stood up, looking down at me. “Last chance. Sign it.” I stood, pulled the invitation from my pocket, and threw it in the trash. “I’ll think about it.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Damian sat back down and picked up the soup container, blowing on it. “I knew you’d come around. Remember to pick out engagement rings tomorrow.” “Serena said she likes pink diamonds. Get her one too while you’re at it.”

That evening, I returned to the penthouse I shared with Damian. I entered the code. The lock beeped an error. I stood there frozen and tried again. “Incorrect password.” The robotic voice echoed through the hallway. I stared at the door I’d walked through for five years, suddenly feeling like a complete stranger. Two hours later, the elevator doors opened. Damian stepped out, helping Serena walk beside him. Seeing me still standing at the door, he frowned. “Why haven’t you gone in? Standing out here like a damn statue?” I looked at him. “The password’s wrong.” Damian slapped his forehead. “Serena said the old code had unlucky numbers, bad for the baby. I changed it.” He walked up and entered Serena’s birthday. The door opened. I followed them inside and saw my slippers were gone from the entryway. In their place sat a pair of non-slip pregnancy slippers. “Your slippers had hard soles. I was worried Serena might slip, so I had the housekeeper throw them out.” Damian tossed off the explanation casually as he helped Serena toward the master bedroom. I walked to the bedroom doorway and froze completely. All my skincare products had been swept from the vanity into the trash. The closet doors hung open, half my clothes cleared out, replaced with racks of Serena’s maternity wear. “Damian, what the hell is this?” I pointed at the empty closet space. Damian was pouring warm water for Serena, not even looking back. “Serena’s pregnant. She can’t handle the smell of your perfumes.” “I had the housekeeper move your stuff to the guest room. You’ll sleep there for the next few months.” Serena leaned against the headboard, her hand on her stomach as she sighed. “Sienna, you’re not mad at me, are you? The doctor said my pregnancy is high-risk, I need complete rest.” “The master bedroom has better light, better for the baby’s development. You care about me so much, you wouldn’t mind giving it up, right?” I stared at her sickeningly fake face with no desire to argue. The next morning, I sat at the dining table eating oatmeal. Damian walked out of the bedroom with his phone in hand. Right in front of me, he pressed the speaker button. “Hello, is this the wedding planner? Yes, this is Damian Sterling.” “Change the bride’s name on the welcome sign. Put Serena Croft instead.” My hand clenched around the spoon. The voice on the other end hesitated. “Mr. Sterling, but what about Ms. Hayes…” Damian pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at me. “Ms. Hayes? She’ll be the maid of honor.” He hung up and took a sip of his milk. “Serena said she’s dreamed of wearing a wedding dress since she was a kid. She’s pregnant now, we can’t upset her.” “We’re practically an old married couple anyway, it’s just a formality. Let her have the bride’s spot, think of it as fulfilling her dream.” His tone was casual, like he was discussing something completely trivial. Serena came out of the bedroom wearing my nightgown and wrapped her arms around Damian’s neck. “You’re so sweet, Damian.” She turned to look at me, her smile innocent. “Sienna, will you be my maid of honor? I want you to witness my happiness with your own eyes.” Damian tapped the table, prompting me. “Serena asked you a question. Don’t be petty, it’s just a dress.” I looked down at the oatmeal in my bowl. Ten years of devotion couldn’t compete with one casual request from her, and now even my place as the bride was stolen. I set down the spoon and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Fine.” Damian smiled with satisfaction. “That’s more like it. We’re a family, we should get along.”

“There’s a business gala tonight. Wear something plain, don’t steal Serena’s spotlight.” On the couch lay a cheap, dated dress he’d tossed at me. Behind him stood Serena in a designer maternity gown, wearing my pink diamond necklace. “Damian, do I look good in this?” Serena lifted her skirt and spun in a circle. Damian walked over and put his arm around her waist. “Beautiful. You’ll be the most stunning woman there tonight.” He turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What are you standing there for? Go change. Don’t waste time.” I picked up the gray dress and walked into the guest bedroom. By the time I came out dressed, Damian had already left with Serena. I had to take a cab to the hotel myself. When I pushed open the ballroom doors, Damian was holding a champagne flute, laughing and chatting with several business partners. Serena clung to his arm, the picture of elegance. I walked over, about to take my place behind Damian. “Mr. Sterling, who is this?” A partner gestured toward Serena. Damian raised his glass, all smiles. “Let me introduce you. This is my fiancée, Serena Croft.” A chorus of flattery rose around them. “Ms. Croft is absolutely radiant. You two make such a perfect couple.” Another partner recognized me. “Wait, then who’s Ms. Hayes over there?” The ballroom went quiet for a moment. Everyone’s eyes turned to me with curiosity and mockery. Damian paused briefly, not even turning around. “Her? My sister.” Ten years together, and I’d become his sister. He couldn’t even give me a decent explanation, casually erasing every trace of me. I stood in the corner, watching Serena accept everyone’s congratulations. Halfway through the gala, Serena walked toward me carrying a glass of red wine. “Oh no!” She suddenly stumbled, half the wine splashing across my gray dress. The red liquid dripped down the fabric, making me look pathetic. “Sienna, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Serena covered her mouth, putting on a performance of panic. Damian rushed over and shoved me aside, pulling Serena into his arms. “Are you okay? Did you hurt the baby?” He turned to glare at me, his tone harsh. “Why were you standing so close? You know she’s pregnant and you’re still crowding her!” “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass yourself here.” I didn’t argue, just turned and walked toward the restroom. After the gala ended, we waited in the parking garage for the driver. Serena suddenly cried out. “Damian, I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Without a word, Damian crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” Serena climbed onto his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Over Damian’s shoulder, she looked back at me following behind. Her lips moved silently. “Your ten years don’t measure up to my three months.” I stopped walking, staring at their overlapping silhouettes. Damian turned his head, impatient. “Sienna Hayes, can you walk faster? The car keys are in your bag, stop dragging your feet!” I stood still, not moving. “Hand them over!” Damian raised his voice. I unzipped my purse, pulled out the car keys, and threw them on the ground with a sharp clatter. Damian froze. I didn’t look at him. I turned and walked to the curb, flagging down a taxi. Back at the penthouse, I opened my phone. The photo album held over three thousand pictures, all of Damian and me through the years. I selected batch delete and removed them one by one until every single one was gone. I cleared our pinned chat history too. One final message popped up, from Damian. “Remember to try on the maid of honor dress tomorrow. Serena wants pink.” I didn’t reply. In the corner of the living room, three packed suitcases sat quietly against the wall.

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

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

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

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They called Seraphina was the most shameless, most scandalous princess the lycan capital had ever seen — and one jug of spiked wine had finished off nineteen years of the Luna Temple’s priest’s sacred vows of purity. Rumors spread like wildfire: surely she would use the scandal to force a royal decree, demanding the priest leave his post and marry her. After all, she and the current Lycan King were twins. She was his most cherished person in the world. At ten years old, she’d marched into the royal court and yanked three white hairs clean from the Royal Tutor’s beard. At twelve, she’d snapped the General’s ceremonial sword in half before an entire assembly. At sixteen, she’d moved out of the palace and set herself up in her own estate — with ninety-nine lovers on retainer. The common folk dared only mutter behind closed doors about what a shameless creature she was, and they all wagered on when the King would finally issue the decree forcing the priest to marry her. But half a month passed. The palace and the Princess’s estate were both deathly silent. The Princess who had always been so brash and loud — she stopped making her daily pilgrimages up Frostpeak Mountain, stopped using “prayer” as a flimsy excuse to chase after the priest. She stopped throwing jealous tantrums every time the priest lit a candle blessing for one of her handmaidens. This time, Seraphina simply knelt in the palace, her spine straight as a blade. “Brother,” her voice was eerily calm, “grant me a decree to ride to the borderlands as a marriage alliance, mating with Ironrust Pack’s alpha.” … The Lycan King shot to his feet and reached for her hands himself. “The border may be restless, but I will never send my sister away as a peace bride! Besides, you’ve been in love with the priest since we were children! You took lovers the moment you left the palace — ruined your own reputation on purpose — just so no matchmaker could ever pair you with someone else.” The King tightened his grip on her hands. “And now — Caden has already petitioned me. He plans to release his sacred flame at the next full moon ceremony and leave the Temple. After the ceremony, he intends to take you as his mate. Sera, why are you—” Seraphina blinked, just once. He was going to leave the Temple? He wanted to marry her? But she straightened up quickly, lowered her lashes, and spoke in a voice rough as gravel: “Brother. I no longer wish to marry him.” “Why?” Because the person who had shared that shameful night with him was never her to begin with. The wine had been her birthday gift to him — she’d poured it herself with her own hands. But he’d taken only one sip before collapsing into unconsciousness. Panicked, she’d run down the mountain in a blizzard to fetch a healer. When she returned, she learned he had spent the night with Roselyn. Roselyn was her most trusted handmaiden. That was when she discovered the wine had been laced with a desire-inducing drug. Furious, she demanded answers — and all she got in return was his ice-cold stare. “Princess. Let this end here. If you dig further, the truth about Roselyn and me will come out — and with her low station, she’ll have no way to defend herself.” But the story leaked anyway. Only it twisted into something else entirely: that Seraphina had drugged the priest and forced him into a scandalous night. The ministers who had long despised her seized the chance to file petitions against her. She tried to clear her name — and he stopped her again. “Roselyn is innocent. She shouldn’t suffer for this. But you’re different. Your reputation is already notorious, and your rank protects you. People will forget soon enough.” He said it like it was obvious. Like she deserved everything raining down on her. But he knew, better than anyone, that every outrageous thing she’d ever done had been because she loved him. The entire capital cursed her name. Fanatical devotees of the Luna Temple knelt at the palace gates daily, demanding she die in penance. And she never said a single word in her own defense — because when she was ten years old, he had saved her life. Consider us even, she thought. From here, we owe each other nothing. The King stared at her for a long time. This was the sister who had always looked out for him since they were small. This was the fearless, reckless Seraphina who was afraid of nothing under the sky. But the person kneeling before him now looked like someone whose heart had already died. At last, he let out a long, heavy breath. “I… grant it.” Seraphina was about to rise when hurried footsteps echoed from outside the hall. The head chamberlain entered with a deep bow. “Your Majesty. A joint petition — signed by the entire court—” The King took the scroll and his expression darkened with fury. “They want the Princess to crawl on her knees up all nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps of Frostpeak Mountain — one kowtow per step — as a public apology to the priest? To appease public outrage?” Seraphina lowered her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. The ninth-generation priest of Frostpeak Mountain — Caden Vale — was the most extraordinary one the Temple had ever produced. Skin pale as first snow. Eyes sharp and cool. An air about him like a solitary peak above the clouds — utterly untouched by the world below. His divinations never failed. When he prayed for rain, rain came. He was revered by all — second only to the Lycan King himself, first in the hearts of the people. She had ruined him. The court wanted her to grovel. It made sense. “Absurd! Go tell them — she’s already agreed to the marriage alliance.” “Brother.” Seraphina stopped him, her expression unreadable. “If we announce the marriage alliance now, the Ironrust Pack will think my intentions aren’t sincere. It’s better to reveal it at the same time as the Keeper’s succession ceremony. It will prevent too much unrest.” She paused. “As for the steps — I’ll kneel them. To keep the peace.” … At the base of Frostpeak Mountain, nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine stone steps rose straight up into the clouds. The stairs were buried in thick snow. Ice hung from the pines on either side. The wind cut like a blade. Seraphina stood at the foot of the steps. She was about to lift her foot when voices drifted down from above. It was Caden and his head acolyte. “Why would the priest want to marry the Princess?” The acolyte couldn’t hide his confusion. “She wronged you. Your name is in ruins because of her. Why would you take her?” Seraphina’s foot froze mid-step. That was a fair question. Why had Caden petitioned to marry her? He could have stayed on the mountain even after leaving the Temple. He didn’t have to take anyone. Was it out of guilt? To compensate her? She needed to set him straight — she didn’t want his charity. But then that cool, snow-like voice answered: “Roselyn and I have understood each other since childhood. We were always… bound, by something. But our stations made it impossible.” Caden’s voice was detached. “If I marry the Princess, I can see Roselyn every single day.” Seraphina stood at the bottom of the steps. She heard every word. Her eyes burned, her nose stung — and yet, she laughed. Of course. He wanted to marry her for Roselyn. He said he and Roselyn had understood each other since they were young. That they were kindred spirits. Then what was she? When she was a child, she had fought to protect Caden time and again after he saved her. Her father’s fury eventually locked her inside the palace walls. So she had Roselyn carry letters to him — one after another, year after year — until the day her brother took the throne and she was finally free. She thought Roselyn was her messenger. She never imagined she’d been the one who had let those two fall in love. No wonder he protected Roselyn so fiercely. Seraphina tipped her head back and gazed up at those endless, endless steps. The corner of her mouth curved. Fine. After mated with Ironrust Pack’s alpha, they would never have anything to do with each other again.

She was just about to kneel when a commotion erupted behind her. Seraphina turned. Roselyn was leading a massive crowd of Temple devotees, marching toward her in a great tide. Roselyn stood at the front, head dipped, playing the picture of timid innocence. “I’m sorry, Your Highness — I couldn’t stop them.” Seraphina looked at the crowd behind Roselyn. They had clearly followed her footsteps here. She almost laughed at the irony. She used to treat Roselyn like a sister. Even that night — she’d gone running down a blizzard-covered mountain for a healer because she believed Roselyn when she said “the priest has been poisoned.” And the result? She later pieced together the truth: the drug in that wine had been placed there by Roselyn herself. The only reason she’d let Roselyn live was because Caden had begged for her life — and because they’d grown up together since they were girls. Her other handmaiden, Ivy, couldn’t hold back any longer. She stepped forward, her voice sharp: “Didn’t the priest personally request a favor, leaving you to recover at the estate? And you claim you couldn’t stop them? You led them here yourself, didn’t you?” Roselyn’s eyes went red, tears trembling at the edges. “Ivy, I really didn’t—” She never finished. A flash of white moved at the top of the steps. A figure descended. Caden — white robes, ink-dark hair pinned with jade, his expression sharp as carved stone — strode down the steps and walked directly to Roselyn’s side. Without a word, he unclasped his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders. “It’s freezing. Why did you come out?” His voice held a warmth Seraphina had never once heard him use with her. Roselyn’s eyes turned red, and she explained the whole situation — the petition, the crowd, the steps. Caden frowned faintly, then glanced over at Seraphina with something close to reproach. Something in Seraphina’s chest went still. Then it clenched, slow and hard. Roselyn could say anything and he would believe her. She had spoken her true heart to him for years and years. He had never believed a word. She didn’t bother opening her mouth. She simply turned back toward the steps, bent her knees, and knelt. One step, one bow. The crowd went silent for a breath — then the curses crashed over her like a wave. And then, somewhere in the mob, someone threw the first stone. It struck her across the back. More followed. Rocks. Clods of frozen earth. They rained down on her from all sides. Blood ran from her temple, mixing with meltwater, blurring her vision. She didn’t stop. Caden instinctively moved forward — but a sharp cry rose beside him. Roselyn swayed, her face draining to white, and crumpled against his chest. Caden caught her instantly, barking orders at the acolytes behind him: “Fetch a healer.” As he turned to carry Roselyn away, his eyes drifted back once more to that lone figure on the steps. A strange heaviness settled in his chest. Before, whenever she looked at him, her gaze had burned. Fierce and hungry, like she wanted to consume him whole. And she never called him by his proper title. Only ever: Caden. Or sometimes, when she was teasing, cute Caden But just now — from start to finish — she hadn’t looked at him once. The word that fell from her lips was his formal title: priest. From morning she knelt. Through dusk. Into dark. By the time the sun sank completely, Seraphina’s knees had long since worn through to raw flesh, blood gumming her skin to the stone. Her shoulders were bruised and torn from the stones that had struck her. Blood had soaked through her robes. When she crawled up the last step, her body pitched forward — and she collapsed in the snow before the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum.

When she woke, Seraphina was lying in a guest room inside the Snowveil Sanctum. Ivy sat at her bedside, spooning warm water into her mouth while tears streamed silently down her face. “Your Highness — the priest does care for you, in his own way. He had hot water drawn for you. He even gave specific instructions for you to stay and recover as long as you need.” Seraphina’s voice came out as a ragged scrape. “No. Pack everything. We’re going down.” Ivy blinked. “Now? Your wounds—” “I won’t die.” Seraphina braced herself upright. The marriage alliance mission was pressing. There was business at the estate to settle. She had no time to linger here. And she had no desire to lie here listening to what was happening next door. She had been gravely wounded last night — and through the thin wall, she had heard it all. Roselyn’s soft moans. Caden’s murmured reassurances. “Caden, it hurts — you were too rough last time…” “Don’t be afraid. I’ll apply the salve for you.” Even the memory made her stomach turn. She swung her legs off the bed, and the moment her knees touched the floor, searing agony shot through them. She clenched her jaw, gripped the bedpost, and forced herself upright. Just then, a soft knock. Roselyn’s voice through the door: “Your Highness. May I have a few words?” The small frozen lake behind the Sanctum had a skin of thin ice. The two women stood at its edge, saying nothing for a long moment. Finally, Roselyn broke the silence: “Your Highness. Caden told me last night — after he marries you, he’ll find an appropriate time to bring me into the household as well. I don’t ask to compete with you for anything. I only want to stay by his side. From that day on, I will honor you as the head of the household and serve you with all respect!” Seraphina finally turned to face her. Her gaze was level. Still. Without a trace of warmth. Roselyn faltered under that look. Seraphina stepped closer. Her voice was soft. “Everything you’ve done — I know it all. The only reason you’re still alive is because we grew up together.” She paused. “But from this day forward — don’t let me see your face.” She turned to leave. Roselyn’s color drained white. As Seraphina walked away, Roselyn gritted her teeth and lunged — grabbing her by the sleeve. “Your Highness! Please—” Seraphina’s brow furrowed. She shook Roselyn’s hand off — not hard, barely any force — but Roselyn suddenly pitched backward and tumbled into the lake. “Help! Someone help me!” She thrashed in the water, screaming. Acolytes and servants came running from every direction, and the whispers started immediately. “Was that the Princess? Did she push her?” “Of course she did — she’s always been jealous. She can’t stand Roselyn.” “The priest adores Roselyn — she did it on purpose…” And then a white figure burst through the crowd. Caden didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. He plunged into the lake. He carried Roselyn out of the water, wrapped the robe someone handed him around her soaking body — and then he looked up at Seraphina. That gaze. Cold as the ice that had never thawed at Frostpeak Mountain’s peak. It froze every word in her throat. Seraphina felt something in her chest get carved out slowly, like a knife working through bone. Caden turned and shoved past her — not violently, but not gently either — and strode off with Roselyn, shouting for a healer. Seraphina had been weakened. The nudge sent her stumbling backward. Her elbow cracked hard against the stone edge of the path. Caden’s step hitched. A complicated flicker crossed his eyes. But Roselyn whimpered from his arms, and he walked away without looking back. That night, Roselyn ran a high fever. And Caden — the revered priest, who had never once compromised his dignity — stripped down to only his inner robes and lay in the snow until his own body temperature dropped to ice. Then he went back to hold Roselyn close, using his own warmth to bring her fever down. All through the night. Into the next day. When Ivy reported this to Seraphina, she was shaking with fury. “Your Highness! After everything you’ve done for him — he won’t give you a single real look! He froze himself half to death in the snow for that girl, but you— And to think — when you were confined to the palace all those years ago, you split your mother’s gemstone brooch in half and gave one piece to him. And this is how he repays you!” “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice cut through quietly. She coughed twice. “That’s enough.” The door burst open.

Caden entered like a storm, the cold fury around him almost visible. He crossed the room in three strides, seized Seraphina’s wrist, and hauled her off the bed — dragging her without a word toward the door. “What are you doing?!” Ivy lunged forward, but one look from him stopped her cold. Caden dragged Seraphina into Roselyn’s room. Roselyn lay in the bed. When she saw Seraphina, she struggled to rise, her voice thin: “Your Highness — this is my fault. I should never have said those things to you…” Caden shoved Seraphina forward. “Apologize to her.” Seraphina looked at him. “I did nothing wrong.” Caden’s jaw tightened. “You pushed her into the lake and you call that nothing wrong?” The grip on her wrist crushed tighter — nearly enough to grind bone. Seraphina laughed. It was a quiet, strange laugh. “Caden Vale. You may be second to none in this kingdom — but I am still the Princess. We have nothing to do with each other. You have no authority to command me.” Nothing to do with each other? Caden’s expression went flat and cold. “Don’t play innocent. I’ve already petitioned the King. I will take you as my mate after the ceremony. I’m to be your husband — is that authority enough?” He yanked her toward him — barely using force — but Seraphina was already so weak that she simply crumpled to her knees on the floor. Her knees hit the ground hard. The scabs that had barely formed split open again. Black swam at the edge of her vision. She didn’t cry out. She just stared down, watching blood bloom slowly outward from the wounds. He loved the world. He loved his devotees. He loved the people. He would spare tenderness for a bird, for an ant. The only person he had never loved — the only one he had always found so easy to hurt — was her. Roselyn grew frantic. “No — you can’t make Her Highness kneel before me, it’s my fault, I—” She dissolved into a violent coughing fit. Caden rushed to her side. “Stay still. Don’t strain yourself.” Roselyn sagged against him, catching her breath. Then her eyes drifted — and Caden followed her gaze to the small pouch hanging at Seraphina’s waist. He paused. Then he saw the blood spreading across the floor. In one swift motion, he reached down and unhooked the pouch from Seraphina’s belt. He pressed it into Roselyn’s hands. “Consider this her apology. Help the Princess up. Let that be the end of it.” Seraphina let out a quiet breath of a laugh. That pouch was the only thing Caden had ever given her. She’d carried it against her skin for three years. Well. Things she should never have kept in the first place. She pushed away the hands trying to help her, swayed to her feet on her own, and walked out. Caden watched her back until it disappeared. His brow furrowed deeper. She hadn’t said a word. He’d expected, at minimum, anger. Tears. He’d expected her to spin around and confront him, the way she always used to — eyes red, demanding to know why. She used to make jealous scenes over the most trivial things. Once, because he’d lit a single candle blessing for Roselyn during a ceremony, she’d sulked until he lit ninety-nine more. She had treated every small gift he’d ever given her like a treasure. He’d once offhandedly praised a line of poetry — she’d copied it out a hundred times and bound it into a little book. He’d absentmindedly snapped off a branch of winter plum — she’d put it in water and refused to throw it out for an entire month, even as the petals dried and fell. Now this… blankness. As if he no longer mattered to her at all. Something constricted in Caden’s chest, strange and sharp. But Roselyn stirred against him, and he pushed the feeling down. He was about to marry the Princess. If he didn’t correct her behavior now — while he still had some authority as the priest — he would have even less control once he was only an ordinary man. Roselyn would suffer for it. He could not afford to go soft.

Back in her room, Seraphina bound her wounds and went straight back to packing. This room had been hers on previous stays at the Sanctum — she’d put little touches of herself everywhere. Now she had Ivy take them all down, one by one. By the time dark fell, they finally rested. Ivy was crying again, her anger building with every word: “I was blind before — I used to think the priest treated you well. If you had actually married him, you would have been miserable every single day…” Seraphina finally spoke. “I won’t be marrying him.” The door crashed open again. Caden stood in the doorway, his expression like a sky about to break. “What did you just say?” Ivy startled, stepping in front of Seraphina. Caden ignored her, eyes fixed on Seraphina alone. “What did you just say? Are you refusing to allow Roselyn into the household?” “I promised you — outside of her, no one else would enter. You and Roselyn grew up in the same world. Why must you be so intolerant of her?” Seraphina said nothing. Caden drew a sharp breath. “What do you want?” “Nothing. If you have something to say, say it.” She finally looked up. “I’m leaving at first light.” Caden glanced at the wounds on her knees. Then at her bloodless face. Something uncomfortable churned through him — a restless, sourceless irritation. “No one is throwing you out. Why do you have to act pitiful? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Ivy had heard enough. Her voice shook with barely restrained indignation: “priest, that’s going too far. Our Princess has never once played the victim. And besides, there are plenty of people at the estate waiting on her. We’d rather not be in the way of your… arrangements.” Caden’s expression tightened further. He thought of the ninety-nine lovers at the Princess’s estate. A cold sound escaped him. “No wonder you’re in such a hurry. Missing your lovers already. Then leave — right now. At least with you gone, Roselyn won’t have to be afraid all the time.” Seraphina’s hands stilled. He wanted her to leave. Right now. In the dead of night. In the snow. She looked up and met those cold, empty eyes. He wasn’t joking. “One more thing,” Caden’s voice dropped further. “We’ll be wed in a fortnight. I expect every one of those lovers gone before then.” Seraphina closed her eyes. She thought of the letters she’d sent him over the years — every one of them her truest heart. She had told him, in those letters, that she had never touched those men. She kept them only to turn away matchmakers. She was waiting for him, and only him. He had never believed a single word. And now he was using it to wound her again. “Since that’s why you came, I’ll leave.” Ivy’s voice cracked. “Your Highness — it’s the middle of the night. Your wounds—” “Let’s go.” Seraphina braced herself upright, and walked out the door. Ivy followed, crying. Caden stayed where he was and watched her silhouette vanish into the wind and dark. The heaviness in his chest grew heavier. Something pressed down on him, made it hard to breathe. The priest — who was always so composed, so untouched, who prided himself on feeling neither pleasure nor sorrow — found that his temper always seemed to ignite so easily around Seraphina. He drew a slow breath, and noticed for the first time what she’d done to the room. The landscape painting she’d hung on the wall — gone. The small pot of winter plum she’d been tending on the windowsill — gone. She had said once, with a laugh, that a room needed these things to feel like a home. And now it was bare. Stripped clean. Like she had never been here at all. Caden’s fist closed slowly at his side. Something pierced him, sudden and deep. He thought, perhaps, that he was coming down with something. He ought to have a healer look at him.

The mountain trail was treacherous. Snow had buried the path ankle-deep. Seraphina took each step slowly, like she was pressing her feet down onto knife blades. Every time her knees bent, pain ripped through her body in waves so violent her whole frame shuddered. Ivy gripped her arm, weeping silently with every step. They were halfway down the mountain when a howl split the dark. Then — eyes. Twin points of pale green glowing in the black, then more, and more. Witches? How could there be witches here? Before Serafina could even think, Ivy was already trembling—but she still stood in front of Serafina. “Your Highness, run! I’ll hold them off!” Seraphina tried to grab her, but it was too late. The witches’ fiery arrows were already raining down on them, capable of instantly stripping werewolves of all their strength. “Ah—!” Ivy screamed, blood splattering onto the snow. Seraphina drew a dagger from her waist, unleashing the unique aura of a lycan, and moved into a giant white wolf, charging towards the witches. But the witches outnumbered her, unleashing their magic from a distance. By the time she had finally driven them all away, Ivy had collapsed beside her, the ground beneath her feet stained dark red, her face almost as red as the snow. “Your Highness… run… don’t worry about me…” Seraphina’s carefully held composure cracked. This was the girl who had grown up beside her. Her last remaining sister. “Ivy.” Seraphina’s voice shook. “Ivy, stay with me — keep your eyes open—” She didn’t let herself panic. She clenched her teeth, hoisted Ivy onto her back, and started climbing. Up. Back toward the Sanctum. She didn’t know how long she walked. She only knew that every step burned her to the bone, and she didn’t stop, because she couldn’t afford to. Finally, the gates of the Snowveil Sanctum appeared through the dark. She stumbled forward and pounded her fist against the wood. The gate swung open — and before she could speak, acolytes surged toward her shouting: “The Princess has been found!” “The moonstone choker from Roselyn’s coat has been poisoned — she’s barely holding on!” “Every healer is inside! Bring the Princess at once!” “That wasn’t me — please, help Ivy first—” Her voice came out like shredded silk. She was barely conscious herself, one arm pointing toward Ivy’s crumpled form on the ground behind her. But no one heard her. They all stared at her like she was a monster who had just crawled up from the earth. More acolytes pushed forward: “Roselyn’s been poisoned — the healers say only the blood drawn from above the heart of the one who poisoned her can serve as the antidote!” Seraphina was dragged into a room and shoved to the floor. Caden stood beside the bed, holding Roselyn’s limp body in his arms. He didn’t even look at her. Just spoke in a voice scraped clean of everything: “Take the blood. Save her.” “That’s not—” Seraphina couldn’t finish the sentence. The knife came down before she could say another word. “Ahh—!” A short, broken cry tore from her as the blade plunged into her chest. Blood welled and dripped, one drop at a time, into the bowl below. Her awareness narrowed to a tunnel. She held on as long as she could — and then a gush of blood rose in her throat and spilled from her lips. She fell. In the darkness, she thought she heard someone calling her name. But she couldn’t hear it anymore. She hadn’t saved Ivy yet. She was so sorry. She was so sorry…

When she woke, Seraphina was looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. A blade of pain lived in her chest. An unknown handmaiden knelt at her bedside. “You’re awake, Your Highness. This is the priest’s new estate — it was prepared for the ceremony, to receive you as his mate.” Seraphina didn’t take any of that in. “Where is Ivy?” The handmaiden went very still, kneeling, and began to tremble. Seraphina understood then. She threw back the covers and lurched to her feet. The wound stitched across her chest tore open. She felt nothing. She was already running, bare feet on cold stone, crashing through the door. Outside, a heavy snowfall. And several servants moving slowly, carrying a coffin out toward the gates. Seraphina stopped. Then she lunged forward, wild. “Ivy! Ivy!!” A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and locked tight. Caden’s brow was drawn together, his voice sharp and urgent. “Stop — are you out of your mind? Your chest wound just closed!” Seraphina wrenched free and turned. The way she looked at him made him go still. “SMACK!” Her palm cracked across his face. Every person in the courtyard froze. Every knee hit the ground. Caden’s head turned with the blow. A vivid handprint rose on his cheek. “You—” “I hate you.” Seraphina’s voice shook, but every word was carved sharp. “Caden Vale. I hate you. I will kill you. I will kill that girl too. They owe Ivy her life!” The words landed in Caden’s chest like a fist. He recovered, and his voice came out low and harder than he meant it to: “Enough. You have any idea what you’re saying? You were the one who struck first — you poisoned the choker. Ivy’s wounds were from the witches. What does any of that have to do with Roselyn?” Seraphina laughed. A thin, broken sound. “That brooch was taken from me by you. How was I supposed to poison it in advance? How could I have known you would give it away?” Caden went rigid. He opened his mouth. No sound came. He thought back. Roselyn had been coughing blood. The healer said the brooch was poisoned — that only the poisoner’s own blood could serve as the antidote. He had panicked. He’d only wanted to save her. But now… What Seraphina was saying also made sense. “It’s all my fault — every bit of it!” A figure hurled itself out from inside. Roselyn fell to her knees between them, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t fight because of me! I will pay with my life!” And before anyone could react, she snatched the dagger from Seraphina’s belt and raised it toward her own throat. “Roselyn!” Caden lunged and tore the blade from her hands, pulling her into his arms. Seraphina’s voice came out flat as stone. “You really should die.” She grabbed the dagger and drove it toward Roselyn— “Enough!” Caden shoved Seraphina back. She hit the snow. The wound tore fully open. Pain crumpled her where she lay. “You try to stab her right in front of me? And you still want to deny the poisoning?” Caden stared down at her, and his eyes held something she hadn’t seen before: not anger, but deep, quiet disappointment. “Seraphina. You are petty, jealous, and consumed by obsession.” He looked at her once more. Then he turned away. “Take the Princess to her room. Keep her there until she’s recovered.” She was dragged inside regardless of how she cursed and screamed. At midnight, the fight drained out of her completely. She slumped against the headboard. And then she heard it. A faint rustling. Her whole body locked. Snakes. Her most primal, bone-deep terror. She hadn’t even screamed before one shot toward her from the dark — and sank its fangs into her flesh. The only person who knew about her fear of snakes was Caden. Three years ago, she had visited him at the mountain, and found a snake in the guest room. He had caught it and carried it out himself. That same night, he had given her the pouch — his voice cool but careful: “Princess, don’t be afraid. This will keep snakes away.” And now he had sent snakes to punish her. Darkness. More rustling. They came from everywhere at once — writhing over her legs, striking, striking again. She convulsed, seized on the floor, unable to crawl, her throat too injured to scream. Footsteps outside the door. Then Caden’s voice: “Don’t blame me for this.”

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I had been with my childhood sweetheart Dante for eight years. We were finally going to get married. But the night before the wedding, I accidentally overheard him talking to his unerboss, David. “Tomorrow, once we leave the house, don’t go to the church. Drive the wedding car straight to Sinclair Manor.” “Sinclair Manor?” Dante’s voice was low.“Serena’s family went bankrupt. They owe the Sinclair family tens of millions. Her father wants to marry her off to repay the debt… to that old Sinclair godfather.” ” I can’t watch her life get destroyed. Bella will have to take her place.” David froze.“Boss… so you won’t ruin Serena… but you’re fine ruining Bella?” Dante answered calmly.“The Sinclair godfather is ninety. He’s already dying.” “After a couple of years, once he’s gone, I don’t care Bella’s been married before. I’ll still marry her.” David hesitated.“But do you really think Bella will go along with it?” Dante thought for a moment.“Tomorrow, my mother will put something in the champagne Bella drinks before she leaves.” “When she wakes up… she’ll already be in the Sinclair godfather’s bed.” “It’ll be done. She won’t have a choice.” I heard everything. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a sound. I just turned around and went back to my room and waited for the wedding that would never really be mine. When Dante found me again, trying to win me back, I was already five months pregnant. Just like he once said, the deal was already sealed. Now he was the one with no choice left. ****** The next morning, makeup artists and bridesmaids arrived early at the Moretti Mansion. Serena came too. The moment she saw me in my wedding dress, her eyes turned red. “Bella… I’m so jealous. You get to marry someone you love. You’re so lucky.” “Not like me. My father is forcing me to marry a ninety-year-old man to pay off debts.” She wiped her tears, then glanced at Dante.“But luckily… someone secretly took me to city hall yesterday. I’m already legally married. The old man can’t marry me even if he wants to now.” I froze. I thought being forced into a substitute marriage was already bad enough. I didn’t expect Dante had already registered marriage with her. My best friend Clara leaned in and whispered,“Why is she even here today? This is your wedding.” “And she’s crying on purpose. Is she trying to curse you or something?” “It’s fine,” I said quietly, patting her hand. Because this was never really my wedding anyway. Dante was just acting normal… to get me into the car and carry out his plan. Dante walked into the makeup room and glanced at me. “Almost done. Let’s go. Don’t be late.” He didn’t even really look at me. But when he passed Serena, he stopped to fix her coat collar. Then his eyes landed on my necklace. An emerald necklace. Only the godmother of the Moretti family could wear it. “Bella, Serena isn’t wearing any jewelry today. She looks too plain.” “Let her borrow your necklace for the day.” Clara immediately snapped.“Dante, that’s Bella’s necklace!” Dante frowned slightly.“It’s just a necklace. What’s the difference?” “This isn’t just—” “Clara,” I cut her off. “Let her have it.” Serena was the daughter of the Romano godfather. For two years, Dante always used that as an excuse. “Don’t offend the Romano family.” So I gave in again and again. My work. My pets. My clothes. My jewelry. And now… even my husband. Eight years, and in the end, it was all a carefully planned lie.

Serena put on my necklace, a smug smile on her face. “Dante, this necklace suits me so well. It’s like it was made for me.” She smiled sweetly, almost mocking.“Where did you buy it?” That necklace was personally put on my neck by Dante. When he was twenty, after the bloody gunfight at the harbor, he finally became the godfather of the Marchetti family. He was still covered in blood that day, but he was smiling as he held that necklace. “Bella, I’m not hurt.” “When we get married, you’ll wear this necklace.” “I want the whole world to know you’re my only wife.” “Bella, I’ll give you the best of everything.” Back then, Dante really loved me. He couldn’t stand seeing me suffer even a little. He wanted to give me everything. But everything changed after Serena appeared. The bridesmaids didn’t notice the tension between us and started cheering. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” Dante gave in to the teasing and leaned in to kiss me. But at that moment Serena suddenly “lost her balance” and fell straight into his arms. Dante reached out instinctively and their lips accidentally met. The room went dead silent. Clara snapped. “Serena, you did that on purpose!” “I’m sorry… I just lost my balance…” “Lost your balance? Out of everyone here, you just had to fall into Dante’s arms?” “Enough.”Dante helped Serena up, looking slightly annoyed.“She twisted her ankle. It’s normal.” Then he looked at Clara coldly.“Is this really something worth getting angry over?” “This is not a small thing—”Clara was about to explode, but I stopped her. Because in the past two years, Dante always said the same thing. Last year, Serena stole my three-month project. He said it was a small thing. Half a year ago, she ruined our anniversary. He said it was a small thing. Last month, she killed my cat of six years. He still said it was a small thing. Every time, he told me not to argue. So this time…I really didn’t need to argue anymore. Just then, Dante’s mother walked over with a glass of champagne. “Bella, I’ve finally waited for you to grow up and get married.” She handed me the glass with a gentle smile.“Come on, drink this blessing champagne.” I stared at the bubbles in the glass. For a moment, I froze. I lost both my parents when I was young. For more than ten years, the Moretti family adopted me and treated me as their own daughter. But now the two people I trusted most were about to push me into hell. I knew exactly what this drink meant. But I still took it and drank it all in one go. Dante took my hand.“Let’s go. It’s time.”

When I was little, Dante used to hold my hand like this. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car accident. I was devastated and hid away, not eating or drinking for three whole days. Dante found me and took me home, barely alive. He held my thin hand and said firmly, “Bella, from now on, my home is your home, my parents are your parents.” “Don’t be afraid, I’m here. I’ll always protect you.” His hand was still as warm and broad as before. But it no longer belonged to me. At the manor gate, a row of black SUVs were neatly parked. Dante opened the door and gestured for me to get in. Clara followed and sat beside me. But Dante didn’t get into the same car. He stood by the door, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. “Bella,” he said, adjusting my veil with a smile, “Take good care of yourself.” Clara’s tone was displeased: “What are you still standing here for? Get in the car!” Dante smiled and pointed to the car behind: “I’ll take the other one. I’ll escort you from behind.” With that, he slammed the car door shut. Clara frowned, her confusion deepening: “What’s wrong with Dante today? Why is he acting so strangely?” “Nothing’s wrong,” I explained softly, “He just wants me to be Serena’s substitute bride.” “What?” Before I could reply, Clara suddenly realized something was wrong. “Wait, driver, stop!” “You’re going the wrong way. Why are you driving that way? Turn around.” “Clara,” I interrupted her, “the driver isn’t wrong. I’m going to Sinclair Manor.” “Sinclair Manor?” I told Clara the whole story. Clara trembled with rage upon hearing this: “Damn it! How could Dante treat you like this? Has he lost all his conscience?!” I remained calm: “The Moretti family raised me for so many years; consider it repaying a debt of gratitude.” “They raised you for over ten years, but you saved Dante’s life back then. That debt of gratitude has long been repaid!” “Besides, these past two years, when Dante had intermittent back pain and couldn’t move, you took care of him without leaving his side!” “You’ve given him so much; why should he treat you like this?” Clara was right. In terms of repaying a debt of gratitude, I had already repaid it long ago. However, it no longer mattered. Thoughts drifted by when my phone chimed with a message. It was from Serena. [Bella, today is truly a joyous day! Dante just gave me a wedding gift. Isn’t it beautiful?] I stared blankly at the emerald bracelet in the picture, feeling as if I had fallen into an ice cave. This bracelet is a keepsake from my mother, passed down through generations in my family. Because I was too young at the time, Dante’s mother kept it for me. They promised to return it to me after my wedding. How could he give it to Serena without my consent? “Stop!”

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One lace bralette destroyed my reputation. The Championship Ice Hockey Game. Sebastian’s team won. During the post-game interview on the ice, he unzipped his gear bag to grab a towel. A lace bralette fell out. The crowd gasped. Olivia shrieked: “Natalie! Isn’t that yours?” Sebastian’s face flushed red as he stared at me. “Natalie, I just wanted to keep you close to me. I carried it with me. I didn’t mean for anyone to find out.” I tried to explain it wasn’t mine, but no one listened. I became the slut on everyone’s lips. Sebastian’s words—”We couldn’t help ourselves. Things got physical between us.”—sent me straight to hell. Lady Catherine declared I’d “corrupted the student body” and brought “shame to elite society.” My family—drowning in humiliation—sent me to a brutal reform school in the middle of nowhere, where I was abused until I died. When they wrapped my body in a tarp and dumped it behind the facility, Olivia’s wedding procession was rolling up to Sebastian’s estate gates. On the seventh day after my death, Sebastian burned that bralette at my memorial. “Natalie, the bralette thing—that was my bad. But when it happened, I panicked. I needed a scapegoat. Guess you just had shitty luck.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the Ice Hockey Game. …… I stared at Sebastian on the ice. In fifteen minutes, the game would end. That peach-pink bralette would fall out. The nightmare from my past life would replay. Mia, my life assistant, looked at me with concern. “Miss, are you okay?” Olivia, sitting beside me, glanced over too. “Natalie, you look pale. What’s wrong?” I stood, pulling Mia with me. “I don’t feel well. Need to use the restroom. Excuse me, Olivia.” I dragged Mia to a private corner and whispered instructions. Her face turned serious. She nodded and took off immediately. When I returned to the VIP box, I watched as the final buzzer sounded. Sebastian’s team won. Cameras swarmed him for the interview. He unzipped his gear bag to grab a towel. A flimsy peach-pink bralette fell out onto the ice. Under everyone’s eyes, it dropped onto the ice. That bright splash of pink sparked a wave of gasps from the stands. “Oh my God, did a bralette just fall out of Sebastian’s bag?” “I thought Sebastian was supposed to be Mr. Perfect. How does he have girls’ underwear on him?” “Guess the golden boy’s not so innocent after all. Bet some random hookup gave it to him.” Sebastian hadn’t expected the bralette to fall out in public. His face cycled between pale and red as he stood frozen on the ice, clutching the bralette he’d picked up. Olivia gasped in mock disbelief. “Natalie! Isn’t that your bralette?” Her shriek made everyone turn to stare at me. The second Olivia screamed, she covered her mouth like she’d made a mistake, looking at me apologetically. I said nothing. Sebastian’s eyes found mine, soft and pleading. His face flushed as he stammered: “Natalie, I just wanted to feel close to you. That’s why I kept it. I didn’t mean for people to know.” Then he turned to the crowd, rushing to explain. “We just—we couldn’t help ourselves. Things got physical between us.” Just like in my past life. One sentence. And I was nailed to the cross. Everyone’s eyes shifted, full of implications. The heiress to the Hale family. Her lingerie in a boy’s bag. The meaning was obvious. Whispers spread like wildfire: “Holy shit. Who knew the Hale heiress was such a slut?”

“You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Even Lady Catherine praised her as ‘the jewel of the state.’ Turns out she’s just another whore.” That peach-pink color burned my eyes. The filth poured over me, just like last time. I steadied myself and looked at Sebastian. I laughed. “Sebastian, you can stuff your face, but you can’t run your mouth. Whose lingerie are you holding? And why are you pinning it on me?” “You and I have spoken maybe ten sentences total. Where’s this ‘couldn’t help ourselves’ coming from?” “Besides, my family doesn’t play. When I step out, I’m got assistants, security, the whole entourage. When exactly would I have had the chance to be alone with you, let alone get ‘physical’?” “You’re the heir to the Ashford family, Sebastian, but my family isn’t nobody. You don’t get to trash our name and think we’ll just take it.” My words landed. People started thinking. Yeah. Who was the Hale family? Old money. Top-tier elite. Untouchable. A family that powerful had standards—iron-clad rules. There’s no way the Hale heiress would pull something like this. Sebastian’s face darkened. He gripped the bralette tighter. Olivia piped up beside me, playing the loyal best friend. “But Natalie, haven’t you always had a thing for Sebastian?” “At the Poetry Society Gala, you called him ‘brilliant.’ Everyone knows you’re into him.” “And that fabric—it’s custom designer. Only you have it.” Her words dripped with insinuation. If only I had that fabric, the bralette had to be mine. I smiled lightly. “You’re right, Olivia. But you said you loved the color. So for your birthday, I custom-made you a bralette from the same fabric. Remember?” “I’m not the only one in this city with that material. You have one too.” Olivia’s face went white. Her voice sharpened. “Natalie, what are you saying? A lady’s reputation isn’t something you can just throw around. You’re basically accusing me of hooking up with Sebastian.” “Sebastian and I don’t even know each other. How could it be mine?” I stepped closer. “Exactly. A lady’s reputation is everything. But you didn’t even look before screaming that it was mine.” “People who know you might say you’re just impulsive. People who don’t? They’ll think you and Sebastian have something going on and you’re trying to destroy me.” Olivia’s tears fell. “Natalie, I know I’m just an orphan. The board only let me into this school out of pity for my late father. Everyone knows my family’s broke. That bralette you gave me—the fabric was so expensive, I never even wore it. How could it end up with some guy?” A girl from the stands couldn’t hold back. “Natalie, you’re being cruel. Olivia’s your best friend and you’re twisting this on her?” I looked at her. “I’m being cruel? If she said that bralette was yours, would you smile and take it?” The girl went quiet, then snapped, “But Olivia said that fabric was custom for you. If it’s not yours, whose is it?” I scanned the crowd’s suspicious stares and smiled. “I used that fabric to make a dress. With the leftover material, I made two bralettes. I gave one to Olivia. The other one’s at my house.” “The one Sebastian’s holding? Definitely not the one at my place. I can prove it. Can you, Olivia?” Olivia paled. She couldn’t speak. Sebastian rushed to smooth things over. “Okay, Natalie, I know this is my fault. I shouldn’t have carried this around. I’m sorry.”

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They called me barren. Five years as Luna to Alpha Killian, we’d never once consummated our bond. The gossip had spread like wildfire— servants whispering in corridors, merchants trading stories at the market, nobles discussing it over wine. Some said I was as plain as dirt. Others claimed Killian’s heart belonged to a dead first love. The most ridiculous version? That I was barren—unable to bear the Alpha his heirs. I walked through the estate gardens, catching fragments of conversation from the servants trimming hedges nearby, my expression unchanged as I continued my path. Lily’s eyes reddened with rage. “Luna, how can they spread such lies about you? I’ll—” “Let them talk,” I interrupted softly, keeping my voice calm. “The worse they make it sound, the safer the Alpha stays.” Only I knew the truth. On our mating night, Killian stood by the bed, his face twisted with shame. After a long silence, his voice came out hoarse: “Maeve, I have… an affliction. I cannot fulfill a mate’s duty.” He told me he suffered from what the healers called Mate-Shame— A psychological condition that made him recoil from intimate touch since childhood, let alone consummate our mating bond. The condition was rare. If word got out, he’d be mocked across the realm, and the Pack’s honor would be ruined. “If you’re unwilling, I’ll petition the Lycan King tomorrow to dissolve this arranged mating.” Back then, his words were sincere. He’d been the only one to extend his hand when my family was slaughtered, my father murdered. I remembered Father’s dying words: The Winterpeak Pack can be trusted. Gently, I reached for his sleeve. “I didn’t accept this bond for that reason, Alpha. If you trust me, I’ll protect you.” That protection lasted five years. Five years of blocking every attack, swallowing every insult. Outsiders said I wasn’t favored. Said I couldn’t breed. Said this Luna was nothing but decoration. I never defended myself. Hell, I encouraged the rumors, shaping myself into a jealous, useless mate so everyone would believe I was the problem—not him. I thought we were protecting a secret together. Until three days ago. Killian came to my quarters for the first time in months, his eyes bright with something I hadn’t seen in years—hope. “Maeve, I found a healer. Says there’s a seventy percent chance he can cure me. I need to leave the Pack for a few days.” My heart jumped. Five years. I’d long stopped hoping for a real mating, but if he could heal, if we could be like normal mates— “Good.” I gripped his hand, smiling softly. “I’ll wait for you.” I waited three days. On the third evening, Killian returned. I heard the news and rushed out, barely smoothing down my dress. Then I saw him. Killian was holding a pup, maybe two years old, giggling as he tugged at Killian’s collar. Beside Killian stood a she-wolf in a pale green dress. The she-wolf was delicate, fragile-looking, with one hand resting lightly on Killian’s arm. My feet froze on the porch. Killian saw me. Something complicated flickered across his face. He walked forward with the pup and the she-wolf, his voice still gentle but carrying a new, unfamiliar distance. “Maeve, this is Bella.” He paused, looking down at the pup with soft eyes. “And this is my son. Leo.” The winter wind cut through the courtyard like a blade. I stared at the pup’s features—an exact copy of Killian’s. Stared at how Bella nestled against him. Suddenly, these five years felt like a complete joke. Mate-Shame. An affliction. Bullshit. He’d just been saving himself for her. And I—I’d spent five years shouldering every insult, every humiliation, all to be his fucking shield while he protected his true love. Killian kept talking, like he’d rehearsed this speech a thousand times. “Bella saved my life. Leo was… an accident. I’ve wronged her all these years.” “Now that I’ve brought them home, I want to give them proper status. Since Bella bore my heir, I need you to step down as Luna—” Every eye in the courtyard locked onto me, waiting for the show. But I just smiled softly. I raised my head, my gaze sweeping over Killian, over Bella, finally landing on the pup’s face. “Alpha, the healer cured you, didn’t he?” Killian’s expression shifted. He couldn’t find words. I didn’t wait for an answer. My voice stayed light. “Then congratulations, Alpha. As for the Luna position—whatever you say.” Killian froze. He’d expected tears, accusations. He’d already prepared excuses. But not this. “You really agree?” He searched my face, irritation rising in his eyes for no reason I could name. “Yes.” I nodded slightly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.” I turned without another word and walked back to my quarters. Lily hurried after me, voice trembling. “Luna…” I didn’t stop. “Get ready. We’re going to see the King.” I changed into my simplest dress and pulled out a dusty wooden box from a hidden compartment. Holding it close, I walked straight out of the estate. When I left the Royal Court, the box was empty. In exchange, I carried a sealed decree—effective in seven days: formal dissolution of the mate bond. In the carriage home, Lily finally broke. “Luna, you really asked for Rejection? After all this?” I nodded. “But I’ve seen it—these five years, you loved him. You’re just gonna walk away? Let that rogue bitch win? Can you really let go?” I stared at the swaying curtain, silent for a moment. These five years, yes—I’d felt warmth when he remembered to bring me soup from the West End on cold nights. When I’d poisoned myself testing medicine and he’d stormed the Royal Healers’ Hall in the middle of the night, staying by my bedside without sleep, I’d almost believed in happily ever after. But all those small sparks, all that warmth—today crushed them to dust. I remembered why I became his Luna. And I’d never forgotten this was never my real home. “I bonded with him to honor my father’s dying wish. That debt’s paid. We’re done.” “My mother’s apothecary—I never abandoned it these five years.” “Leaving here just means doing what I should’ve done all along.” I glanced at Lily, a faint light in my eyes. “Besides, someone is waiting for me.”

When we returned to the estate, Killian was already waiting outside. Bella was beside him with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re back?” Killian’s tone was mild, but his eyes scrutinized my face. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The Royal Court sent word you saw the King. Did you go to complain? Force Bella and Leo out?” “You’re joking, Alpha.” I met his gaze, my lips curving in the faintest smile. “Everyone knows I can’t serve my mate. Now she’s given you an heir—that’s cause for celebration. Why would I force them out?” Killian’s face went white. He knew what they said about me out there. But five years, and I’d never complained. He must’ve assumed I didn’t care. His voice came out stiff, avoiding my eyes. “Ignore the gossip. The innocent are innocent.” The innocent are innocent. My chest went cold. Right. He was innocent. All of the Northern Territories thought Alpha Killian was devoted, honorable—refusing mistresses, refusing brothels, staying faithful to his barren Luna. A rare gentleman. And me? I was the jealous, useless one who couldn’t give the Pack an heir. The villain. Five years. I’d sacrificed my reputation, swallowed every degradation, and got four empty words in return. My throat tightened. I opened my mouth— But Bella’s soft voice interrupted. “The Alpha’s right, Luna. You’ve endured so much slander for the Pack these years. It must have been hard.” “From now on, I’ll help shoulder your burdens. If anyone speaks ill of you again, I’ll set them straight.” Looking at the two of them, I suddenly laughed. “Bella, save your energy. Play your act for the one who needs to see it. No need to perform pity in front of me.” “As for defending me—don’t bother. Lies stay lies. And the truth always comes out eventually.” Killian’s face flushed with embarrassment and anger. “Bella’s just trying to help. Why be so cruel?” I ignored him, walking past them both into my residence. Back inside, I began quietly packing my belongings. My gaze swept the cold, sparse room, landing on a rosewood box on my vanity. Inside, neatly arranged, were all the gifts Killian had given me over the years. Earrings. Necklace. Bracelets. And a seal he’d carved himself, engraved with my name. He’d said: “Maeve, keep my private seal. Seeing it is the same as seeing me.” I’d treasured it back then, thinking it meant trust. Now I knew better. It was charity. I picked up the seal, stared at it for a long moment, then walked to the brazier and dropped it in. Then the jewelry. One by one, five years of memories turned to ash in the flames. Lily knelt by the brazier, tears streaming. “Luna, these were your most precious things.” “They were. Not anymore.” My voice came out flat. The fire died down slowly. I stood there a while longer before turning to Lily. “Pack. We’re leaving.” As we sorted through my belongings, I realized that after five years, the only things truly mine were a few old personal items. I looked at the half-empty trunks and felt lighter. The less I carried, the clearer the path ahead. Now I just needed to settle things at my mother’s apothecary.

The next day, I left the estate alone. Passing the West Market tavern, raucous laughter spilled into the street. A drunk’s voice carried through the open door. “Five years that Luna’s been warming his bed—nothing! Then some stray bitch waltzes in with a pup, and suddenly the Alpha’s got an heir. Heard the Luna’s face went white as a sheet when she saw the pup!” Another voice chimed in: “Right? If I were her, I’d hang myself. How’s she got the nerve to be still breathing?” The filth hit me like barbs, my face going pale. Five years of this. I’d heard it countless times. But right now, something inside my chest felt carved out, my fingers going numb. I quickened my pace, turning onto West Street. The apothecary was just ahead. But before I got close, I spotted Killian and Bella standing outside the cosmetics shop across the street. Bella held up a box of rouge, leaning close to show him. Killian bent his head, their postures intimate. I immediately turned around. “Maeve?” But Killian had already seen me. He crossed the street with Bella, blocking my path. “What are you doing out here alone?” Bella’s soft voice followed. “Luna, did you follow us? The Alpha’s just helping me adjust to the Pack—please don’t misunderstand.” She pressed closer to Killian’s side. I didn’t bother responding. I turned to leave. Suddenly, a horse’s scream split the air. A slop cart spooked it—it charged straight toward us. People scattered, screaming. Killian’s instinct kicked in—he yanked Bella hard into his arms, shielding her as they stumbled backward. His elbow slammed into my shoulder. I staggered back, falling. The cart flew past, missing me by inches. The next second, an entire barrel of rancid slop dumped over my head. The street went silent. Everyone stared. Someone covered their nose. Others looked disgusted. Then laughter exploded. “Oh my Goddess, isn’t that the Luna?” “Look at her—pathetic…” I sat frozen, slop dripping down my hair. Rotten vegetables, moldy bread crusts tangled in my hair and on my face. My vision blurred. A few steps away, Killian steadied a shaken Bella, his eyes full of worry and tenderness. When he finally registered my condition, he instinctively moved toward me—then seemed repulsed by the filth covering me, stepping back, frowning. “I told you not to go out. Now look at you. Get up.” Bella coughed delicately. Killian immediately looked down at her. “Are you scared? Let’s get you home.” He glanced back at me, his expression uncomfortable, impatient. “Clean yourself up and come back to the estate. Bella’s not feeling well. We’re taking the carriage.” Without another look, he helped Bella turn and walk away. The carriage disappeared in a cloud of dust. I slowly stood, and with the entire street watching, walked home step by step, covered in stinking refuse. From West Street to the estate—half an hour on foot. Even back at the estate, servants avoided me wherever I went, whispering and stifling laughter. Lily saw me and screamed, rushing over. “Luna, what happened?!” I waved her off. “Draw a bath.” Lily nodded, eyes red, and ran to make arrangements. But the hot water that usually took fifteen minutes never came. After a long wait, two servants finally appeared with a single bucket of lukewarm water. “Luna, the kitchens said the Alpha ordered household expenses reviewed. Hot water’s rationed. This is all they could spare…” I looked at the pathetic bucket, barely steaming, then down at the filth coating my body. I smiled bitterly. “Fine. This’ll do.” Lily’s tears spilled over. “How can the Alpha treat you like this? Even if he didn’t protect you, to deny you hot water…” “It’s deliberate.” My voice cut through the quiet.

Lily looked up, eyes wide. I lowered my gaze. “That cart was timed perfectly.” “I leave the estate, and he just happens to be there. The horse spooks at exactly the right moment. The barrel tips at just the right angle.” Lily’s mouth opened soundlessly, cold dread crawling up her spine. “Leaving me alone in the street, letting the servants disrespect me—that’s deliberate too.” Lily’s voice shook. “Why would the Alpha do this?” “Why?” I opened my eyes, staring at the darkening sky outside. “He needs me dirty. Needs me humiliated. Needs everyone in the Pack to see me as trash—so worthless even street slop can be dumped on me.” I took a slow breath, the last warmth in my chest freezing solid. “That way, no matter what Bella’s background is, as long as she stands next to me, people will heap all their scorn on me instead.” Once upon a time, Killian would frown over a scratch on my finger. Would go cold if anyone spoke ill of me. He’d promised to protect me for life when my family was slaughtered. And now, he orchestrated my public degradation for another she-wolf. How easily hearts change. That night, I spiked a fever, delirious for two days. On the third day, when I finally recovered enough, I headed out to the apothecary as planned. But stepping outside, I realized the estate gossip had gotten worse. “Cook told me herself—the Alpha’s ordering rare herbs from across the territory just for Bella’s tea!” “And yesterday? He took her jewelry shopping himself. Getting some expensive piece made for the kid—probably a christening gift.” “Since our dear Luna got doused in slop, the Alpha won’t even step foot in her courtyard. If I were her, I’d be too ashamed to keep living.” Lily’s eyes reddened with rage. She started forward—I gently stopped her. “Let them talk.” At the apothecary’s back courtyard—where we dried and prepared medicines—Healer Willow hurried over the moment I arrived. “Luna, we have a problem.” “This morning’s inventory—several rare herbs were swapped with inferior goods. Even the prepared medicines are contaminated.” My heart sank. “When did this happen?” “These past few days.” Willow lowered her voice. “Only four wolves have access to the storage: me, Bennett, and two apprentices who just started.” Before she could finish, screams erupted from the front hall. A she-wolf burst in, clutching a feverish pup. “Help! My son took your medicine and now he’s burning up, breaking out in rashes!” I rushed forward to examine the boy. His face was flushed, the rash bright red—clear signs of an allergic reaction. I checked the medicine packet the she-wolf brought. One ingredient—the goldenseal root—was dark, moldy-smelling. My head snapped up. “This root is rotten. The Moonwell Apothecary would never dispense this!” “It came from HERE!” the she-wolf wailed. “If my son dies, I’ll kill you all!” The crowd outside grew, pointing and whispering. In the chaos, a carriage stopped at the entrance. Killian strode in, his expression dark, eyes landing on me. “What trouble are you causing now?”

I gripped the moldy root tighter. “Someone switched the apothecary’s herbs.” “Evidence?” Killian’s tone was cold. “Every time something goes wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault. Does the Moonwell Apothecary just attract trouble?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice but making each word crystal clear. “Maeve, shut it down. What does it look like—a Luna spending all her time in an apothecary?” “Bella’s right. There’s a new incident every other day. You’re making us a laughingstock.” I looked at him and suddenly felt like laughing. “Is that why you came today, Alpha?” “I’m doing this for your own good.” He frowned. “And for the Pack’s reputation. Close the apothecary. If you need coin, I’ll compensate you—” “No need.” I cut him off, turning to Willow. “Request the royal herb examiner to verify the medicine on site.” “Maeve!” Killian’s voice turned sharp with anger. “Are you really going to defy me in public?” Just then, a servant burst through the door, panicked. “Alpha! Bella’s having chest pains, can’t breathe!” Killian’s face went white. He grabbed my wrist, fingers digging in. “What did you put in the tea you gave Bella? She’s never had episodes like this before!” I froze. “What tea?” “Bella said she couldn’t sleep. She came to your apothecary yesterday for medicine!” His eyes went ice-cold. “If anything happens to her, Maeve, your apothecary will never open again!” He released my wrist roughly and rushed out. I stood there, a ring of red marks blooming on my skin. Willow approached, worried. “Luna, Bella never came here for medicine. We’ve never even seen her…” “I know.” My voice came out quiet. I watched Killian’s carriage disappear down the street and laughed—soft, bitter. Turns out when someone doesn’t love you, even framing you comes naturally. The next day, the Moonwell Apothecary barely opened before a mob stormed in. Leading them was the mate of yesterday’s she-wolf. He slammed his fist on the counter, sending bottles flying. “Poison dealers! My son vomited blood last night. He’s still unconscious. You’re going to pay for what you did!” A dozen men who looked like hired muscle followed, smashing everything. Medicine cabinets toppled. Herbs scattered across the floor. Grinding mortars shattered into pieces. “Shut down this death trap!” I tried to protect the wooden plaque my mother had left—the one engraved with “Healing Hearts, Saving Lives”—but someone shoved me hard. I fell, my elbow scraping across broken pottery. Blood welled immediately. “Stop!” I tried to stand, but the chaos pressed in. Someone stepped on my skirt, and I stumbled again. “Everyone freeze!” The territory guards arrived. The captain surveyed the destruction, frowning. “The Moonwell Apothecary is under investigation for medical malpractice. By order, this establishment is sealed. No one enters or exits!” “Captain!” I crawled to him, my voice shaking. “You can’t seal the apothecary. We have evidence the herbs were tampered with. Give me three days—” “Maeve.” A cold voice cut through from the doorway. Killian stood in the morning light, Bella meek and docile behind him. His gaze swept the ruined apothecary like he was looking at garbage. “Are you still making a scene?” “You think the apothecary stayed open all these years because of your skill? You survived on the Winterpeak Pack’s name. No one dared investigate too closely.” “Now someone’s been hurt, and you’re still playing stubborn?” I looked up at him. At the undisguised irritation in his eyes. At the fleeting smirk on Bella’s lips. Suddenly, I understood everything. Slowly, I stood and brushed the dust from my dress. “You’re right, Alpha.” “The apothecary only existed because of the Pack. Now that you want it closed, then it’s closed.” Killian blinked, like he hadn’t expected me to comply so easily. “Good. You understand.” His tone softened slightly. “Go back to the estate. Stay inside where you belong. I will handle the rest.” I said nothing. I watched the guards nail the official notice to the door, sealing it with wax. Watched my mother’s life’s work dissolve with Killian’s casual dismissal. The last thread of attachment snapped. I walked out of the apothecary quietly, passing Killian and Bella without stopping. But as I did, I murmured under my breath. “Three more days.” Killian frowned. “What did you say?” But I was already gone.

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I was a top-tier lawyer at a Big Law firm, and I had never lost a case. But today, I saw my husband’s name on the courthouse docket screen. Under “Plaintiff” in today’s trial schedule: Dominic Hayes. The defendant was a luxury postpartum retreat center. Reason for suit: service dispute. But I wasn’t pregnant. I pulled the court filing and found out he’d booked a $40,000 postpartum package for some woman. Under “Emergency Contact,” it read: “Husband: Dominic Hayes.” Apparently, the woman was unhappy with the service, so Dominic sued the retreat center. I stood in the courthouse lobby and laughed. The intern beside me frowned. “Ms. Sterling, is everything okay?” I flipped my ID badge over, revealing the wedding photo taped to the back. “File a new case for me.” “Plaintiff: me. Defendant: Dominic Hayes. Cause of action: divorce.” I touched my face. My makeup was still intact. When I walked into the courtroom, my steps were steadier than they’d ever been. … I filed the case on the spot. The intern, Lina, looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Ms. Sterling, are you sure you want to file for divorce? The defendant… is your husband?” I told the clerk, “The evidence is clear and sufficient. Please schedule the hearing as soon as possible.” She recognized me, paused for two seconds, then stamped the paperwork. I took the receipt and walked out of the filing office. In the restroom at the end of the hallway, I splashed water on my face. The woman in the mirror had perfect makeup and dry eyes. But my hands were shaking. I used my attorney access to pull the full case file for Dominic’s lawsuit against the retreat center. The filing date was three days ago. I flipped to page seven. It’s a VIP Client Services Agreement. Client name: Mia Kensington. Emergency contact: Husband, Dominic Hayes. The signature was his handwriting. I knew it too well. Straight lines, the final stroke tilting slightly upward. I closed the file and walked to a quiet corner of the courthouse lobby. I dialed Dominic’s number. “Dom, my stomach hurts again.” A woman’s voice came through in the background, soft and whiny. “Be good. Give me a second.” Dominic lowered his voice. Then he spoke to me. “Elena, what’s up? Aren’t you in court today? Go do your thing.” His tone was casual. I didn’t mention the case file. “Can you come home for dinner tonight? My mom’s not doing well. I wanted to talk to you about transferring her to a different facility.” He went silent for two seconds. “Can’t tonight. Work dinner.” In the background, the woman spoke again. “Thank you, Dom~” The call ended. I stood there holding my phone, thinking about last month. I’d had a stomach flare-up that left me doubled over on the floor. I called him. He said, “Just take a pill. I’m in the middle of something.” Now, a woman said her stomach hurt. And he said, “Be good.” That afternoon, I used my attorney access to look up Mia Kensington’s information. Her registered address was out of state. But her current residence, I read three times: 188 Lakeshore Drive, Harborview Towers, Unit 2301. The lakefront penthouse Dominic had bought three months ago, supposedly for “employee housing.” He’d even asked me to co-sign the mortgage. I’d stood beside him when I signed. He kissed my forehead and said, “Thanks for doing this.” The apartment I co-signed for—he’d set up another woman in it. Dominic and I had been married for five years. We still lived in the cramped apartment he’d bought before the wedding. I’d suggested upgrading once. He said, “The place is fine. Save the money for the company.” I thought he was right. So I transferred my entire savings—$500,000—into his company. Then he turned around and bought another woman a lakefront penthouse. I scrolled through the details of the postpartum package: $40,000. The luxury tier. Postpartum recovery treatments, private nutritionist, 24-hour care specialist, private suite with a view. When my mom was hospitalized last year, Dominic said, “The costs are too high. Should we look at something more basic?” My mom’s care was $1,500 a month. The woman’s $40,000 package, he didn’t even blink. Near the end of the workday, the receptionist at the firm called my extension. “Ms. Sterling, someone’s here to see you.” I walked to the front desk and saw Dominic. Next to him stood a woman with a pregnant belly, one hand on her stomach, the other looped through Dominic’s arm. Dominic looked furious. He was gripping a court summons in his hand. The first words out of his mouth weren’t an explanation. They were an accusation. “Elena, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what a divorce lawsuit will do to my company’s reputation?” The pregnant woman stood behind him and looked up at me. There was no guilt in her eyes. Dominic had never come to my firm before. In five years of marriage, I’d won Best Trial Lawyer three times. I invited him to every ceremony. He said, “It’s just an award ceremony. What’s the point?” Today, because of a divorce summons, he showed up. He could sue a retreat center over a woman’s postpartum package. But he couldn’t show up for my achievements once. My gaze dropped to Mia Kensington’s belly. Dominic followed my line of sight, and his expression flickered. “I can explain this.” I was about to respond when Richard Croft, the managing partner, walked over. He pulled me aside and lowered his voice. “Elena, Mr. Hayes is friends with several of our biggest clients. Calm down. You’re wrapping up a state-level case right now. Filing for divorce at this moment could hurt your evaluation.” He wasn’t wrong. I was in the running for Top 40 Under 40 Trial Lawyers, the youngest in criminal defense. Any negative press could destroy my chances. I looked at Dominic. The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew I’d back down. In this marriage, he knew me too well. Every time, I was the one who gave in. I looked away and said to Richard, “I understand.” Then I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Mia say softly, “Dom, she’s so scary. I’m afraid.” Dominic’s voice was low, but I heard every word. “Don’t be. I’m here.” I closed my office door and didn’t turn on the light. And stood in the dark for a long time.

Dominic came home at ten that night. It was the first time in a month he’d been home before ten. He sat on the couch with his legs crossed, his attitude unusually calm. “Elena, drop the divorce petition first. Let me explain.” He said Mia Kensington was his college junior. She got pregnant by her ex-boyfriend, who abandoned her. She had nowhere to turn, so she came to him for help. He was just helping her out of sympathy. “The baby isn’t mine.” I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of a lie. His expression was sincere, as sincere as when he’d proposed five years ago. My heart wavered for a moment. Maybe this really was a misunderstanding? “If that’s true,” I said, “why did you write ‘husband’ as the emergency contact?” He paused. “The retreat center required married status for a discount. I just filled it in without thinking. It doesn’t mean anything.” “What about the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s alone with a baby on the way and has nowhere to live. I couldn’t just let her end up homeless.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” He was quiet for a long time. “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” Last year, his female assistant sent him suggestive messages at midnight. I saw them and asked about it. He said, “You’re a lawyer. Why are you so paranoid?” Now he said he was afraid I’d overthink it. So he hid a woman, an apartment, a $40,000 postpartum package, and a lawsuit he filed as her “husband.” I said, “I’ll think about it.” He thought I was giving in. He reached out to touch my hair. But I moved away. His hand hung in the air, then dropped. The next morning, I ran into the judge overseeing the retreat center case in the courthouse hallway. He knew me. He came over to say hello, hesitated, then said something. “Ms. Sterling, your husband’s case—opposing counsel submitted evidence. Photos of your husband and that woman together, intimate photos spanning over two years. Your husband’s attorney confirmed the authenticity in court.” Over two years. Two years of intimate photos. Every word he said last night was a lie. In five years of marriage, Dominic and I had fewer than twenty photos together in my phone. They had enough intimate photos over two years to submit as evidence. Back at the firm, I pulled Dominic’s financial records from the past two years. Monthly flower deliveries. Recipient: Mia Kensington. Holiday luxury purchases. Not a single one shipped to our address. Last Valentine’s Day, I waited for him at home. He said he was working late. The records showed he spent $1,500 at a Michelin-starred restaurant that night. Dinner for two. I printed everything out and filed it neatly into a folder. My hands had stopped shaking. At noon, I went to see my mom at the hospital. She was lucid today, a rare moment of clarity. She grabbed my hand and suddenly said, “Elena, the last time Dom came to see me, he brought a girl with him. He said she was his sister. But I didn’t think so. The girl had a big belly.” My blood rushed to my head. He’d brought that woman to see my mom and lied to an Alzheimer’s patient and called her his “sister.” When I walked out of the hospital entrance, I saw Dominic’s car parked by the door. He was helping Mia Kensington out of the car. She had one hand on her lower back, the other looped through his arm. Dominic saw me and froze. Mia saw me too. She tightened her grip on his arm. Dominic tried to pull his arm away. Mia suddenly clutched her stomach and crouched down. “Dom, my stomach hurts so bad.” Dominic immediately crouched down to support her. “What’s wrong? Should we go to the ER?” He didn’t even glance at me again. I stood there and watched for ten seconds. Then I walked over, crouched down, and used the calmest voice of my entire legal career. “Ms. Kensington, when is your due date?” Mia looked up at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. “If you conceived during the period of my marriage to Dominic Hayes, I will subpoena you as a third party in the divorce proceedings. Your personal information will become part of the evidence in the judgment.” “Divorce judgments are public record.” Mia’s face went white. Dominic looked up at me, his lips moving. I stood up, took out my phone, and right in front of him, called the court clerk’s office. “Hello, this is Elena Sterling, attorney. Case number 2024-CV-3867. I’m filing to add a third party to the proceedings.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, Dominic called my name. But I didn’t look back.

When I got back to the firm, I started systematically organizing evidence for the divorce. Asset inventory, proof of infidelity, dissipation of marital assets—I documented everything. Five years of marriage. I’d invested $500,000 of my life savings into Dominic’s company. Lost income from cases I’d turned down, promotions I’d missed— I calculated it all and wrote it down on paper. That afternoon, Richard Croft called me into his office. “Elena, Mr. Hayes called the firm today.” “He said if you don’t drop the lawsuit, he’ll pull all his referrals from us. You know how connected he is.” Richard wouldn’t look at me. “Also, the recommendation letter you need for Top 40 Under 40—I have to sign it. Think carefully.” Richard had watched me go from intern to partner. Three years ago, I’d worked through the night on a death penalty defense case that won the firm a national award. He’d clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You’re the pride of this firm.” Now he was using my career to pressure me on Dominic’s behalf. I said, “Richard, you don’t have to sign the letter. But if the firm uses this to force me to drop the lawsuit, I’ll file a complaint with the bar association.” Richard’s face flushed red. He waved me out of his office. Three days later, Dominic came home again. This time, he brought flowers. White lisianthus was my favorite. He said, “Elena, I dropped the retreat center lawsuit. See? I’m making compromises.” I took the flowers. “What about Mia Kensington?” “I’ll handle it gradually. Just give me some time.” “Has she moved out of the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s far along now. It’s not a good time for her to move.” “Whose baby is it really?” “I had a paternity test done. It’s not mine.” “Where’s the report?” “At the office. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” “Do you have a digital copy on your phone?” He hesitated, unlocked his phone, scrolled for a while, then said he couldn’t find it. I reached out and took his phone. He instinctively pulled back, but then handed it over. I didn’t look at his messages with Mia Kensington and opened his Notes app. The top reminder was dated last month. “Mia’s due date in two months—book OB-GYN specialist. Right below it:Refill Elena’s stomach meds.” Two reminders, side by side. One was for another woman’s due date. One was for my prescription. He did remember me, but he’d put me second. I handed his phone back and dropped the flowers in the trash. He stared at me throwing them away, stunned. I said, “Dominic, do you know why I’ve never lost a case?” He didn’t answer. “Because I only take cases I can win.” I looked into his eyes. “But this marriage—I can’t win anymore.” He reached out to grab me. I stepped back, then went to the study and started packing to move out. I didn’t cry because I was past the point of crying.

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At the wedding ceremony, the officiant invited the groom to share a few words. No one expected him to slap himself across the face in front of everyone. “This slap,” he declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, “is for my heartlessness. Three years ago, I listened to my parents and stayed home—and lost the one I truly loved.” I glanced at my parents, whose faces had tightened with barely suppressed anger. I gave a small shake of my head, willing them to hold back. Then he slapped himself again. “This second slap is for my cruelty. I destroyed a life that never had the chance to be born.” My entire body went rigid. Leo Lancaster and I had been together for three years. We had never had a child. “And this third slap,” he said, his voice dropping low, “is for my failure as a son.” He looked at me. Then at his own parents. “Mom. Dad. Elara—I’m sorry. The wedding will have to wait. Today, I have to go to the airport. I’m picking up Vivienne.” That day, I became the laughingstock of every elite family in Harbor City. The next morning, I held a press conference and announced two things: First: I was putting my marriage up for auction. Highest bidder takes all. Second: I was launching a full-scale hostile takeover of Lancaster Group—and I would not stop until it was bankrupt. …… The moment the announcement ended, the room erupted. Cameras and microphones surged toward me from every direction. “Ms. Hilton,” a reporter called out, “yesterday Mr. Lancaster said the wedding was merely postponed. Now you’re auctioning off your own marriage and openly targeting Lancaster Group. Are you declaring war on him?” “Ms. Hilton, rumor has it Mr. Lancaster pursued you for three full years, and you took three years to say yes. Can you really let go so easily?” I tightened my grip on the microphone. After a pause, I drew a slow breath and answered, “Leo Lancaster and I are enemies now. There is nothing left between us.” I glanced down at my phone. An unknown number had sent me a video. In it, Leo’s hands were removing the last piece of clothing from Vivienne Pierce’s body. On Leo’s wrist gleamed a Vacheron Constantin watch—the limited edition I had given him for his birthday. I raised my head. A cold smile curled at the corner of my mouth. I turned the phone screen toward the press. “You’ve all worked hard today. Allow me to offer you a gift.” Leo’s affair video was captured by dozens of media outlets simultaneously. Three hours later, it detonated across Harbor City. 【Lancaster Scandal: Groom Abandons New Wife to Meet Mistress — Explicit Video Leaked】 【Unbelievable: Leo Lancaster Ditches Billionaire Wife, Checks Into Hotel with Lover — Full Footage Exposed】 I was peeling fruit and scrolling through the headlines when Leo arrived at my door—with Vivienne in tow. He swept everything off the table with one furious arm. Then his hand closed around my throat, squeezing hard, demanding I apologize to Vivienne. “Elara Hilton,” he snarled, “I delayed the wedding by a few days. That’s it. And you leaked that video of me and Vivienne—do you have any idea what that’s doing to her? She just graduated. She can’t handle this kind of harassment.” I forced a slow breath past his grip. “You abandoned me at the altar in front of everyone,” I said. “Did you stop to wonder how I would handle that?” His fingers tightened. My face flooded with heat. “You,” he said, his voice dropping to something venomous, “are nothing but Shen’s dirty little secret. An illegitimate child. What do you have to lose?” My heart plummeted like a stone. When we first got together, he had said: Your background may be complicated, but I’ll have all of Lancaster Group stand behind you. I’ll make you the most powerful name in Harbor City. And now he was using the thing I feared most to twist the knife. So be it. If that’s how it is—then prepare yourself, Leo. The illegitimate child you looked down on is about to make you pay. Before the darkness closed in, I clenched the fruit knife in my hand and drove it into Vivienne Pierce’s right palm. “Leo Lancaster,” I said through gritted teeth, “I am not your seasoning. I was never something you could pick up and put down.” “Leo—blood!” Vivienne screamed, lunging forward. “You—you hurt her, you psycho!” I grabbed Vivienne’s wrist, held the blade up to her face, and met her eyes. “Before you come at me, make sure you know what you’re walking into.” Crack. A blow landed hard across my cheek. It burned like fire. “Vivienne is everything to me,” Leo said, his voice shaking with rage. “Touch me all you want—but if you ever lay a hand on her again, I will destroy your entire family.” I stood very still. The composure I had held together since yesterday fractured—slowly, like a web of hairline cracks splitting apart all at once. Once, when I was a child—locked outside in the rain by my stepmother and older brother—it was Leo who had held me and said those same words. Elara Hilton is the person I treasure most. Anyone who hurts her again will watch Lancaster Group vanish from this city. How laughable. I picked up my phone and called my assistant. “Put out a statement,” I said, my voice perfectly calm, my expression carved from iron. “Whoever has the means to bankrupt Lancaster Group—I will marry them.”

I turned to Leo and said, with quiet contempt, “Tell your father that the humiliation I’ve suffered will be repaid—by every last member of the Lancaster family.” The color drained from his face in waves. “Elara, don’t be ridiculous,” Vivienne cut in, looping her arm through Leo’s. “She’s an illegitimate child. He doesn’t have the reach to pull something like this off.” I let my gaze settle on Vivienne for a long moment, then stepped toward her slowly, deliberately. “Your punishment is coming,” I said quietly. “Soon.” I turned to the butler. “See them out.” I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and sat down at my desk. Then I gave the order: short Lancaster Group stock. Across the board. I watched the numbers shift on the screen, the graph dipping in real time, and felt the corner of my mouth lift. The humiliation of that altar—I was repaying it, inch by inch, in the only language that mattered. Three hours later, Lancaster Group’s stock had dropped three points. But it wasn’t enough. My phone buzzed. “Elara Hilton. Stop this. You’ll drag the whole Hilton Group down with you.” My father. Voice tight with fury. “You got dumped because you weren’t good enough. Come home. We’re going to go apologize to the old man Lancaster together.” I kept my tone even. “Father, if anyone is owed an apology—it’s me.” “Have you lost your mind? As of tomorrow, you’re no longer General Manager of the company. Your brother is taking over.” He hung up. Before I could set the phone down, it buzzed again. An old familiar number. I didn’t answer. I let it ring. It rang dozens of times before finally going silent. Then a string of long voice messages appeared on my screen. 【What happened at the wedding was my fault—I know that. But Dad has already dealt with me over it. You had no right to auction off your marriage like that. You’ve publicly embarrassed the Lancaster family, and my parents are furious. Get to the Lancaster estate immediately and apologize to them. On your knees.】 【As for shorting our stock—we’ll let that go for now. We can absorb the loss. But tomorrow morning, you will stand beside me in front of the cameras and confirm that the video of me and Vivienne was fabricated. You will play the loving husband. You will smile.】 I blocked Leo’s number without hesitation. The next morning, he was waiting outside my door. “You didn’t answer my calls. My parents are livid—if you don’t come and apologize, they have ways of making your life very difficult.” He paused. When I said nothing, his voice shifted, softened slightly. “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have walked out on our wedding. But you can’t just do whatever you want because you’re angry.” “Leo.” My voice came out flat. “Tell me about the child.” He went silent. At the ceremony, he had stood in front of everyone and admitted it—an unborn child, gone. But in three years, he had never once mentioned it to me. “That was a long time ago,” he said finally. “You need to let it go.” I threw the termination report at his face. “The procedure date,” I said, “was right in the middle of when we were supposed to be falling in love.” He stood there. Motionless. Who was it who had told me—just three years ago—that he had chosen to stay, that his heart belonged a hundred percent to me? Who had stood with both our families present and promised me the most extravagant, most unforgettable wedding Harbor City had ever seen—and then walked away, leaving me a public joke? He had been running between two people all along. And now he had the nerve to call me the reckless one. I watched his face cycle through expressions—caught, embarrassed, searching—and picked up my phone. “Keep shorting Lancaster Group,” I told my assistant. “And hire people to flood every platform with everything you can find on Vivienne Pierce.” “Ms. Hilton,” my assistant said, hesitating. “You—you should come in. Something’s happened.”

On the way to the office, my assistant sent a single message: Bad news. Be careful. I arrived to find a swarm of journalists blocking the entrance—cameras pointed at something in the middle of the crowd. I pushed forward. Two steps in, someone threw their arms around my legs. I looked down. Vivienne Pierce was on her knees in front of me, forehead nearly touching the ground. “Ms. Hilton,” she said, voice cracking, “I know you have power I can’t imagine. But if you’re going to destroy someone—destroy me. Please. Spare Leo. Spare his parents. They’re not young anymore. They can’t take this.” As she spoke, she uncapped a small bottle and raised it toward her lips, her expression fixed with a kind of frantic resolve. “If my life is what it takes to make this stop—then at least I’ll have died for something.” Every word was a carefully placed blade. The message was clear: I’m noble enough to sacrifice myself. You’re just a scorned woman with a grudge, throwing your weight around. She’d barely finished speaking before the reporters closed in. “Ms. Hilton, are you really going to drive them both to their graves?” “Ms. Hilton, murder is a crime—will you turn yourself in if she dies, or use your connections to walk free?” I looked down at Vivienne. My expression didn’t move. “I never intended to kill anyone,” I said, each word deliberate. “And that poison isn’t mine.” Vivienne leaned in—close enough that only I could hear—and whispered, “You’ll never win against me, Elara Hilton.” Then, before I could react, she grabbed my hand, forced the bottle into my grip, wrapped both our hands around it, and tipped the contents into her own throat. “Ah—” The cameras captured every frame of it. A second later, someone wrenched the bottle from my hand. A palm connected with my face—hard. I hit the ground. Leo stood over me, his eyes burning with something beyond rage. “How could you do this,” he breathed. “Vivienne is carrying our child—my family’s grandchild—and you—” I stared up at him from the pavement. Pregnant. So it had been going on that long. The two of them, together—long before today. Every platform picked up Vivienne’s “attempted suicide.” Comment sections overflowed with people saying I deserved to be left. My personal social media was buried under waves of abuse. And then came the petition—a viral post demanding my removal as General Manager of Hilton Group. It wasn’t just Vivienne’s handiwork. My half-brother and stepmother had their fingerprints all over it too. “Secretary Liam,” I said, keeping my voice level, “suppress every negative story about me. Commission some positive coverage.” There was a pause. “Ms.… Hilton…” “The board just released a statement,” she said quietly. “They’ve removed you as General Manager. Effective immediately. All company resources are frozen to you.” “…Understood.” Lancaster Group’s stock had already recovered. I set my phone down on the table. Slowly. It didn’t shatter because I made a choice to put it down carefully. I was still sitting with the wreckage when Leo walked through the door. “I’ve had the negative press about you taken down,” he said. “Elara—if you ask me, I can also get your father to reinstate your position. I know how much you’ve worked for it. I know how badly you want to lead Hilton Group.” He paused, watching me. “But you’d have to ask.”

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Every wolf in the Iron-Fang pack says I’m not the same Luna anymore. I no longer slipped out of bed before dawn to brew Valerius his morning herbal. And no longer press the creases from his Alpha command uniform before each council. Seven days passed like this. On the seventh night, Valerius returned, shrugged off his mantle, and looked at me. I was reading the healing grimoire. “What’s wrong with you lately?” After seven days of silence, that was the first thing he said to me. His voice carried the chill of deep water — controlled, distant, not a thread of warmth in it. I looked up and studied his face in the candlelight. He was striking in the way that powerful wolf often are. The she-wolves of the pack said Valerius needed only to stand in a room to attract everyone’s attention. I had believed that once. But this life, I had reborn, and I was not going to make the same mistakes again. In my last life, every she-wolf in the territory envied me, said my ancestors must have pleased the Moon Goddess for me to be fated to a man like Valerius. He was the Alpha of the Iron-Fang Pack and commander of the Lycan Council, gifted with both power and a presence. Being his Luna was supposed to be a blessing beyond measure. I had believed that completely, and I entered this palace. On our mating night, he said, “The pack and the Council will always come before everything else.” “I have no time for sentiment, and no energy for a mate’s expectations. If you understand that, stay and do something useful.” I nodded, my face still warm, and told him I understood that he should focus on protecting the pack, and I would hold the palace together for him. I had meant every word and I kept every one of them. He had no time for the palace, so I ran it — every supply ledger, every Elder negotiation, every pack ceremony. When I caught a fever I brewed my own herb and heal myself. When a rogue’s blade caught my side during a border escort, I bound the wound myself and said nothing. And when wolfsbane poisoning began destroying me from the inside, and I was vomiting blood through the nights, I still said nothing. I handled everything alone rather than diverting his attention from those critical matters. He swept the Council clean of corruption at thirty. He stood above every rival by thirty-five. At forty, he was granted a title no wolf had held in two centuries. At the feast celebrating that title, a beta raised a cup and asked how he regarded the mate who had stood behind his rise. Valerius turned his goblet and said, “We have mated for many years, but I have never felt anything for her beyond that bond. ” “My devotion belongs to this territory and the wolves under my protection. Sentiment is smoke. The pack endures.” The hall applauded. They called it the answer of a true Alpha — selfless, uncompromising. Then he rushed to the next border campaign and never came back to the packhouse. He didn’t know when the wolfsbane eroded my body. Even when I died in the eastern wing, undiscovered for three days until a servant passed by. I watched my own burial from above as a fading spirit, without ceremony. I saw Valerius receive the news in his war tent, acknowledge it with a single quiet sound. I spent an entire life learning that we were never meant for the same path. He was a revered Alpha, respected by the pack. But being his mate was too much to bear. His heart belonged entirely to the pack; there was no room left for me. So when I woke to find myself back three years after our mating bond, the first thing I did was make up my mind to sever the bond. The second was to write a application to the Moonshadow Enclave, the ancient healer’s valley sealed from pack politics by old protective magic. Their reply was due in two days. “Nothing in particular,” I said, closing my grimoire. “I had time, so I read.” His brow furrowed. “What use do you have for that?” His tone carried no malice. In his mind, my purpose was to manage the palace and stay out of the way. Outside the window, two of the night-watch she-wolves were murmuring. “Seven days and the Luna hasn’t once gone to the gate. She used to pace until her feet ached when the Alpha ran late.” “Her birthday was last week. She had prepared. The candles burned to nothing and the Alpha never came.” “He keeps her too cold for too long…” Valerius glanced toward the window, then turned back. “I don’t observe birthday, the time is better spent on Council reports.” He drew two scrolls from his sleeve and set them on the table. “The Alpha King is hosting a Moon Gathering tomorrow night. You will attend with me. Resume your normal routines beginning tomorrow — this ends here.” I looked at the scrolls — gold-pressed parchment stamped with the Alpha King’s seal, the kind of invitation mated pairs across the territory would fight for. A month ago, I would have been unable to sleep from excitement. Now I only felt the exhaustion. “I am not going,” I said. Valerius went completely still. He looked at me with a flicker of surprise. In three years of mating, I had never once said no to him.

“Why not?” he asked. I stood up and said I was tired and needed to rest. I turned toward the bed. Valerius stepped in front of me and blocked my path. “Get changed. The Gathering doesn’t end for another half hour. We’re going now.” I looked at him and thought of all the times I had simply turned around and done whatever he said. He was already reaching for my cloak. Before I could say another word, he had it around my shoulders and was steering me out the door. An hour later we were on the river road heading home, the Gathering behind us. He spent the return ride reviewing a sealed dispatch by lamplight. I watched the dark trees pass outside the window. Then the horses screamed. Rogues hit the carriage from both sides, half-shifted and fast. The frame lurched violently. I grabbed the door frame and held on. I saw Valerius shift into his wolf form, straight to the strongbox bolted beneath the seat, the one holding the territorial defense maps. He wrapped both arms around it and drove his shoulder through the carriage roof. The door buckled. I went with it. When I came to, I was in the mud at the edge of the road. Valerius stood nearby, strongbox secure under his arm, scanning the tree line. Unharmed. He had not looked for me once. I got up, checked my limbs, and walked to the nearest pack clinic. The healer was cleaning my wound when Valerius told me through the mind link that urgent Council matters required his return to the palace. I was used to this. Then she said, “A letter arrived for you from a messenger-wolf just now. I left it on the pillow.” I broke the seal with one hand. It was from the Moonshadow Enclave. Exceptional aptitude. Accepted unconditionally. Report at your earliest convenience. My fingers began to tremble and my tears fell onto the parchment. I folded the letter and pressed it against my chest. All I needed now was to reject him. Then I could leave. In the days that followed, I stayed alone in the pack clinic. The healers on duty would chat among themselves during quiet hours. About the she-wolf in the next room whose mate hadn’t left her bedside once. About a warrior who had crossed half the territory just to find a rare herb for his mate’s recovery. I listened in silence. My leg was heavy with injury, but my heart felt strangely light. The day I was discharged, I walked out on a crutch and went straight to the market district. I bought what I needed for the journey to the Moonshadow Enclave. It was midday when I finished. I stepped into a nearby tavern and had barely found a seat when the door opened and Valerius walked in. He was not alone. The woman beside him was Isolde, the pack’s only female Gamma and Lead Strategist. She her hair pinned high, and when she smiled her eyes caught the light in a way that made the whole room notice her. Something pricked at my chest. Isolde. In my first life, that name had haunted me like a curse. Many she-wolves admired Valerius, but he kept everyone at a distance. His eyes were always on the pack business, nothing else. Isolde was clever enough to know that. She never spoke of feelings. She only ever spoke of strategy. “Alpha, I believe this defensive formation has a flaw worth addressing…” “Alpha, I’d like to go over the border map with you one more time…” “Alpha, would you look over this report before I submit it to the Council…” Under the cover of pack duty, she positioned herself beside him naturally, sharing his table, his late nights, his attention. In my first life, the hours Isolde spent with Valerius, even the exchange of a glance, all of it far outnumbered anything I had ever shared with my own mate. In the past, seeing this would have stolen my appetite entirely. Now I simply turned back to the menu in my hands, calm and unbothered. Then Isolde’s sharp eyes swept the room and landed on me. “Is that… the Luna?”

Isolde spotted me first and waved, pulling Valerius over with her. “What a coincidence,” she said warmly. “Valerius and I just finished going over the strategy. I’m treating him to lunch as thanks for his guidance. Don’t misunderstand, Luna.” Her words were perfectly polite. Her eyes were not. Valerius gave me a brief nod, sat down, and opened the report he had brought. He didn’t ask about my wound. He didn’t ask about anything. I looked at him for a moment, then looked away. “I’m not misunderstanding anything,” I said. “Order what you like.” Isolde blinked. That clearly wasn’t the reaction she expected. She glanced at Valerius. He still hadn’t looked up. Just then, a server came through carrying a large pot of boiling broth. The floor near our table was slick from the morning wash. His foot slipped, and the pot tilted, straight toward Isolde. Valerius moved instantly. He grabbed me and yanked me forward. The scalding liquid hit my back. The pain tore through me, burning through fabric, searing into skin. But Valerius was already reaching for Isolde, grabbing her hands and turning them over to check every finger. “Did it burn you?” His voice was urgent in a way I had never heard directed at me. “Your hands draw every map the Council uses. You cannot afford even a small injury.” Isolde’s eyes went glassy. “Just a few drops,” she whispered. “I’m fine…” “I’ll get burn salve,” Valerius said, already standing, already walking toward the door without a backward glance. I stayed bent over the table, my back on fire, but I made no sound. The server was pale with panic. I asked him quietly if there was herb in the back. There was. I took it and made my way to the storage room behind the kitchen. I sat on a wooden crate and worked the herb across the burns myself, one slow touch at a time, breathing through the pain. The door opened and Isolde walked in. She looked at the raw, blistered skin on my back and laughed. “Does it hurt?” she asked. “He pushed you without thinking twice. You burned so I wouldn’t have to, and he left without checking your wound.” I said nothing. “I’ve never understood you, Sera.” She stepped closer. “Valerius has no feelings for you. Why are you still holding on to his Luna?” I pulled my shirt back into place and turned to face her. “And you?” I said. “You know perfectly well he has no feelings for you either. You’re a Gamma, Isolde. You have real rank and real ability.” “But instead of using that mind for this pack, you spend it scheming over him. I feel sorry for the Council that they have someone like you in their ranks.” Her face went cold. Before I could move past her, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment — one of the reports Valerius had been reviewing. She struck a flint. The edge caught fire immediately. “Help! Someone help!” she screamed, stumbling backward. “The Luna is burning the defense maps!” She shoved the burning parchment into my hands and threw herself against the far wall, crying out. The flame bit into my palms. I dropped it and moved to stamp it out, but Isolde lunged forward and shoved me hard into the stone wall behind me. The back of my head cracked against stone. Everything went black. When I woke, I was in the pack clinic again. I opened my eyes and saw Valerius standing at the foot of the bed. His face was like carved ice. “Sera,” he said, and his voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “I pulled you in front of that pot because Isolde is a ranked Council officer. She is essential to this pack. I thought you, as Luna, would understand that some things are bigger than personal feelings.” “Even if you resented it, you should have come to me. But you dared to burn a border report? Do you have any idea how many lives depend on those maps? That was Council intelligence!” “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Isolde burned it herself.” “You didn’t?” Valerius let out a cold laugh. His eyes were full of disappointment and something darker. “That defense report was three months of Isolde’s work. It’s her career, her future. You think she would destroy that just to frame you? Sera, I knew you were jealous, but I never thought you would go this far.” His words hit like blows. He would rather believe a lie than trust his own mate. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. A squad of pack enforcers entered the room, their expressions grim. “Alpha Valerius,” The lead enforcer said. “We received a report that someone deliberately destroyed sealed Council intelligence with intent to compromise pack security.” “The suspect is your mate, Sera. This matter concerns territorial safety. By law, she must be taken into custody for interrogation.” I stared at Valerius in disbelief. Compromising pack security? Isolde hadn’t just framed me for burning a map, she had accused me of treason. “Take her,” the enforcer said, gesturing to his men. One of them stepped forward with silver chains. “Wait,” Valerius said sharply. The enforcer paused. “Alpha?” “The original maps are still archived in the Council vault,” Valerius said, his tone hard as iron. “The loss is not irreparable. My mate is ignorant and acted out of jealousy, but she has no ability or motive to betray this pack.” “I will stake my position on this. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will bear it. Demotion, suspension, confinement — I accept it all. But you will not take her.” The enforcer hesitated. “This is irregular, Alpha. The law—” “I am the Alpha,” Valerius said, his voice carrying the weight of command. “She stays. I will punish her on my own.” The enforcer exchanged glances with his men. Finally, he nodded. “But there will be consequences for this, Alpha. The Council will not overlook it.” “I understand,” Valerius said coldly. “You may go.” The enforcers filed out, their boots heavy on the wooden floor. The room fell silent. I looked at Valerius. For a moment — just a moment — something warm flickered in my chest. He had protected me. “Why?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You think I’m guilty. You hate what I did. Why would you stake your position to keep me out of their hands?” Valerius looked at me without warmth. “The detention cells are damp and filthy,” he said. “If you went in there, you would come out broken even if you survived.” “My mother’s health has worsened. She will only take the medicinal broth when you prepare it. No one else can make it the way she tolerates. ” The warmth in my chest died instantly. “And there are countless other matters in the palace that require your attention. Right now, no one else can manage them as efficiently as you do.” He paused, then added, “So you need to stay alive.That’s why I kept you here.” I stared at him and suddenly I understood that Isolde had been right. He didn’t keep me because I was his mate. He kept me because I was useful. I started laughing. It came out broken and bitter, and once I started I couldn’t stop. Valerius’s brow furrowed. “Are you insane?” “If someone better came along,” I said through the laughter, my voice shaking, “someone more obedient, more capable, better at your palace, would you replace me?” Valerius was silent for a moment. Then he straightened his collar and answered with the honesty. “If such a person existed,” he said, “and caused no disruption to my work, then yes. I would consider it.”

I laughed even harder, until my stomach cramped and the burns on my back split open again. Valerius looked at me with cold distaste, as if I were irrational as he suspected. He turned away, walked to where Isolde stood by the door, and offered her his arm. She leaned into him with tears still wet on her face. They left together. The carriage rolled away into the distance. I returned to the small guest house on the palace grounds alone. By nightfall I was burning with fever. Two days passed. Valerius did not come. On the third afternoon, the door opened. Isolde walked in, several older she-wolves following behind her. Her hand was wrapped in excessive white bandages, and she wore a victorious smile. “I’m surprised,” she said, settling into the main chair. “Even under suspicion of treason, Valerius still protected you from the cells. It seems you do have some small worth to him after all.” “Worth?” I said quietly. “You heard what he said. He just needs someone to prepare his mother’s medicine.” “Does that matter?” Isolde leaned forward. “As long as you hold that Luna title, I find you unbearable. Do you know what Valerius said to me recently, Sera? ” “He said you’ve become bitter and resentful lately. That seeing you makes him uncomfortable.” She stood suddenly and swept her hand across the small table. The medicine bowl shattered on the floor. “Since Valerius won’t handle you properly,” she said, “I will. Take her out.” The she-wolves moved forward and grabbed my arms before I could react. I was weak with fever, my body uncooperative. They dragged me out of the house and into the street. They brought me to the busiest market square in the territory, where everyone could see. Isolde positioned herself in the center and began to cry. “Look, everyone! This is our Luna! She burned sealed Council maps out of jealousy because Valerius values my work! ” “She even tried to scald my hands so I could never draw another map! And she walks free while loyal wolves suffer!” The crowd began to gather, their faces hard. “She burned defense maps? That’s treason!” “She attacked a Council Gamma?” Isolde held up her bandaged hand. “These hands serve the pack’s defense. She wanted to destroy them because she couldn’t bear that Valerius respected my abilities!” Someone threw a rotten vegetable. It hit my shoulder. Then stones. I tried to stay upright, but a heavy kick caught my ribs and I collapsed onto the cobblestones. I curled inward, trying to protect my head. More blows came. Fists, boots, things I couldn’t see. Then a boot came down hard on my right hand, the hand I needed for healing. Crack. The pain was so sharp the world went black. When I woke, I was lying on a bench in the Council Elder’s meeting hall. A healer was setting my hand in a wooden splint. “You’re fortunate,” he said quietly. “One of the Elders was passing through the square and saw what happened. He had you brought here.” He finished tying the splint and looked at me seriously. “Your small finger is fractured. One of your ribs is broken.” I stared at the splint for a long time without speaking. Then I pushed myself upright and walked to the great hall where the Council Elders heard grievances. “I am here to file charges against Gamma Isolde,” I said, my voice steady despite the pain. “For inciting public violence, orchestrating an assault, and causing severe bodily harm. I have witnesses.” Three days later, the Council brought Isolde in for judgment. The case was too public to ignore, too many witnesses to dismiss. Despite attempts from the palace to intervene, the Elders handed down their ruling. Twenty lashes. Six months suspension from her Gamma duties. Confined to quarters during that time. I stayed in the pack clinic for the remainder of the week, staring out the window as my body slowly knitted itself back together. Seven days later, I returned to the palace. I pushed open the door to my quarters and found the room in ruins. Shattered porcelain covered the floor. Valerius sat in the center of it all, his expression dark as a storm. He looked up the moment I entered. “You reported her to the Council?” His voice was flat and dangerous. “You had Isolde arrested?” I stepped over the broken pieces and said nothing. “I’m asking you a question!” Valerius shot to his feet and grabbed my shoulders so tight I felt my bones grinding together. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The Council’s annual strategy is next month — her entire career depends on it! You’ve destroyed her reputation and her future!”

He shook me so hard my vision blurred. My broken rib sent sharp pain through my chest with every movement. I pulled my right hand free and held it up between us. “Isolde came to the guest house,” I said. “She brought others with her and had me dragged into the market square. She told the crowd I was a traitor. They beat me. Someone stomped on my hand and broke the bones.” I looked at him steadily. “I’m a healer, Valerius. Do you have any idea what this hand means to me?” His eyes dropped to my hand. For just a moment, something flickered across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by cold stone. “You burned her work first,” he said. “You pushed her to that point. If you hadn’t been so spiteful, none of this would have happened.” He released me and stepped back. “Why couldn’t you have been reasonable about this? Why did you have to drag the Council Elders into it and humiliate this entire pack?” “Reasonable?” I said quietly. “You mean let her cripple my hand and say nothing? Let her walk free while I lose everything?” “I was trying to survive, Valerius. Not take revenge.” “Survive?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You’re still pretending this wasn’t about jealousy? You can’t stand that she’s more useful than you.” I looked at him and felt the exhaustion settle deep into my bones. I was so tired. Too tired to argue with someone who had already decided what he believed. “Think what you want,” I said. “The Elders made the arrest. The law passed the sentence. If you’re so powerful, go tear down their hall.” I turned and walked toward the inner room. “Stop.” Valerius pushed past me and went straight to the vanity. He yanked open the bottom drawer. Inside was a small carved wooden box. My mother’s box. The one that held her final gift to me — a moonstone amulet carved with protective runes, the only thing I had left of her. “What are you doing?” My voice came out sharp with panic. I lunged forward to stop him. Valerius was taller, stronger. He held the box high above my reach with one hand and opened it with the other. The moonstone amulet glinted in the dim light. “I know this is the one thing you care about,” he said coldly. “So hear me clearly, Sera. If you ever touch Isolde again — if you ever damage her career or mine — I will destroy it.” “Valerius, you bastard!” I threw myself at him, clawing for the amulet. “That was my mother’s! Give it back!” “Remember what I said.” He held the amulet as if he were about to drop it. I froze. My whole body began to shake. Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. “Please,” I whispered. I sank to my knees. “Please don’t. I’m begging you. Don’t touch it.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, as if he had finally found the lever that controlled me. “Then behave yourself,” he said. He turned toward the door, slipping the amulet into his pocket. Just then, a voice shouted from outside. “Alpha! Emergency! The northern river has breached the barrier — the Alpha King need you to the Council immediately!” Valerius’s expression changed. He moved toward the door without hesitation. I grabbed his sleeve. “Give me the amulet back. Now.” He was already thinking about the crisis, his mind elsewhere. He yanked his arm free with more force than he intended. “Let go!” The motion carried the full strength of an Alpha’s instinct. I was thrown backward. My body slammed into the sharp corner of the doorframe. The impact was immediate and brutal. My head cracked against the wood. Something warm began streaming down my face, covering my eyes in red. Valerius stopped. He turned and saw me on the floor, blood pouring from my forehead. His eyes widened slightly. His hand lifted, as if to help. “Alpha, please!” the voice called again from outside. His hand froze in midair. Then he lowered it, closed his fist around the amulet in his pocket, and turned away. “Clean yourself up,” he said without looking back. “Stop being dramatic.” Then he was gone. I heard his boots on the stone, heard the horse’s hooves strike the ground and fade into the storm. I sat on the cold floor and tasted copper in my mouth. I touched my face. My hand came away completely red. I started laughing. In the darkness, with thunder rolling overhead and rain hammering the roof, I sat alone and laughed until my throat was raw. This was the man I had loved for two lifetimes. And in that moment, the last thread of feeling I had for him, bled out with the blood on my face and died.

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