One week before our wedding, my fiancé announced he wanted to climb Mount Everest — to declare his love for me from the highest point on earth. I was touched, but still planned to talk him out of it, to suggest waiting until after the wedding. Then I accidentally overheard him talking to a few of his hiking buddies: “Ethan, your phone has a GPS tracker on it. You actually want us to take it up to Everest and toss it out there?” “Your fiancée is going to be beside herself with worry. What if she goes into the mountains looking for you?” “Seriously, man. You two are about to get married. Pulling this fake-death stunt is just going to make her suffer for nothing.” Ethan listened with a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Can’t help it. There’s this girl I’ve been seeing. She’s nearly ten months along, and I need to be there for her. Going off the grid for a while is the only way.” “Everest is a dead zone. Even if she begs for a rescue, they’re not going to mount a major operation.” “Just make sure you throw the phone down toward the base of the mountain — make it look like I fell.” His hiking buddies exchanged glances. “Ethan, aren’t you afraid she’ll stop waiting and just… move on? Find someone else?” Ethan gave a short, scornful laugh. “Move on? Please. After six years of my psychological conditioning, combined with that hopeless romantic heart of hers — even if I actually died, she’d choose to stay single. She waited six years already. One more year is nothing. I’ll come back, say the right things, and she’ll fall right back into line.” Standing outside the door, I slowly loosened my grip on the handle. So his “pre-wedding adventure” was an adventure with another woman. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t cancel the wedding, either. I just found myself a different groom. …… At seven o’clock that evening, Ethan came home, a bag of strawberries — my favorite — dangling from his hand. “Olivia, I need to talk to you about something.” He set the strawberries on the coffee table, sat down, and put on his most sincere face. “Remember I told you I wanted to climb Everest next week? To let our love be as eternal as the ice and snow at the top of the world. Realistically, it’ll take at least a month — which means we’d miss our wedding date.” He paused, heaving a calculated sigh. “The venue’s booked for the end of May. If I’m not back in time, or if I’m not in the right shape for it, the ceremony won’t be what we want. Maybe we should… push it back?” I said nothing. Seeing no reaction, he leaned forward. “When I do the math, even if I get out by mid-May, I’d still need recovery time. The photos, the fittings, the invitations — none of it would work. Better to let everyone know now than scramble at the last minute. I’ll send a message to all the family and friends today — let them know the wedding’s canceled.” “Canceled?” I repeated the word softly. I wasn’t sure if I was asking him or telling myself. After all, I had waited nine entire years for this wedding. Six years ago, he’d said: *Wait until my career is stable, then we’ll get married.* I believed him. Four years ago, he’d said: *Once I meet your parents, we’ll set a date.* I even pushed my parents into it. Two years ago, he’d said: *Just wait a little longer. Don’t rush.* This year, my parents had resorted to calling three times a week in rotating shifts. I was in my thirties. I didn’t want to keep floating in the limbo of “fiancée” forever. I wanted to get married, build a career, get promoted, start a family — to finally turn that page of my life. But Ethan never seemed to feel any urgency. The day we booked the wedding venue, I was so happy I treated my entire team to afternoon tea. My mother had booked a flight the same night, calling to say she was coming to help. And now, with a single breezy word — *canceled* — he reduced every single person’s hopes to dust. He was spouting noble nonsense about our “love,” but knowing what I knew, all I felt was disgust. The irony was so sharp I couldn’t even force out a word of accusation. I opened my mouth, about to ask, *Do you have any idea how much this means to my mother?* — and swallowed it back down. Because he had already lowered his head and was typing on his phone, sending a mass message about the canceled wedding. He hadn’t even glanced at me once. When he finally put the phone down, he reached over and ruffled my hair. “Once I’m back from Everest, we’ll pick a new date. We’re both still young — no need to rush things, right?” I looked into his eyes. The only thing echoing in my mind was what I’d heard that afternoon: *”I’ll come back, say the right things, and she’ll fall right back into line.”* So that was it. The first step of “saying the right things” was erasing the wedding so cleanly it left no trace. “Ethan,” I said quietly, “Everest is dangerous. People die up there. If you die, then everything is gone. Are you sure you want to go?”

My voice was completely steady. It was the last chance I was giving him. He blinked, then broke into a warm smile, cupping my face in both hands like he was coaxing a child. “Olivia. You know me. I’ve always wanted to challenge myself.” “This is my last wish before we get married. You wouldn’t want me to carry this regret into our marriage, would you?” I didn’t pull away. But I didn’t smile either. “I connected with a few experienced hikers a while back,” he continued. “Real professionals — they’ve all done high-altitude climbs before. Oh, and just so you know, the signal up there can be pretty bad, so if you can’t reach me, don’t panic.” His eyes drifted slightly to the side as he said that last part. In the end, I nodded. “Okay.” He blinked — clearly surprised I’d agreed so easily. “You’re not upset?” “You said it yourself. Last wish before the wedding. I support you.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss my forehead. I turned my head toward the strawberries and reached for one. He didn’t notice the dodge. Undeterred, he launched enthusiastically into his “route plan” — south col versus north ridge, Nepal, base camps. I ate strawberries and nodded along, smiling on the surface while laughing coldly inside. Impressive — he’d even rehearsed the details to make the whole act convincing. Meanwhile, one sentence kept looping through my mind: *”The girl’s nearly ten months along, she’s been a mess.”* The girl. Who was she? Ethan was the kind of man who’d always had women circling him — wealthy, handsome, born into privilege. I used to lie awake worrying I’d eventually be replaced. That fear was part of why I’d spent years pushing for marriage. And now that I knew I actually had been replaced? I felt nothing. Just a hollow, distant numbness. I had no idea who she was, and I wasn’t going to ask. He talked for a long time, then tacked on a final promise: “When I come back, I’ll bring you a stone from the foot of Everest. The sea of clouds up there is supposed to be breathtaking.” “Sounds nice,” I said. He went off to shower, satisfied. I sat on the sofa and picked up my phone. I scrolled to my father’s messages. The last one had been sent back when Ethan and I still hadn’t set a date: *That young man came by with the matchmaker again this year. Said he’s still waiting on your word. He’s been at this for seven years now, Olivia. If nothing else works out, maybe give him a chance.* I remembered vaguely hearing about this man — the village’s most infamous mystery. Allegedly, he’d “gotten into trouble” in the city years ago and never come back. Some whispered he’d been in prison. Every single year, like clockwork, he’d send the same matchmaker to my family’s door. My father would say, “My daughter has a boyfriend in the city,” and the matchmaker would smile pleasantly and leave — only to return the following year. I’d always thought the man was eccentric. I’d never given any of it a second thought. But tonight, reading that message, I suddenly saw it differently. Seven years. Every single year, without fail. A man who showed up year after year — quietly, persistently, without demands — was a hundred times more reliable than a man who whispered *”wait until after we’re married, then everything will be settled,”* while secretly planning to vanish for a year to take care of someone else’s pregnancy. The sound of the shower ran in the background. I lowered my head and typed a reply to my father: *Dad, tell the matchmaker. Let him come this year.* I locked the screen, rested the phone face-down on my knee, and stared at the ceiling. Three years dating. Six years engaged. Ethan always thought I was just “a little impatient.” He had no idea that I had passed impatient a long time ago. I was done waiting.

That night, after Ethan fell asleep, his phone lit up on the nightstand. I reached over to silence it — and saw the message. *Ethan, I’ve been sick again today. When are you coming to take care of me? The baby and I both miss you!* The contact name was saved as “Little Deer.” My hand hovered in the air for two full seconds. Then I picked up his phone and opened the conversation thread. There was only one message — the one she’d just sent. He must clean the chat every day. I hesitated for a moment, then clicked into her profile. Her most recent post was two photos of pregnancy tests. The caption: *Two lines. I’m in shock.* The timestamp was the same afternoon Ethan and I had confirmed our wedding date. Three o’clock. So on the very day he booked the wedding venue with me, he had been celebrating becoming a father with another woman. How perfectly symmetrical. I set the phone down. I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and drank it slowly. When I came back, he had rolled over. His arm was draped loosely over his eyes. He mumbled my name — “Olivia…” — in a sleepy, faraway voice. I didn’t move. Something flickered across his face. His brow creased. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and nasal, the way it only got when he was deep in a dream. “I just dreamed… that I disappeared, and you didn’t even wait. You just turned around and married someone else…” He said it like it had frightened him. He unconsciously shifted toward my side of the bed. The old me would have wrapped my arms around him immediately, would have said something embarrassingly sincere like *”I’ll never leave you.”* But I just looked at him. “Go to sleep.” He half-opened one eye, studying me with drowsy suspicion. He seemed dissatisfied with my response. I was already too exhausted to manage his moods. I rolled over and went to sleep. The next morning, the doorbell rang early. Three hiking buddies showed up with enormous packs, crowding into the entryway. “Ethan! I printed out the Everest route map — look, we go in through the south col, then to Base Camp, then the Khumbu Icefall up toward Camp One—” They spread the map across the coffee table, all talking at once. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, sipping soy milk, not saying a word. Ethan noticed the silence and came over, holding up the map. “Olivia, look — we planned every day, every kilometer. We have experience, we have a system. Nothing’s going to happen.” “Mmm,” I said, and kept sipping. He seemed vaguely uncomfortable. He started to say something else, but his phone rang. He stepped out to the balcony to take it. From where I stood, I couldn’t make out the words — only the occasional lilt of laughter. Soft. Playful. The three hiking buddies glanced at each other and very deliberately went back to studying the map. Two minutes later, Ethan came back in and said casually, “One of the new hires at the company. Just started. Little work question she didn’t understand.” He looked at me with the expectant patience of a man waiting to be interrogated. But I said nothing. I was thinking about “Little Deer.” He had hired a batch of management trainees earlier that year. One of them was a girl named Grace Harlow. I’d seen her once, downstairs from his office, when I’d come to pick him up for lunch. She wore her hair in a ponytail. When she smiled, she had two deep dimples. And when she spotted Ethan, her eyes lit up like lamps. At the time I’d said to him: “That girl’s sharp.” He’d smiled and said, “Yeah. The skill set’s a match.” Now I understood what he meant by that. “Olivia?” Ethan said, with a faint note of fishing in his tone. “You’re not curious what the question was?” “I don’t know anything about your business.” I wiped my hands on a dish towel and picked up my bag. “I’m going to the store. Carry on.” At the door, I glanced down at my vibrating phone. A message glowed on the screen: *Appointment confirmed — one week from today.* I typed back *okay*, and instantly Ethan’s hand shot out and snatched the phone. “One week from now? What for?”

He stared at the stranger’s profile picture, the chat log showing only two brief messages, and his brow knotted. “Who is this?” I answered calmly. “Someone who booked a spot for me. I have a life event to take care of next week.” I reached out to take the phone back. He didn’t give it. Instead, he caught my wrist, and his voice turned gentle. “What kind of life event? Olivia, are you still angry that I canceled the wedding next week?” “When I get back, I promise I’ll make it up to you — whatever kind of wedding you want, wherever you want for the honeymoon, just name it. Okay?” He poured on the sweetness, his tone warm as honey. The three hiking buddies pretended to study the map while their ears stood straight up. I was about to respond — when a figure stepped through the front courtyard gate. “Mr. Hayes, am I interrupting? I happened to be passing by. Wanted to ask for some time off.” Her voice was casual, as if she were walking into her own home. I went still. When I’d let the guys in earlier, I was certain I had locked that gate. She could walk in without a key. She’d clearly been here before. I thought, with a joyless inner smile: *When did my home become a triangle?* It had almost trapped the foolish woman who’d spent six years waiting inside it. “I need to take extended leave,” Grace Harlow continued, drifting into the living room with the ease of someone very comfortable here. “I’m going back home to rest. Might be away for… about a year.” Her gaze swept the room — touched briefly on the three hiking buddies — then landed on me, sweet as sugar. “Good morning, Ms. Reid.” Ethan’s expression didn’t change. “For leave requests, just send a message. You didn’t need to come all the way here.” “I was worried you’d miss it.” She reached into her bag and produced a thermos, holding it out to him with a winning smile. “I made you coffee. Ethiopian Geisha beans — thought you’d like it.” Ethan glanced at me. He didn’t take it. Grace, unfazed, simply set the thermos on the coffee table. It landed squarely on top of the Everest route map. One of the hiking buddies choked back a laugh. “The dedication of employees these days — coming all the way to the boss’s house just to file a PTO request.” Another buried his face in his water glass to hide a smirk. Grace acted as though she hadn’t heard. She turned to me, her gaze as bright and warm as the first time I’d seen her. “You don’t mind, do you, Ms. Reid? I’m so new at everything — Mr. Hayes has been so patient teaching me. I don’t know what I’d do without his guidance.” “I don’t mind.” I gave her a light smile. “He’s taught plenty of people. You’re not the first.” The brightness in her smile faltered — just for a moment. I turned to Ethan. “Phone. I’m going to the store.” He hesitated for two seconds, then handed it over. I took it and walked past Grace. At the coffee table, I glanced down at the thermos she’d placed there. “Freshly brewed coffee goes bad once it sits,” I said simply. “Remember to take that with you when you go. I don’t keep garbage in my home.” Grace’s carefully arranged expression crumbled. Her eyes went glassy. Her hand drifted — deliberately, I thought — to rest against her stomach. “Ms. Reid, I only wanted to thank Mr. Hayes for all he’s done for me… If my being here makes you uncomfortable, I won’t come again.” Ethan’s expression darkened. “Olivia.” His voice carried a clear edge of displeasure. “What is wrong with you? Could you not embarrass yourself like this?” I didn’t look at him. I opened the front door. “I’m exactly like this.” “You—” He took a step after me, then caught himself — the buddies and Grace were watching. He lowered his voice, sharp and clipped. “She just came to file a leave request. Was all that really necessary? Is this really your best? You think about nothing but getting married. Can you not function without a man?” The words left his mouth. His lips pressed shut, and he added, more stiffly: “The point is — I made a commitment to these guys, and I’m leaving first thing tomorrow. The wedding’s not gone, just delayed. Stop making a scene.” “Intimidating a girl like that. It just makes you look small.” “You’re completely right,” I said pleasantly. And I walked out without looking back. Behind me, one of the buddies said quietly, “Ethan — maybe go after her? You’re going to be away for weeks. Leaving things like this can’t be good.” Ethan didn’t move. “Go after her? So she can learn that throwing a fit works? Let her walk. When she comes crawling back, she can do it on her own.” The door shut behind me. Through the panel, I heard Ethan curse under his breath. I thought about every argument we’d ever had, and every make-up that followed. Every single time, I was the one who bent. He’d go cold — and within three days, I’d crack and text first. He’d sulk — and I’d cook his favorite meal and coax him out of it. He’d tell me I was too much — and I’d go quiet, swallow whatever I’d been feeling, and make myself smaller. I’d told myself that was what long relationships looked like. Compromise. Work. *Someone always has to be the one to step back.* But standing here now, I finally understood the truth. He had known Grace Harlow for less than six months. And in those months, he’d given her the promotion I had once dreamed of. He’d given her a child. He was willing to disappear for ten months — to fake his own death — just to be near her. In our entire relationship, even at its warmest, I had never once been treated with that kind of devotion. I had been asking to have a child for years. He had always been scrupulously, almost obsessively careful. He hadn’t been careful because he didn’t want children. He’d been careful because he didn’t want children with me. Looking back now, I could see it — the pattern of the last six months. Later nights. More secretive texts. I’d told myself he was just driven, trying to get the company in order before the wedding. But some things had been decided long before I knew. A wedding that was never meant to happen… was never going to happen.

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After the Alpha paid a fortune to claim me at the auction, I got pregnant. Werewolves struggle with fertility, yet I gave birth to three wolf pups in one litter. He once possessed me with near-obsessive jealousy, but now looked at me with cold indifference: “I regret it, honestly.” I looked up at him, confused. His gaze swept over my full breasts and curvy hips. “I shouldn’t have claimed you just to spite Anya. Looking at you now, you’re nothing but a breeder with an empty head.” “My Anya has suffered all these years.” My whole body went rigid, eyes slowly turning red. I whispered that he couldn’t live without me. But he wasn’t moved in the slightest. Instead, he grew excited planning to bring his true love home. He shot me a look of disgust: “If you weren’t built like that, you think I’d have circled you like prey?” “Don’t worry—since you bore my pups, I won’t kick you out. My brother still needs a breeder anyway. When he gets back, you’ll move into his room.” Wolves are primal and possessive, driven by a scent-bond they cannot resist once they’ve claimed a breeder. And his brother? He’d been trying to seduce me in secret for months. … “You want to formally reject your breeder and transfer her to your brother?” The Head Elder thought he’d misheard. He looked at me—curvy, full-bodied—in disbelief. Then glanced at the skinny, frail she-wolf in Raven’s arms, like a strong wind could knock her over. “Once you speak the rejection before witnesses, the bond is severed. If your brother accepts her and places his claiming mark, there’s no going back. You’d have no rights to her anymore.” But Raven acted like he hadn’t heard a word, his tone cold and impatient: “Just do it. My new breeder just arrived and isn’t adjusted yet. I need to get her settled.” The Head Elder’s jaw tightened in disapproval. But tradition was tradition. He gestured for us to step forward. Raven’s voice rang out, flat and emotionless: “I, Raven Blackwood, formally reject Amber as my breeder. I release all claims.” The words hit like a physical blow. The partial bond we’d shared—weak as it was without a true marking—snapped. “The rejection is witnessed,” the Head Elder said gravely. “When your brother returns, he may claim her if she’s willing.” Raven was too busy soothing the she-wolf in his arms to care. “He’ll be back tomorrow,” he muttered dismissively. Outside the elder’s hall, I stood alone. Watching Anya pout and cling to Raven. Complaining about how he’d abandoned her all those years ago, then bought another breeder right in front of her. Raven coaxed her tenderly, then finally glanced back at me. In the cold wind, I looked thin and desolate. He froze for a moment, as if about to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. In the silence, I spoke first: “Do I have to move out today?” Raven frowned. “You don’t have to rush—” “You’re Amber, right?” Anya suddenly cut in, eyeing me jealously from head to toe. “I remember you. The most sought-after breeder at the auction.” “Alphas love breeders like you—big tits, wide hips. But honestly, doesn’t it embarrass you, walking around with those? If I had them, I’d be too ashamed to leave the house.” She looked up at Raven with false hurt. “Raven, you like them like that too, don’t you?” Raven tensed immediately, rushing to deny it. “Who said that? I find it revolting.” My body went rigid, eyes stinging. Revolting? But every night, he’d pinned me beneath him with his superior strength, scent-marking me over and over. When his desire peaked, his grip would tighten possessively on my hips. Sometimes once wasn’t enough. Twice. Three times. Until my body went limp and I could barely move. Turns out he called all of that revolting. Anya smirked, hooking her arm through Raven’s, looking at me with pity. “Don’t be upset. If Raven hadn’t bought you, could you have lived this well? You should thank me, really. If I hadn’t fought with Raven, you’d never have had this chance.” I glanced at Raven, unmoved, and gave a bitter hum of acknowledgment. Seeing that no matter how she twisted me, I had no fight left, Anya lost interest and demanded they go home. Raven smiled indulgently, letting her pull him forward. After a few steps, he turned back. “Amber, if you want to move, then go ahead.” “Don’t take it to heart. We’re still pack.” Pack. Yes, we were still pack. Except I was no longer his breeder. I belonged to his brother now.

The moment Anya arrived at the house, her expression soured. She stormed into the room I’d shared with Raven. She yanked out everything that belonged to me and threw it outside, piece by piece. There were matching braided bracelets I’d made. And a protection charm I’d secretly tucked under Raven’s pillow. I’d sewn that charm for hours. Every stitch was tight and careful. Now it was being trampled like garbage under her feet. I stood frozen in place. Watching helplessly as Anya tore through the space I’d tried to make into a home, leaving it in ruins. And Raven just stood there. He didn’t stop her. Instead, he smiled helplessly. His eyes flicked toward me briefly. “Let her vent. I wronged her. A little tantrum is normal. If anything breaks, I’ll replace it.” My throat tightened. I shook my head quietly. “…No need. Nothing important.” Raven paused. He studied me, inexplicably irritated, but said nothing more. In the garden stood the flower beds I’d planted myself. Raven had said we should hire someone to landscape it properly, befitting an Alpha’s home. But I’d wanted to do it with my own hands. And though he’d complained, he’d quietly had the pack staff install decorative fencing around the beds to protect them. Now Anya was trampling the blooms without a care. Raven’s affectionate gaze followed Anya’s every move, not once noticing how pale my face had gone. But Anya wasn’t done. She scoured the space, and her eyes finally landed on the woven basket in the corner. The afternoon sun was warm. I’d worried the nursery was too stuffy, so I’d brought the basket to the garden to let the pups nap in the fresh air. I shouted in panic: “The pups are in there, you can’t—” Before I could finish, she’d already lifted it, about to throw it. My face went white. Without thinking, I lunged forward. But I was too late. Anya startled and stumbled backward. She was about to fall. That’s when a dark shadow flashed by, and Raven’s Alpha reflexes kicked in—catching her firmly. The three pups curled up in soft blankets tumbled out like fallen fruit, rolling across the ground. They were so small. So small they didn’t even make a sound when they hit the ground. Only the largest one, woken by the impact, let out a tiny, pitiful whimper. “My pups!” I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the three pups into my arms. They were terrified. Their little tails tucked between their legs, bodies trembling. The biggest one had scraped his forehead, a faint bead of blood welling up. I couldn’t breathe from the pain in my chest. Raven had been closer to the basket. With his Alpha speed, he could’ve easily grabbed it before Anya threw it. But he didn’t. His instinct chose Anya first. And then watched our pups hit the ground without so much as a frown. Before, I used to wonder. I thought about all those desperate nights tangled together. All that tenderness and indulgence. If that wasn’t love, then what was? But in that moment, I had to admit the truth. Maybe I was wrong all along.

My voice trembled as I looked up at him, eyes red. “Raven, please. Don’t let her throw anything else. I can pack everything myself. I’ll take it all. I won’t leave a single thing behind.” Raven’s jaw tightened. Slowly, he released his hold on Anya. The pups were still whimpering pitifully, trying to get their father’s attention. They wanted him to nuzzle them like he used to. But before Raven could say anything— Anya’s eyes turned red, and she rounded on him accusingly: “Raven, are you feeling sorry for her? Sorry for her and those pups she whelped for you, aren’t you?!” “I knew it. You say you’re disgusted, but you can’t let her go!” Raven frowned. “I didn’t—” “You promised to come back for me, remember?” Anya cut him off, tears streaming down her face. “And what happened? You stood in front of the entire pack and bid a fortune to buy her. Those she-wolves laughed at me for half a year, saying I was delusional to think an Alpha like you would ever want me.” “After that, no werewolf wanted me. I had to work at the pack house, cleaning, serving—every degrading job you can imagine.” “One winter, I was burning with fever for seven days. I was delirious, lying in that cold room, thinking only of you. Wondering when you’d come for me.” “And you? Were you holding some other breeder in your arms, already forgetting I existed?” She sobbed harder, collapsing into his chest. Her fists pounded weakly against him as her voice softened. “Raven, we can have pups too. I can give you so many…” “Stop looking at other breeders, okay?” Raven’s rigid body gradually relaxed. He pulled his gaze away from me and the pups, gently wiping the tears from her face with unexpected tenderness. “Don’t cry. I’ll do whatever you want, all right?” The pups looked at their father with heartbreak, their whimpers growing fainter. They nudged my fingers with their noses. Their bright golden eyes reflected my face, as if asking: Why won’t Father look at us when we’re hurt? I just watched. My face felt frozen. I couldn’t even form an expression. Feeling their sadness, I stroked their little heads. After a long moment, I forced a bitter smile. “It’s okay, my babies.” I lowered my head and started gathering the scattered belongings. Things kept falling out as fast as I packed them. I picked them up again and again, over and over. Hot tears hit the ground. Gone in an instant. I numbly listened to Anya cooing playfully at Raven: “I want you to order a custom bed! I’m not sleeping in one you shared with another breeder!” “And have someone tear out those flower beds. I want a different design. That fencing too—it’s tacky. Replace it all!” Raven followed her pointing finger with his eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment on the carefully tended blooms. He lowered his head, glancing at me once. Then, after a long pause, he turned back and rested his chin on top of Anya’s head. “All right. I’ll have it done tomorrow.”

Over the next few days, I moved into Caspian’s quarters. He’d been gone too long— Though the room was clean and well-maintained by pack staff, it felt cold. I set up a small nursery in the corner. Using soft blankets to create a warm nest for the pups. The sticky night air crept through the window. Carrying with it the cloying scent of flowers from outside. Raven had torn out my flower beds and planted new varieties. The pups whimpered and burrowed against my chest, sleeping fitfully. They were heartbroken. From birth until now, their father had never been so cold to them. I lowered my head, pressing my lips gently to their foreheads. My eyes suddenly stung with tears. Outside, I could hear muffled crying. I rolled over, covering my ears desperately. Then suddenly—a loud crash. “Raven, no! Don’t touch me! I’m scared, please…” Mixed with the sound of frantic footsteps. My whole body tensed. The next second, the door burst open from outside. Raven stood in the doorway, his eyes glowing that eerie green in the darkness, locked onto me. His gaze slid from my face down to my half-open collar. I knew that look all too well. Countless nights, he’d looked at me exactly like this. Then pulled me into his arms in the darkness, pinning me down with his weight, taking me over and over. He was in rut. I instinctively shrank back against the wall. Seeing my retreat, Raven’s jaw clenched so hard I could hear it. He didn’t even know what he was angry about. The surge of his wolf and primal instinct urged him forward. His brain had only one thought. She was his breeder. No one could take her away. Watching Raven approach, I shook my head desperately: “No, I don’t want this!” My rejection seemed to burn the werewolf standing before me. He stopped in place, looking at me with wounded eyes. Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who rejected me first. “I don’t want—” But before I could finish. He had already easily caught my wrists, pinning them above my head. Suddenly there was a sharp, high-pitched yip. The largest pup struggled forward. Using his little legs to push himself up, he crawled in front of me. I could feel his body trembling. Those golden eyes reflected his father’s half-shifted form, full of fear. But he still opened his mouth. Baring fangs that hadn’t fully grown in yet, making threatening sounds at Raven. The other two woke up as well. They shakily copied their brother. Three pups barely the size of my palm lined up in front of me. Tears flooded my eyes. “Babies, no… don’t come closer…” I tried to reach for them. But Raven had my hands pinned. I couldn’t move. Raven looked down, his mind clouded by rut. He reached out, and the pup struggled desperately in his grip, tiny body twisting and kicking. “No! Raven, let him go! You’re hurting him!” I went wild, my nails scratching bloody lines down his arm. Raven frowned and carelessly tossed the pup aside. The tiny body hit the wall and slid down. “Baby!” The pain nearly suffocated me, my eyes bloodshot: “Are you insane?! He’s your pup! How could you throw him like that!” Raven seemed to come to his senses for a moment. He looked down at his hand, then at the pup curled up in the corner. But the animal instinct quickly surged back. His gaze fell on me again, his hand moving back to my body. He murmured incoherently: “Amber…” Just then, a scream came from the doorway. “What are you doing?!” Raven’s whole body froze. He whipped his head around. Anya stood barefoot outside the door, eyes wide as she stared at us. Raven shoved me away, his face full of regret. In his panic, he blurted out: “She… she seduced me.”

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I lay on the birthing bed, contractions coming one after another. My mate Kieran gripped my hand, his eyes soft with tenderness. “Hold on a little longer, Elara. Soon we’ll meet our pup.” Pain soaked me in sweat, but I forced a smile for him. Until the midwife walked in holding a syringe—I thought it was moonshade tincture for the pain. But Kieran suddenly released my hand and stepped back. The needle pierced my skin, and I heard Kieran say: “Get the dosage right. She has to wait until Vivienne delivers before going into labor.” I stared at him wide-eyed, but he only checked his pocket watch. “Vivienne’s dilated to six centimeters. Just stall for two more hours.” I tried to scream, tried to struggle, but the drug was already flooding my system. The violent contractions in my abdomen felt like an unseen force suddenly choking them off. They stopped. Just stopped. …… I was dragged into a makeshift cell in the healer’s cellar. Kieran’s sister Lyra stood in the doorway, playing with a scalpel. “Elara, don’t blame Kieran.” “Vivienne’s carrying my eldest brother’s posthumous pup—the first male pup of the Frostwood Pack this generation.” “No matter how early you deliver, yours is just a daughter. Worthless.” I clutched my belly as another wave of contractions fought the drug. Pain darkened my vision. “Get the healer—I’m in labor, really…” Lyra laughed. She walked over, crouched in front of me, and tapped my face lightly with the scalpel. “Labor? What labor?” “The drug will hold for three more hours. Vivienne’s already in the birthing chamber.” “You wait here like a good girl. Once her son’s safely born, you can deliver however you want.” She stood and barked orders at the guards by the door: “Watch her. If she screams, gag her.” The door slammed shut. The cellar had only one dim oil lamp. I lay on the floor, blood already soaking through my dress. My mind-link had been severed when I entered the healing hall. Kieran said it would drain my strength, bad for the pup. Now I understood—he was afraid I’d reach anyone outside. I curled into myself, trying to breathe through the pain. But all I could see were Kieran’s eyes. Cold. Calculating. Like I was a thing. Not his mate. Not the woman about to bear his child. Three months ago, his eldest brother died in a border raid. He left behind his widow Vivienne, three months pregnant. At the funeral, the Old Alpha wept, gripping Vivienne’s hand: “You must deliver safely. The Frostwood Pack can’t end here.” I’d felt sorry for Vivienne then and offered: “Father, don’t worry. My pup with Kieran will honor you too.” The Old Alpha glanced at me and said nothing. From that moment, my child was already abandoned. “Ahh…” Another contraction hit, fiercer than before. The drug was wearing off. The pup was coming. I clawed at the door, pounding with everything I had. “Someone—I’m in labor—save my pup!” Silence from the other side. Only when my voice went hoarse did I hear a guard’s irritated voice: “Shut up already. Miss Lyra said wait.” “But my pup…” “If it dies, that’s fate. Who told you not to carry a son?” I collapsed on the floor, my body going cold. Not fate. Someone wanted my child dead.

I don’t know how long I suffered in that cellar. More blood kept coming, everything beneath me soaked through. As my consciousness faded, the door suddenly opened. Not Lyra. Not the guards. The pack healer, Bennett. When he saw my condition, his face went white. “Luna? What are you doing here?” “The Alpha said you were resting in the recovery chamber.” I tried to speak but couldn’t make a sound. I could only point at my belly, tears streaming down. Bennett rushed over and knelt to check me. The moment his hand touched my abdomen, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Fully dilated! Your water broke!” “She needs surgery immediately!” He tried to lift me, but the second I moved, a hot gush came. Blood. So much blood. Bennett’s hands were shaking as he yelled toward the door: “Someone! Anyone! She’s hemorrhaging!” The hallway was empty. This private healing hall was owned by the Frostwood Pack—tonight they’d cleared it for Vivienne’s delivery. Every healer and midwife was on standby in the third-floor birthing chamber. Bennett reached for the mind link, but it was blocked. “I’ll carry you up. Hang on!” He gritted his teeth and lifted me, stumbling toward the exit. The stairway was long, every step jarring me toward death. I could feel the pup dropping lower, but it wouldn’t come out. The drug was still working, contractions coming and going. This was the most dangerous situation. “Bennett…” I grabbed his collar, voice barely a whisper. “Save the pup. Please.” “Don’t talk nonsense! You’ll both be fine!” He finally burst onto the first floor and ran toward the surgery chamber. But when we reached the entrance, we both froze. The surgery chamber door stood wide open. Inside was empty. The enchanted healing lamps—gone. The birthing table—gone. Monitoring crystals, oxygen apparatus, all the medical equipment—everything was gone. Only an empty room and a few anchoring runes on the wall remained. Bennett stood frozen in place. I heard a choking sound come from his throat, like someone was strangling him. “How is this possible…” “I checked the equipment this afternoon…” Footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. Lyra walked over with two midwives, raising an eyebrow at us. “Bennett, what are you doing here?” “Vivienne’s in the third-floor chamber. Why’d you come down?” Bennett pointed at the empty surgery chamber, voice shaking: “The equipment? Where did all the surgical equipment go?” Lyra looked completely innocent: “Moved to the third floor, obviously.” “Vivienne’s having a C-section—she needs the best equipment. What if there’s an emergency? How could a regular chamber be enough?” As she spoke, her eyes landed on me and she smiled. “Elara’s ready to deliver?” “You’ll have to wait. Vivienne’s not done yet.” “Just be patient.” I stared at that perfectly made-up face. Suddenly remembering six months ago when she’d linked arms with me at the market, saying sweetly: “Elara, you’re so good to me. Better than my own blood sister.” I’d bought her enchanted accessories worth over a hundred thousand gold that day. Now it all seemed like a sick joke.

Bennett frantically tore through the healer’s station, searching for emergency equipment. But the cabinets were empty. Not even basic hemostats or gauze. “Equipment? Where’s the bloodclot potion? Birthwort tincture?” A midwife whispered: “Everything was sent to the third floor.” “The Alpha ordered all resources go to Lady Vivienne first.” Bennett slammed his fist into the cabinet. He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, lips trembling: “I’m sorry, Luna, I’m so sorry…” “There’s nothing I can do…” Lyra walked over and patted his shoulder: “Bennett, don’t panic.” “Elara hasn’t delivered yet, right? Once Vivienne’s done, the equipment comes back down.” She glanced at my belly and added: “Even if she does deliver, it’s just a girl. No loss if it dies.” “The Frostwood Pack doesn’t need another one.” I stared hard at her. At this person I’d treated like a real sister for three years. Then, using every ounce of strength, I forced out two words: “You monster.” Lyra’s expression darkened. She bent down, leaned close to my ear, voice dropping low: “Call me whatever you want. Go ahead.” “Once you deliver and your body’s weak, I’ve got plenty of ways to shut you up permanently.” “Then Vivienne gets to be Luna.” “As for you…” She straightened up, smile bright: “For Kieran’s sake, I’ll let you live. You can be a servant.” Bennett couldn’t take it anymore: “Miss Lyra! This is murder!” “Murder?” Lyra scoffed. “Bennett, watch what you say.” “Women dying in childbirth—isn’t that perfectly normal?” “Besides, this is Frostwood Pack family business. What’s it to you, outsider?” She waved at the guards: “Take Bennett to rest.” “I’ll personally look after my dear sister.” Two guards stepped forward and dragged him away. Bennett struggled, shouting: “Luna! Apply pressure to your lower abdomen! Massage in circles! It triggers contractions!” “Don’t give up! The pup can still be saved!” His voice faded down the hall. Lyra shut the station door and turned to face me. She pulled out her scrying mirror and activated a vision spell. “Kieran, Elara’s about to deliver. Don’t you want to watch?” Kieran’s face appeared in the glass. He stood outside the birthing chamber, healers bustling in the background. “Elara, quit being dramatic.” “Vivienne’s in bad shape—the pup’s heartbeat dropped.” Lyra turned the mirror toward me: “Look how much blood Elara’s losing. Is she dying too?” Kieran frowned, glanced once, then quickly looked away. “Make her wait.” “Once Vivienne delivers, the healers will go down.” “Elara, you handle things. I can’t leave.” The vision faded. Lyra shrugged and pocketed her mirror. “You hear that?” “In Kieran’s heart, Vivienne comes first.” “You’re just a breeding tool.” “And once a tool’s used up, it gets thrown away.” I closed my eyes, done looking at her. My hand crept behind me to the lining of my dress. Sewn inside was a button-sized talisman. Father had given it to me. He’d said: “Elara, the Frostwood Pack isn’t what it seems. If something happens, press this.” I’d laughed it off back then. “Dad, Kieran treats me well. The whole pack treats me well.” Now I realized how stupid I’d been. I used my fingernail to pry open the protective seal. Pressed down gently. No sound. No light. But I knew—the signal was sent. Father had promised—press this, and help arrives within thirty minutes. But thirty minutes… Could my pup survive thirty minutes?

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After dating, my sister Chloe stormed through the door and exploded. “What a complete loser! His salary is less than half of mine, and he had the nerve to tell me to stay local, get married this year, and pop out a kid next year.” “They set me up with *that*? Disgusting!” Mom and Dad rushed over to comfort her. “We won’t see him again. That matchmaker has terrible judgment, always setting you up with bottom-feeders.” I stared at the gift box by the door and quietly added, “He seemed nice. He went out of his way to drive you home and brought gifts for everyone.” Chloe’s eyes flickered. She suddenly laughed. “What? You interested in my leftovers?” She looked me up and down, her voice dripping with contempt. “Makes sense. You’re worse than me in every way. A guy like that is perfect for someone like you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You want him? Take him. I’m not interested in a dead-end life in this backwater town anyway.” I silently added the contact info she’d forwarded to me. I didn’t mention that when he’d driven her home earlier, he’d been in our district supervisor’s car. And as far as I knew, his family owned over thirty properties in our county. *** Chloe’s anger hadn’t faded when her phone buzzed. After reading the message, her expression darkened further. “How annoying! He wants to take me to a movie tomorrow. I said no, but he won’t take the hint!” Mom quickly intervened. “Chloe, don’t reject him outright.” “This is a small town—everyone knows everyone. You shut him down today, and tomorrow someone’s gossiping about how working in a big city made you too stuck-up for the locals.” Dad nodded along. “Exactly. Relationships are complicated here. Who knows what connections his family has? If you offend the wrong person, it’ll make things difficult when you come back to visit.” Chloe’s eyes suddenly landed on me, her tone charitable. “Nina, you go instead.” “Just handle it for me. Don’t screw it up.” I didn’t argue. I just nodded. No one asked if I was willing. In this family, I’d never had the right to say no. To avoid screwing it up, I spent all night researching the movie Owen had chosen. Plot, foreshadowing, the director’s techniques—I filled an entire page with notes. The next day when we met, Owen clearly looked surprised to see me. I explained, “My sister had something come up. She asked me to apologize.” Then I casually mentioned a few things about the film. His eyes lit up. “I already bought the tickets, let’s not waste them.” After the movie, he enthusiastically discussed it with me for ages. Dinner was his treat. It was relaxed. Nothing like the sleazy lecturing Chloe had described. He was actually very considerate—serving me food, asking if I liked the taste. After dinner, he suddenly led me into a jewelry store next door and picked out two pendants. When I saw the price—nearly 10 grands—I froze and tried to decline. He smiled and shook his head, paying anyway. “Last time I brought gifts in a rush. Didn’t have time to get something special for you and your sister. Keep this one, and give the other to her for me.” I accepted the pendant, understanding clearly—he still cared about Chloe. After all, Chloe was beautiful and had a good job in New York. A top student. Me? I was plain at best. Completely ordinary. But I wasn’t planning to give Chloe the pendant just yet. When I got home, Chloe glanced at my hand and sneered. “Oh wow, he didn’t even buy you anything? Told you he was cheap. Can’t even spring for a gift when he takes you out.” I ignored her and went to my room, tucking the pendant safely in my bag. As soon as I sat down, a notification popped up—Owen had accepted my friend request from last night. I retouched my makeup, put on the pendant, and posted a photo to my social media. Less than two minutes later, Owen liked it. Outside my room, Chloe’s complaining continued. “Good thing I sent Nina. Otherwise, he would’ve driven me insane. Pathetic loser, thinking he can chase me. Doesn’t even know if he’s worthy.” Mom and Dad chimed in. “Exactly. You are so excellent—you’ll definitely find someone better.” “Just let Nina handle these things from now on.” I leaned against the door, feeling nothing. I’d gotten used to it long ago. Mom and Dad had me by accident. They always felt guilty toward Chloe, who should’ve been an only child. From childhood, they’d drilled it into me: “Nina, don’t compete with your sister. She’s older. You have to let her have her way.” Chloe took every kind of enrichment class growing up—music, chess, painting. She excelled at everything. I got yelled at by Mom for being “wasteful” just for wanting a workbook. Chloe had a high-paying job in New York, yet Mom and Dad secretly gave her an extra $1000 every month. When I wanted to leave and make something of myself, I’d secretly bought a train ticket, only for Mom and Dad to tear it to shreds. That night, I’d heard them talking in their room: “Chloe will get married eventually. We can’t burden her. Nina is obedient—she’ll take care of us when we’re old.” In their eyes, Chloe was always precious. And me? I was just there to take Chloe’s problems and absorb the hits meant for her. A week later, Owen invited Chloe to go hiking. She refused without a second thought and pushed me forward again. “Nina, you go. Tell him I’m busy with work.” I didn’t argue. I changed into workout clothes and went. During the hike, I kept a steady pace and waited whenever Owen fell behind. I handed him water and wiped his sweat. When we hit rough patches, I reminded him to be careful. The whole thing was relaxed—no forced pleasantries, just doing what felt natural. At the summit, Owen suddenly spoke. “Chloe said she’s busy, but really she just doesn’t like me, right?” My heart tightened. I was about to explain when he smiled. “I could tell something was off the first time we met. Today confirmed it.” “Chloe has never been nice to me. She’d never be as patient and genuine as you. I’m not going to force it.” He paused, his gaze turning serious. “Nina, you’re special. Want to give us a try?”

“Owen and I are together now.” When I told Chloe, I handed her the gold pendant from before. “This is for you. Thanks for letting me go on those dates.” Chloe gripped the pendant, her brow furrowed, her eyes full of suspicion. “You only take home three thousand a month, and you give half to Mom and Dad. How are you suddenly dropping money like this?” I gave her a simple-minded smile. “I used my savings. Finding someone in a small town isn’t easy. Owen makes six thousand a month, and he’s honest. If we get married and live carefully, we’ll be better off than most people.” She laughed, her voice dripping with mockery. “Oh wow, so I did you a favor?” “That’s all the ambition you’ve got? Picking up my leftovers and acting like you hit the jackpot?” I looked down and said nothing. I’d been listening to her ridicule for over twenty years. I was immune. Since Owen and I got together, we’ve met for dinner every Friday. But I was always late. It wasn’t on purpose. My supervisor, Mr. Clark, had been making my life hell ever since his divorce. Every time I was about to leave, he’d dump a pile of work on me and get handsy while “discussing” projects. That day, Owen came to pick me up from work so I wouldn’t be late. I’d just stepped out of the office building. Mr. Clark chased after me, pretending to hand me something, deliberately rubbing his fingers over my hand several times. I didn’t pull away. I even frowned slightly, looking helpless and wronged. I knew Owen could see everything from his car. He suddenly honked, his voice icy as he shouted out the window: “Who the hell are you? Why are you putting your hands on her?” Mr. Clark jumped back and hurried away. The next morning at work, the office was in chaos. Mr. Clark had been urgently transferred to a remote township. Everyone whispered that he’d pissed someone off—otherwise, why would he be reassigned so suddenly with no chance to appeal? That evening, Owen picked me up from work. I casually brought it up. He looked at me, his eyes soft. “That was me. I won’t let you be treated like that.” He came clean about his background. His dad was the top official at my agency’s parent department. His mom was the director of a private hospital. He said, “I didn’t mention it during the setup because I didn’t want to show off.” “I had a girlfriend in college. We were together for three years—really good together.” “But when we were about to graduate, she found out I was coming back to this county and said I had no ambition. She broke up with me.” “My parents are getting older and pushing me to settle down. That’s why I agreed to the setup.” Suddenly it made sense. No wonder such a quality guy needed a setup to find someone. Owen suddenly took my hand, his tone serious. “Nina, I’m telling you this because I’m not messing around. I’m serious about marriage.” I looked into his sincere eyes and nodded hard. In our second month together, I met Owen’s parents. They were wonderful people, clearly pleased with me, and even sent me home with a thoughtful gift. Six months flew by, and we decided to get our marriage license. When I told my parents about the wedding, they said they couldn’t help. Funny, considering how much of my paycheck I’d been handing over to them every month. On the wedding day, Owen’s parents spent a million dollars to hold a lavish ceremony at the best hotel in the county. Guests poured in—all prominent figures in the county. Even my supervisor came to offer congratulations. But right up until the ceremony started, Mom and Dad never showed. Just as I stood on stage in my wedding dress, barely holding it together, I received a message from them—just a few short lines: [Nina, we’re not coming. Chloe suddenly has a fever. We’re rushing to New York to take care of her. Your in-laws are just showing off, insisting on the most expensive venue. We looked at the smallest banquet hall there before—it’s barely bigger than a conference room. We’d be embarrassed to show up. Besides, Chloe’s illness is more important.]

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My father was the Pack’s bravest Warrior. The day he fell defending our borders against a rogue attack, half the territory came to honor him. The burial rites weren’t even cold before my mother collected the settlement — sixty thousand gold pieces — and bonded herself to the wealthiest Elite in the pack. I was left with my grandparents, just another forgotten pup no one bothered to claim. Three years later, the Alpha Council granted one sponsored placement into the Elite Guard to the bloodline of a fallen hero. My father had bled for that honor. It was mine. My stepfather gave it to his own son instead. That afternoon, he blocked the doorway and looked me over with the flat contempt of a wolf surveying something already dead. “Elara.” He held out a small pouch of coin. “Five hundred gold. Take it and go.” “And sign this.” He dropped a folded parchment at my feet. Voluntary Relinquishment of Bloodline Placement Rights. “After that, don’t let me see your face again.” I looked past him to my mother, Clara. A jade bracelet caught the light on her wrist — bright, expensive, blinding. Her eyes slid away from mine. “Elara, listen to your stepfather. Your brother Marcus is a better fit for the Guard.” I glanced at the sleek horses tethered in their courtyard, then down at my own tunic, washed so many times the color had given up entirely. So this is what my father’s life was worth. Five hundred gold. — My stepfather, Roland, went cold when I didn’t reach for the coin. He snatched the relinquishment parchment off the ground and snapped it against my cheek — the paper edge sharp enough to sting. “Don’t push me, girl.” His voice climbed. “You think you belong in the Elite Guard? A worthless pup like you?” My mother Clara stepped forward, catching his sleeve. “Darling, not in front of her.” Then she turned to me, her voice soft now, coaxing. “Elara, sweetheart. Roland’s only thinking of you. The Guard’s training is brutal. It’s no place for a girl.” Sweetheart. Three years of silence, and now sweetheart. The warmth of it almost reached me — until she kept talking. “Take the five hundred now. I’ll send you fifty gold a month after that.” My eyes dropped to the jade bracelet again. Green as envy, purchased with my father’s settlement. The memory surfaced without warning: the burial chamber, my father’s ash-box on the stone plinth, my mother weeping so hard her whole body shook — one hand pressed to her chest, the other quietly slipping his bank seal into her cloak pocket. I had thought she was overcome with grief. Now I wondered what, exactly, she had been mourning. “Elara.” Clara’s voice pulled me back. There was a flicker of something — guilt, maybe — in her eyes. “Do you remember what Father said to me before his last patrol?” My voice came out steadier than I expected. She stiffened. “He said if anything happened to him, I was to study hard and take the placement.” I held her gaze. “He said the Guard seat was mine. That he’d bought it with his own blood.” Roland waved a dismissive hand. “A dead wolf’s words. I’m the one keeping you fed now. I decide.” Clara’s expression closed like a shutter. When she looked at me again, the softness was gone. “Elara. Things are different now. Marcus has better scores. He’s more suitable.” Marcus. Her son. Her real child. The realization landed without drama, the way truths do when part of you already knew: I had never been her daughter. Not really. “Are you going to sign or not?” Roland’s brow furrowed. I didn’t look at the parchment. I didn’t look at the coin. I looked directly at him. “I’ll sign.” Clara’s eyes lit up. “The moment you return every coin of my father’s settlement. All sixty thousand. Not a piece short.”

My mother’s composure shattered. “Are you mad?” She was shaking. “That gold is for Marcus’s future — his bonding ceremony, his standing in the pack. You’ll get nothing. Nothing.” The word ‘Marcus’ landed in my stomach like a stone. All these years — had any of them truly thought of me as one of their own? Without my grandparents hauling salvage at the edge of pack territory to feed me, I would have disappeared into some forgotten corner long ago. Roland shouldered past her, smiling the way a wolf smiles when it has already decided what it’s going to do. “Bold little pup.” His gaze moved over me the way you’d measure livestock at a market. “Since you won’t be reasonable, I’ll stop being polite.” He grabbed me by the throat. The grip was absolute — I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t twist free. He dragged me like carrion toward the dirt track outside the gate, my knees dragging and cracking against the stones. I clawed at his hand, raking lines across his skin. “You little—” He released my throat to deliver a blow across my face instead. My ears rang. Half my face went numb. I hit the ground and tasted copper. Pack members appeared at the commotion, gathering along the road. Roland transformed instantly. One moment he was a man who had just struck a child; the next he was a pillar of wounded community leadership, pointing down at me with open palms. “Look at this! A hero’s daughter, and she’s turned against her own family!” “She’s willing to throw away her father’s honor for money. For a personal claim against me!” “I sheltered her for three years, gave her everything, and now she wants to extort sixty thousand gold from my household!” The crowd congealed around me. I pulled myself upright and looked at the faces — people I had called uncle, aunt, neighbor. “Fallen far, hasn’t she? Her father would be ashamed.” “Girl doesn’t know her place. No wonder nobody wants her.” “Roland took her in and she has the nerve—” Each word landed like a lash. I looked around for one voice. Just one. There wasn’t any. These same wolves had howled their grief at my father’s burial. Now they ground me into the mud to stay in Roland’s favor, and didn’t lose a step doing it. Clara stood to the side, face covered, making the sounds of a woman in distress. “I don’t know what to do with her anymore,” she said to no one in particular. “She was always difficult. I’ve tried so hard.” She played the aggrieved parent so effortlessly that something inside me simply stopped aching and went cold. Roland saw that the crowd was his, and grabbed my wrist to force my hand to the parchment. “You’ll mark this. Here, now. One way or another.” His grip was a vice; my wrist bones ground against each other. “Let go!” I fought, but a seventeen-year-old girl has no leverage against a fully ranked Elite male. He was going to take this from me. My father’s last gift. The only thing he’d left me. No. I bit down on Roland’s hand with everything I had. He howled and released me. I scrambled back — and then his second blow came, harder than the first, and I went down and stayed down. His men joined in. I curled small and took it. Then, through split vision, I looked up and met Roland’s eyes. Blood was running from my lip, but my voice came out level. “You’ll regret this.” Quiet. Simple. Everyone on that road heard it. Roland laughed. His men laughed. The crowd shuffled and smirked. “You’ll regret it?” He crouched down to my level, amused. “A fatherless runt is going to make me regret something?” “You’ll never stand up again, girl. Not in this pack. Not anywhere.”

Roland sent for the Elder. When I saw the familiar figure appear at the gate, my last ember of hope went out. The Elder had always played the kindly patriarch around me — clapping my shoulder at festivals, murmuring that I was a good, obedient pup. But I had known for years: he was Roland’s creature, kept comfortable by steady contributions from Roland’s coffers. Roland’s dominance in this territory ran through him. The Elder’s face now held nothing but flat authority. “Elara.” His voice was a blade. “Show respect to your elders and apologize to Roland and your mother. Now.” I set my jaw and said nothing. Apologize. For what? “Are you deaf, girl?” He raised his hand. Then my grandfather’s voice split the air. He came around the corner leaning on his walking staff, back more bent than I remembered, pace slower — but he put his thin body between me and the Elder without a moment’s hesitation. “Roland. You touch my granddaughter again and see what follows.” His voice trembled with age and shook with certainty, both at once. My throat closed. The whole world had let me go. He hadn’t. Roland’s men didn’t wait. They closed in and shoved my grandfather aside — an old man past seventy, handled like an obstacle in a road. “Grandfather!” I lunged, but hands clamped me from behind. He went down hard. His staff skittered away. He tried to rise; his knee was bleeding through the fabric, the stain spreading dark and fast. “You animals!” My voice cracked. “He is your elder!” The pack Elder looked on and pointed at me with two fingers. “This one needs a correction facility. Keep carrying on, and I’ll have her sent to one.” A correction facility. I went still. “Exactly.” His voice turned vicious. “A fatherless stray, no discipline, no worth. Better for the pack without her.” I understood then — this wasn’t only about the Guard placement. They intended to dismantle me entirely. Several of Roland’s men dragged me through the territory to the abandoned homestead at the edge of the old ward. My father’s house. The one we’d shared before everything ended. The contest ribbons I’d won as a pup still hung on the wall. His favorite cup still sat on the table, exactly where he’d left it. The iron lock struck home with a clang that echoed through the empty rooms. Through the door, Roland’s voice, almost pleasant. “The hero ceremony is the day after tomorrow, Elara.” My heart stopped for a beat. The day after tomorrow. So soon. “Marcus will take the stage and deliver the address. Once the ceremony’s official record is sealed, I’ll let you out.” A pause. “Sit here and think about your choices.” I listened to their footsteps fade. Marcus — Roland’s son — standing at my father’s memorial. Reading words from a prepared script. Wearing the honor my father had purchased with his life as if it were a costume. I threw myself at the door and pounded until my fists bled. Until I couldn’t anymore. I slid down the wood and sat on the floor of my father’s house, looking up at his portrait on the wall. He was in his Warrior’s gear. He was smiling the way he always smiled — like sunlight had decided to wear a face. “Dad.” My voice barely made a sound. “Do you see what your pack has done?” I didn’t understand. I had never understood. Why do the good ones fall, and the scavengers inherit everything they built? Night came. The old homestead went fully dark. I sat in the corner, hollow with hunger, hollower with despair. In two days, it would all be finalized. Marcus on the stage, the seal on the record, my father’s name handed over to someone who had never earned a single scar in his service. And I would be locked in here, watching it happen.

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During a narcotics bust, my mom was taken hostage while protecting a civilian. The bastards livestreamed the whole thing on the dark web. “Ten minutes! If I don’t walk out of here, I’ll slit her throat!” I frantically dialed Nolan’s number. He was my mom’s protégé, the rookie she’d personally trained and promoted to detective. He was also the closest officer to the scene, the only one who could reach her in time. He finally picked up. My voice came out raw. “Nolan, get to the address I sent you! You’re the only one who can save my mom right now!” “Is this your new trick to get my attention? I’m so sick of your constant jealousy.” He laughed, cutting me off. A dog barked in the background, followed by a cloyingly sweet female voice. “Nolan, you’re using way too much doggie shampoo!” “I just talked to Captain Monroe yesterday. She filed her retirement paperwork. She’s not in any danger. Stop making things up and grow up, Harper.” He hung up. The countdown hit thirty seconds. I called again and again. He blocked me. My phone buzzed with a text from Stella: Your boyfriend’s helping me give my baby a bath. Don’t worry, we’re just friends. No need to keep checking up on him. The attached photo showed her and Nolan laughing, covered in soap suds, bathing a golden retriever. They looked like a couple in a goddamn laundry detergent commercial. On my screen, the livestream showed my mother’s throat being sliced open. She collapsed, eyes wide, staring directly at the camera. My phone slipped from my hand. Something inside me died with her. ……………………… The police brought my mother’s body back. At the funeral, one of her old colleagues came up to me. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Captain Monroe was the finest officer this department has ever seen. She solved countless cases, and she was protecting the city. She’s a hero.” His voice cracked. He hesitated, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t. I knew what he was thinking. Everyone at the precinct knew my fiancé, Nolan had refused to respond to the emergency call because he was too busy keeping his girl best friend company. I stood in front of the headstone but didn’t cry. I just gripped the badge in my hand until my palm bled. The pain kept me standing. It reminded me I couldn’t break down. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. I’m sorry for your loss. I know what happened. I’ll make sure justice is served. I scrolled through my messages. Nothing from Nolan. I pulled up his contact and called him, hoping he’d at least come to say goodbye to the woman who’d raised him in the force. Once. Twice. Three times. All of them went straight to voicemail. My mom had loved Nolan like a son. She’d taught him everything she knew, pulled every string to get him promoted to detective. He’d been a good protégé. He’d been a good boyfriend. Then Stella came back to Chicago, and everything changed. He started canceling on me. He missed my birthday. He wasn’t there when our dog of eight years was poisoned and died. Even wasn’t there when my mother was in danger. And now, at her funeral, he still wasn’t here. His text finally came through after the funeral ended. Harper, stop being so childish. You’re exhausting me. Stella is my best friend. We’re JUST FRIENDS. There’s no reason for you to be jealous of her. I took two days off to take her hiking. The signal’s bad up in the mountains, so don’t blow up my phone unless it’s an emergency. Those two messages shattered whatever hope I’d had left. I threw my umbrella aside and tilted my face up to the rain. It hit my skin like tiny blades. The pain finally made the tears come. I blocked Nolan on everything. Don’t worry. I’ll never bother you again. When I got home, I locked myself in my room and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. He picked up immediately. He didn’t speak, just breathed steadily on the other end. I took a deep breath. “This is Harper Monroe.” His voice was low and controlled. “I know. I’m here.” “I want to finish what my mom started. I want to take down the people who killed her. I’m asking for your approval to reinstate me.” There was a long silence. I could picture him frowning, weighing his options. “Those criminals work for the Blackwood Cartel. Your mother died trying to take them down. I can’t let you risk your life too. And besides—” I cut him off. “I already passed the internal assessment. I’m the best candidate for this operation.” “My dad died when I was a kid. My mom raised me alone. She died with her eyes open, Chief Thorne. I can’t let the people who killed her walk free.” He sighed heavily. “Does Nolan know?” “He doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to.” “Fine. Send me your report. I’ll make the arrangements. The undercover operation starts in two days. Use that time to handle your personal affairs.” He paused. “Come back safe. For your mother’s sake. And for the people who actually care about you.” “I will.” I hung up and started packing. I was selling everything I owned, including every gift Nolan had ever given me. While cleaning out my desk, I found a framed photo of us. In the picture, sunlight streamed through the windows. I had my arms wrapped around him from behind, my chin resting on top of his head. We’d looked so happy. Now it just made me sick. I pulled the photo out of the frame, tore his half off, and threw it in the trash. That’s when I heard a key turning in the lock.

The door swung open. Stella walked in with her arm draped around Nolan’s waist. She was practically hanging off him, her chest pressed against his arm. The moment Stella spotted the grand piano in the corner, she squealed with excitement. “Babe, there it is! I played it last time I was here and the sound was incredible. It photographs so well too! You promised you’d give it to me, remember?” Nolan saw me standing in the living room. His smile faltered for a second. “Harper. Perfect timing. I need to talk to you about something. Stella loves this piano, so I’m having it moved to her place. You haven’t played it in forever anyway. It’s just collecting dust.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mom had spent her entire life savings on that piano. And he wanted to give it away? Without even asking me? “What did you just say? My mom left that to me. It’s mine. I dare you to touch it.” Stella made a theatrical gasp. Her eyes landed on the trash can. She bent down, plucked out the torn photo with two fingers, and dangled it in front of Nolan’s face. “Babe, looks like we really pissed off your ball and chain. She even tore up your picture! When did she grow the balls to disrespect you like this?” “We need to get that piano out of here fast before she smashes it in one of her tantrums.” Nolan’s face darkened. “Harper! Are you done with this bullshit? First you lied about your mom being in danger, and now this? How old are you?” “That piano is leaving today whether you like it or not. Your useless wrist can’t even play it anymore!” I was shaking with rage. “Nolan! Have you forgotten how my wrist got ruined? I took a knife for you! The tendon was severed! That’s why I’m like this!” Stella clicked her tongue and put on a patronizing expression. “Harper, you can’t say it like that. Nolan appreciates what you did, but the fact is, you really can’t use the piano anymore.” “Nolan’s my best friend. What’s his is mine. If he wants to give it to me, that’s totally normal.” “Besides, we’ve known each other for years. We don’t keep score like that.” Nolan looked at Stella with pure adoration. “Exactly. It’s just a piano. My best friend wants it. Can’t you be a little more generous? Why are you secretly tearing up photos and throwing tantrums?” I laughed bitterly and screamed at her. “Nolan, my mom is dead! And you’re calling me unreasonable?” “Are you even human? My mom was taken hostage by criminals. You were the closest officer. You were the only one in the entire department who could save her! And what were you doing?” I pointed at Stella, who looked absolutely delighted. “You were giving her dog a bath!” “My mom loved you! She was your mentor! Why didn’t you save her?” “You didn’t even come to her funeral!” Nolan’s voice turned vicious. “Enough! You’re still acting? You keep saying your mom is dead. Who curses their own mother like this? I never knew you were this disgusting.” Stella’s voice was sickeningly innocent, but she was smirking. “Harper, are you still holding a grudge? It was just a dog bath. It’s not that deep.” “Nolan and I are best friends. We don’t play those stupid games you do.” She ran her hand over the piano lid and turned to Nolan. “Babe, I really do love this piano.” She slapped his ass playfully, right in front of me. Nolan’s face flushed. “Of course you can have it. We’re ride-or-die. I’d give you the moon if you asked for it.” He turned to me, his voice cold. “The piano is being moved today. As of right now, you’re not allowed to touch it.” He pulled out his phone and called a moving company right in front of me. I grabbed everything within reach and hurled it at them. A makeup case hit Stella in the head. Nolan lost it. He stormed over and slapped me across the face. I stumbled backward and crashed into the piano bench. Instinctively, I put my hand out to catch myself. My old wrist injury exploded with pain. I heard something crack. Tears sprang to my eyes. Nolan hesitated for a second, then reached for me. I recoiled like he was contaminated. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” Nolan pulled his hand back. His face twisted with anger. “You want to be difficult? Fine. I’ll have them tear the whole thing apart!” Stella touched her forehead and pouted. “Babe, look, she made me bleed. Don’t you think she owes me some kind of compensation?” “How about this? I’ll convince Nolan not to destroy the piano. Just give it to me as an apology and we’ll call it even.” “Get out! Both of you get the fuck out!” Rage took over. I grabbed the piano bench and hurled it at them. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. Stella immediately ducked behind Nolan. I stood in front of the piano, my eyes burning red. “If anyone touches this piano, I’ll kill them!” “Harper! You’ve lost your goddamn mind!” Nolan was furious. He shoved me hard. He loomed over me, disgust written all over his face. “Look at yourself! You’re acting like a psycho! No wonder your mom didn’t want you. If she really is dead, you probably drove her to it. You deserve this!” “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson on her behalf!” How dare he bring up my mother? I put every ounce of strength I had into the slap I gave him. My hand went numb from the impact. “Shut your fucking mouth! You don’t get to talk about my mom!” Nolan’s face snapped to the side. His eyes filled with disbelief. Stella shrieked. “Harper, how could you hit him? I wouldn’t even hurt a hair on Nolan’s head!” The movers arrived at the door. Nolan’s face was stone. “That one. Take it away.” “No!” The movers looked at me blocking the piano and hesitated. “Um, she doesn’t seem to agree. Are you sure about this?” Nolan sneered and pulled out a thick stack of cash from his wallet. “Triple your rate. Don’t listen to a word the lunatic says.” Stella immediately chimed in, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Guys, don’t mind her. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend. She’s, uh, got some issues.” She tapped her temple and gave them a knowing look. “Alright then.” The lead mover looked at me with pity and waved to his crew. “Boys, let’s get to work.” “No! Please don’t! You can’t!” I tried to stop them, but Nolan grabbed me from behind. Between the injuries and the sleepless nights, I had no strength left to fight back. Nolan held me in place while putting on a sickeningly sweet voice. “Baby, just relax. The doctor said seeing this piano triggers you. We’re moving it for your own good.” The movers carried the piano out the door and down the hall until it disappeared. Nolan let go of me. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in his eyes. I felt numb. I stared at him through blurred vision and screamed, “Nolan! We’re done! It’s over!” He didn’t even look back. He took Stella’s hand and walked away. “Fine! You want to break up? Don’t come crawling back!”

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The third time Ethan Holt burst through the door to catch me slept with a strange, I didn’t scramble to pull on my clothes or fumble for excuses the way I had the first two times. His company’s attorney, Vivienne Walsh, stood at the front of the group. “Ms. Calloway, this is the third instance of marital infidelity.” “Per the prenuptial agreement, you will leave this marriage with nothing, and you forfeit all custodial rights to the child.” Ethan had long since run out of patience. The look in his eyes when they landed on me was pure contempt. He threw the divorce papers down in front of me: “The first time, you said you didn’t even know the man.” “The second time, you said you had no idea how you ended up at that hotel.” “Third time’s the charm — so what’s your excuse this time?” He assumed I’d pull out another pathetic story. But I said nothing. I simply picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. Then I disappeared from his world. Only — why was it that the moment I finally gave him what he wanted, agreed to walk away with nothing and give up our child, he lost his mind? …… Vivienne immediately snatched the signed papers from the table. As though terrified I might change my mind, she turned to Ethan and said, “Mr. Holt, it’s signed.” Ethan stared at me, his brow deeply furrowed. Most likely because he hadn’t gotten what he’d expected the way he had the previous two times — me ripping up the divorce papers, then pressing my forehead to the floor until it bled, sobbing as I begged him: “For the sake of our child, please believe me just this once!” …… I capped the pen and set it back on the table. “I’ll clear out my things as soon as possible. As for visitation rights for the child —” “You have no right to call yourself a mother.” His voice was low and heavy as he cut me off. “You’re never to see the child again.” I didn’t look up. I only smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say — I don’t want visitation rights either!” The coldness in Ethan’s eyes didn’t waver. He just looked at me a moment longer. As though he couldn’t quite read my sudden decisiveness. For the past four years, he and our child had been my entire world. I used to be upset for half a day whenever the little one called out “Auntie Viv” one too many times. And now I was letting go without a second glance. That wasn’t like me. “Shameless,” he said with a cold laugh, as though he’d finally found a reasonable explanation for my change of behavior. “You’d throw away your own flesh and blood for some man on the outside.” “Then what would you call what you did — going out of your way to get into my bed and getting pregnant to trap me?” I listened to him and felt not even the faintest urge to defend myself. The first time he’d caught me “in bed with someone” at a hotel, I’d been completely blindsided. I had begged him to listen, insisting I had done nothing to betray him. He had always been certain I couldn’t live without him. And because the man supposedly caught with me had long since fled — leaving only a blurry shadow on the hotel security footage — Ethan had grudgingly believed me. But he’d still taken our son from my side. Monthly visits had to be scheduled a week in advance through Vivienne. When I came to see him, she followed me around the entire time as a so-called “escort.” Even holding him a little longer required reading her mood. Every toy, every outfit I bought for the child had to be cleared with Vivienne first. Otherwise it would never reach him. The ordeal wrecked me mentally, and then came the accusations of a second affair. At the time, I’d taken a job to keep myself occupied. But on a business trip one day I somehow ended up at a hotel, dizzy and disoriented. When I woke, a heavyset man was lying beside me, snoring and drooling in my direction. I called the police. A female officer examined me and said I hadn’t been assaulted. The facts were right there, but Ethan still refused to believe I’d simply been set up before I could “commit the crime.” After that, I wasn’t even allowed to attend parent-teacher nights at the kindergarten. Whenever the school had something, Ethan sent Vivienne instead. He told me to stay home and “stop embarrassing everyone.” When our son pointed at me and called me a “bad woman,” Ethan stood right there and said nothing. And then came the third time I was “caught”… I was done playing this game. I was setting them free. And now he had the nerve to ask me why I was giving up even my own child?

Vivienne stepped quickly to Ethan’s side and lowered her voice to remind him: “Mr. Holt, even though the agreement stipulates she gives up custody… in all my years of practice, I’ve never once seen a mother give up her child this easily.” “Given that Ms. Calloway has had multiple affairs, she probably planned this all along — after all, a child would be inconvenient… There’s no point trying to talk her out of it.” She glanced up at me as she finished speaking, a flicker of something heavy passing through her eyes. I let out a short laugh. She seemed to have forgotten… Four years ago, this absurd prenuptial agreement — with its precisely predetermined number of “permitted affairs” — had been drafted by her. Ethan’s expression dropped another degree. “You’d better mean what you say. Don’t come crawling back to me later.” He left those words behind and turned to walk out. I watched his retreating figure and felt the corner of my mouth twitch. I won’t, Ethan. Back then, just to convince myself to accept you, I went to every tarot reader and psychic in the city. Every answer they gave me warned against us. Later, I flew five thousand miles to the old chapel in Florence, kneeling there for an entire day and night before I finally found the words I wanted to believe: Some loves are written by fate—never question where they come from. Who could have known that a heaven-ordained match would end up a cursed one. This time, my knees will not bend again. Vivienne looked at me, the faintest smile curling the corner of her lips. “Ms. Calloway, every second is precious — we won’t keep you any longer.” The moment the door shut, the room fell quiet again. I glanced down at the man still passed out on the bed. My stomach turned with revulsion. I had woken before him. I could have left without waiting for them to arrive. But I was tired of this cat-and-mouse game. So I’d waited. I put on my coat and walked out without looking back. The following evening I returned to collect my things. When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I found everything I’d ever used or worn was gone. The housekeeper shifted awkwardly, unable to meet my eyes: “Ma’am, your things were all moved to the storage room… Miss Walsh said the master bedroom… is about to have a new mistress, and it needed to be cleared out right away.” I smiled slightly. Four years of marriage, and I wasn’t even entitled to a proper goodbye. I turned and walked toward the storage room at the back of the property. When I pushed the door open, boxes were stacked on boxes, bags piled on bags. I crouched down and began sorting through them, piece by piece. Nothing else mattered. I needed to find my mother’s vintage brooch. It was an heirloom — passed from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me… It was the only thing in this house that truly belonged to me. I finally found it at the very bottom of the last box. I clutched it in my palm and let out a long, slow breath. I was just gathering a few pieces of clothing to take when a small voice came from the doorway: “What are you doing?” I turned. Little Oliver Holt stood in the doorway, his small figure blocking the exit. He looked exactly like Ethan — but that imperious, top-down posture was pure Vivienne Walsh. “Taking my things.” I kept my head down and continued sorting. Any other time, even when he was being difficult, I would have gone to him with hugs and kisses. But this time, I was completely calm. “Those aren’t your things.” Seeing that I was ignoring him, he walked in. He stepped squarely on the clothes I’d scattered across the floor. “Auntie Viv said everything in this house belongs to Daddy. You can’t take a single thing.”

I paused what I was doing. “This is my own property.” “The money you spent was Daddy’s.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Daddy’s money belongs to the Holt family. The Holt family’s things have nothing to do with outsiders.” Outsiders? I lifted my head and looked at him. A four-year-old boy standing before me, looking at me the way you’d look at a thief. The coldness in those little eyes ran even deeper than Ethan’s. “I’m only taking one thing.” I tightened my fingers around the brooch and stood up. “Everything else, I’ll leave.” “No.” He moved to block the doorway in a single step, stretching both arms wide. “You can’t steal things from the Holt family.” “Oliver, move.” “No!” He raised his voice. “You’re a beggar! A thieving beggar! Auntie Viv said once you’re gone you can’t come back, and if you come back it means you’re stealing!” My temples throbbed. “I’m going to say this one more time. Move.” “No! Put it down!” He lunged at me and grabbed at the small velvet pouch in my hand. I instinctively pulled back. The pouch was ripped open in an instant. The brooch slipped free and hit the floor, shattering into pieces. I stood there, frozen, and heard my mother’s voice from the day she’d pinned it on me. She had said: “Hannah, this piece has been passed down through six generations of our family. One day you’ll pass it to your daughter, and if there’s no daughter, then a daughter-in-law…” I had no daughter. I had no daughter-in-law. I had only this brooch. Six generations. And here, in my generation, it was shattered by my own son. Oliver stood nearby and muttered under his breath: “Who told you not to let go…” I looked at him through burning eyes. “I told you — this was left to me by my grandmother.” “Do you even know why your grandmother is lying in that care home?” Oliver blinked and took a step back: “I don’t know any grandmother. All I know is some money-burning old woman…”

The blood rushed to my head. “Auntie Viv said so — she said that old woman has such a nice room, and she costs Daddy so much money, and she never gets better, so she’s just burning through it—” “Say that again.” My voice had changed. Even I couldn’t recognize it as my own. Oliver was startled by the look on my face. He bit his lip, then summoned his nerve and repeated himself: “She’s just a money-burning old woman, so what — ah!” I shoved him. He tripped over his own feet and landed hard on the floor. He blinked once, then burst into wailing sobs. “Daddy! Daddy!” I stood where I was, my palms numb. Watching my son kick and flail on the floor, that phrase “money-burning old woman” echoed and echoed in my ears. That “money-burning old woman” was my mother. His grandmother. The woman who had dragged herself out of a hospital bed, still healing from surgery, to hand-stitch him a little cotton jacket the month he was born. The woman who called from the care home every year on his birthday, asking the nurses to help her say “Happy Birthday, Oliver, darling.” And he called her a “money-burning old woman.” The sharp edges of the broken brooch cut into my palm. The pain cleared my head a little. Ethan burst through the door, took one look at his son sobbing on the floor, and scooped him up. “Oliver, what happened?” Oliver threw himself into his father’s arms, crying so hard he could barely breathe. “Daddy, she pushed me — make her leave, I want Auntie Viv…” Ethan held him and looked up at me. His eyes held nothing but icy displeasure. “Hannah, are you out of your mind? You hit the child!” “I didn’t hit him.” My voice was very quiet. “I pushed him.” “Is there a difference?” I looked down at the shattered brooch in my hand. “Yes,” I said. “Hitting him would have been a mother disciplining her child. Pushing him — he had it coming.”

Ethan faltered. He looked down at the son in his arms. Oliver, nestled against his father’s chest, had quieted his crying to a murmur. “I was only telling the truth… Auntie Viv said that old woman is just burning through Daddy’s money…” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you arguing with a child?” He glanced at me with a sweep of his eyes. “Vivienne is helping manage the household finances right now — she was simply stating a factual observation from a financial perspective, and the child overheard it. Don’t blow this out of proportion.” “You know how much she does for this family. You’ve always known.” He glanced at the brooch broken into pieces in my hand. Something in him softened slightly after all: “I brought the child over today on purpose — so the two of you could have a proper talk. But that matter — don’t tell him about it for now. It won’t do his development any good.” I knew he meant the divorce. I said nothing. Talk? Talk about what? In four years of marriage, the amount of time he and our son had spoken to me combined didn’t add up to half the time he spent talking to Vivienne. And yet it was he who’d pursued me back in university, step by step drawing me in. Getting me to travel to churches and tarot readers and mediums all over, searching desperately for a sign, not giving up until at last one fortune-teller and one reading gave me the answer I’d hoped for… Even without that so-called “accidental pregnancy,” I had already gathered my courage and was ready to set aside the difference in our families’ status to say yes to being with him. Looking back now — it’s just as well I never said it out loud. My mother was still in that care home, waiting for me to come visit. With those thoughts, I picked up my bag and walked out of the storage room. In the living room, Vivienne was crouched in front of Oliver, coaxing him softly. I walked past them without expression. Behind me, Oliver let out a wail: “Why isn’t that bad woman paying attention to me!” He stamped his feet, overcome with a sense of grievance. He was used to me running to soothe him after every tantrum, red-eyed and apologetic. Used to me saying “Oliver don’t be mad, Mama was wrong.” So when I didn’t even glance at him, he felt wronged beyond all measure. Ethan said nothing, but the coldness in his gaze hit my back like a blade. I didn’t stop. I was just reaching to open the front door when his voice exploded behind me: “Stop right there!”

I stopped. “Come here and apologize to Oliver.” His voice was low and suppressed. “You pushed him earlier and frightened him.” I hesitated for a moment. Thinking this might be the last time we saw each other, I felt no energy left to argue. I walked over and crouched down. “I’m sorry.” I looked into his eyes one last, genuine time. “Mama shouldn’t have pushed you.” Oliver sniffled, and then spat directly at my face. A glob of saliva landed on my cheek and slid slowly downward. In his babyish little voice, he said: “Disgusting woman. You deserve it.” Ethan only watched with cold eyes, adding in a mild tone: “You’ve been carrying on with other men, and even your own child can’t stand to look at you.” I slowly raised my hand and wiped my face. Then I laughed. “I’ve been carrying on with other men?” These so-called affairs, these supposedly caught-in-the-act moments — staged so clumsily — had he truly never seen the cracks? Perhaps he had. Perhaps he just didn’t want to expose it. If he was certain that’s what it was, then so be it. “For four years, you and she have been inseparable — four full years! You even had my child raised in her home. Ethan, who exactly has been carrying on with whom?” “Since we’re already divorcing, can you at least stop lying to yourself?” Vivienne’s face went pale. Her eyes immediately reddened. “Ms. Calloway, how can you slander me like that? Mr. Holt, I…” “Hannah, four years of this — haven’t you had enough?” Ethan’s gaze bore down on me. “Fine, if you think there’s something between us —” he took one step toward me, then another, “— then let me show you what truly improper looks like.” He had the nanny take Oliver away, then grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the bedroom. The moment the door shut, he bound my wrists with his necktie and threw me to the floor. Then he turned, pulled Vivienne toward him, and bent close to her ear. “Do you want this?”

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Six years I gave Damien Krest. He gave me back a contract — three years as his secret mistress, on call like a damn escort. I thought it was a prenup. I’d already picked up the pen, ready to sign. But the words staring back at me read: Mistress Agreement. Three-year term. On call at all times. Renewed upon satisfaction. My fingers tremble. “Damien, what the hell is this?” He lights a cigarette without looking up, his tone lazy and cruel. “The family’s been pushing. The Don arranged a match — someone from the right bloodline. I have to get married.” “Then what about me?” My voice comes out raw. He glances up, smiling like he doesn’t have a heart. “Baby, let’s be fair here.” “Your old man walked out on you and your mom, then limped back when his liver gave out , and you held his hand. Your ex drained your accounts and ghosted , and you still paid off his bookies. So don’t stand there looking at me like I’m the villain.” “All I’m asking is for you to become my side piece. That’s not unreasonable, is it?” … The terms are printed in black and white, each clause more blinding than the last. “Party B must be available on demand and shall not inquire about Party A’s whereabouts.” “Party B shall not display affection toward Party A in public.” “Should Party B become pregnant, she must handle it on her own…” I stare at that last line. My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking. My fingers are ice cold. Damien leans back on the couch, exhaling smoke. His gaze lands on me, light as air. “Sign it.” He flicks ash off the cigarette. “What are you waiting for?” I set the contract down. My voice shakes with fury. “Damien… we’ve been together for six years.” “And?” He smiles. “Six years, and you still never made it through the front door, did you?” That sentence is a knife — aimed right at the place I’m most afraid to touch. He’s right. Six years. He brought me to every family gathering, every gala. But the introduction was always “my assistant.” Maybe his mother sensed something. More than once she hinted: “You should really think about settling down, dear. It only gets harder as a woman gets older.” I thought she was pushing for our wedding. Turns out she was just giving me a polite nudge toward the exit. “Then what were these six years?” I ask. Damien stubs out his cigarette, stands, and walks over to me. “They were mutual.” He reaches out, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Ivy, you stayed with me six years. I took care of you for six years. That little paycheck of yours , how many times would it have covered your dad’s medical bills? And those tens of thousands your ex owed the loan sharks, didn’t you pay that off with my card?” He pauses, then smiles. “Baby, be fair. You had no problem using me. Now I’m using you. It’s an even trade.” My eyes burn, but not a single tear falls. He never said these things before. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true. My father did abandon us. Then he got old and sick and came crawling back. I’m pathetic — too soft-hearted. I spent every penny I had keeping him alive. As for my ex… He was nobody. A guy I dated for one month before we split over “incompatibility.” I only found out he’d stolen my identity to take out loans when the sharks showed up at my office. Damien stepped in and made it go away. I know I owe him. I just didn’t know he was keeping score. “So,” I push his hand away, “you’re saying these six years meant nothing to you? I was just an investment?” Damien laughs. “Not quite. What kind of investment value could you possibly have?” He pulls out a bank card and sets it beside the contract. “There’s five million in here. Sign, and it’s yours.” “Be my mistress for three years. After that, you want to renew, we renew. You don’t — the money’s still yours.” I stare at the card. Five million. Enough to pay off every debt I owe — but not enough to buy me. That sentence rolls around my throat three times. I never say it. Because I think of my father’s care facility fees. If I don’t pay by next week, they’ll send him back to me. Damien knows I can’t afford it. That’s why he can toss that card in front of me so casually. Like throwing a bone. Waiting for me to gnaw on it. “Well?” He watches me hesitate, then lights another cigarette. “Not enough?” I don’t speak. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Six years with me? Half a mil is a little low.” He blows smoke in my face; it stings my eyes. “But that’s the rate I pay a mistress. Not a girlfriend. Your current status — that’s what it’s worth.” He pauses, then smiles. “Of course, you don’t have to sign. But if you don’t, you can’t stay in this apartment either.” My heart feels like someone’s squeezing it in a fist. Six years together. I always thought of this place as home. The succulents on the balcony , I grew them one by one. The spice rack in the kitchen , arranged exactly how I like it. The nightstand always held a photo of us together. I thought this was our home… Turns out I was just a tenant who could be evicted at any time.

“Damien,” my voice is still shaking, “if you don’t have feelings for me, we can part ways like adults. There’s no need to humiliate me like this.” “Feelings?” He says it like it’s a joke. “Ivy, did your father have feelings for you?” “Did your ex have feelings for you?” “When you poured your heart out to people — did any of them have feelings for you?” He insists on talking like this. Insists on making me admit — every relationship I’ve ever fought to hold onto never truly belonged to me. “They all did, I guess?” He answers his own question, his tone suddenly softer. “At least once upon a time.” My tears finally fall. Not because he’s being cruel — but because for one terrible second, I think he’s right. “Signing or not?” He holds out the pen, impatient now. I reach out and take it. I flip to page two, clause five: Should Party B become pregnant, she must handle it on her own… My hand freezes. Damien adds casually from beside me: “Relax. I won’t let that happen. My fiancée’s family is very traditional — no bastards before the wedding.” Fiancée. The title I craved for six years — and it was never mine. Not for a single second. “Damien, what if I told you I’m already—” The words reach my lips and die there. Forget it. What would it change? I lower my gaze and say flatly: “What if I told you my mother and I already discussed it — we’re planning a wedding next month. Would you still be making me sign this?” “Your mother?” He laughs. “That useless woman drowned herself in the ocean. Who exactly did you discuss this with?” He exhales slowly, smoke blurring his expression. “Even without all this mess between us, I had no plans to get married this young.” “Next month? You’ve got quite the imagination.” I close my eyes. Six years. We’re both pushing thirty. That’s not young. A wedding that never happens , because from the very beginning, it was never going to. I open my eyes. My fingers finally stop trembling. I sign the last page. “Good girl.” Damien picks up the contract, smiling with satisfaction. “Everything stays the same. Only difference — from now on, you call me Mr. Krest.” He leans down and presses a cold kiss to my forehead. “Be good.” He leaves. The door closes softly. I look down at the bank card. Slowly, I sink to the floor and bury my face in my knees. Outside, it starts to rain. As hard as the night six years ago when he pulled me out of the storm. Back then, he was the one holding the umbrella. Now he’s the one pushing me into the rain. I don’t know how long I stay there. My legs go numb. My tears dry up. I stand slowly, walk to the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash cold water on my face. Until that face in the mirror is calm again. Then I pick up my phone and dial a number. “Mom. You were right. I lost.” “That thing you mentioned before… don’t wait. I’m ready to start.” A pause on the other end. “Are you sure? Once it begins, there’s no turning back.” I look out the window. “I’m sure.”

The next morning, I go to the care facility first. My father sits in a wheelchair, pushed into the courtyard by an aide to get some sun. He’s aged badly. His hair is all white. He looks like a tree hollowed out by rot. I hand over the bank card. “There’s five million on this. Enough for the best facility, the best care. From today on, I won’t be coming back.” “Because — she wants me clean when I see her.” His lips tremble like he has a hundred questions. I don’t give him the chance to speak. Some memories, I don’t want to touch anymore… But the moment I turn around, they flood back anyway. The year he went bankrupt, he knelt in front of me, asked if I could forgive him. I suddenly find it laughable. My mother gave everything fighting for a man and got nothing but a cheap apology in the end. So I swore I’d never be like her , crying, clinging, losing everything. Just as I’m about to tell him “I don’t forgive you,” a flash of white cuts across my peripheral vision — a van, out of control, barreling straight toward me. The next second, a massive force shoves me aside. I hit the ground hard. When I look back— He’s lying in a pool of blood, the bumper embedded in the left side of his body. He took the hit for me. That’s why he ended up in the care facility. Five million — not because he’s my father. It’s me paying back a life. After that, I go to work like normal. Damien walks into the office while I’m sorting files. He glances at me. No expression. “Ivy, bring the quarterly reports to my office.” “Yes, Mr. Krest.” I say it naturally. He’s the one who falters. “You adapt fast.” He murmurs it under his breath. He passes me, his fingers deliberately brushing the back of my hand. I don’t flinch. I don’t respond. Our relationship was never exactly a secret at headquarters. Six years of him picking me up after work, bringing me to events — everyone knew without being told. But he never made it official. A relationship that was never official ,now he calls me “Ivy,” I call him “Mr. Krest,” and to everyone watching, it actually looks proper. That night he sends me a location pin. I take a car. I push open the suite door and find rose petals scattered across the floor and a silk negligée hanging on a rack. She’s not here. But her perfume still is. Damien’s voice comes from behind me: “Seen enough?” I turn around. He’s leaning against the doorframe, cigarette in hand, watching me with that half-smile. “The engagement gala is next week. I need you there to help.”

I pull out the calm I’ve trained myself into these past weeks. “Help with what?” Their engagement gala has a top-tier event planning team handling everything. They don’t need an ex-girlfriend stirring things up. “Greet the guests. You know everyone at headquarters — keep them comfortable.” He exhales smoke. “Serena also thought it’d be nice for you to witness our happiness.” I let out a small laugh. That last part is the real point. “Sure.” I pull out my phone to take notes. “I’ll confirm the details with you at the office tomorrow, Mr. Krest. If there’s nothing else, can I go?” His fiancée just left. He won’t need me staying the night. After all, a mistress only serves one purpose. He narrows his eyes. “You’re not upset?” “Would you like me to be upset, Mr. Krest?” He doesn’t answer. He stubs out his cigarette, walks over, and grips my chin. “Ivy, honestly. You’ve changed a lot lately.” “Changed into—” He tightens his grip. “Something a little irritating.” I keep my eyes down. “What would you like me to be, Mr. Krest? I can adjust.” Back then, what drew him to me was exactly this — the fact that I was close enough to have him but never once asked for anything. He used to call it dignity. Now he calls it irritating. The one who changed was never me. “Forget it.” He stares into my eyes for a long time, then lets go. “Go home.” I turn to leave, but he wraps his arms around me from behind. His chin rests on my shoulder. His voice comes out muffled: “Do you know why I won’t let you go?” He means the Mistress Agreement binding me to him. I don’t know either. At the very least, I thought two people who don’t love each other could split peacefully. “Because you’re too obedient. You never make things hard for me, never fight with me, never ask where I’ve been or who I’ve seen. Not like her — checking up on me every damn day.” His arms tighten. “Sometimes I think, if you just had a proper family behind you, I wouldn’t have to marry someone else.” I almost laugh. In the end, he’s blaming me for not having a better bloodline. But he forgets — he’s the one who pursued a girl with nothing. “Mr. Krest,” I gently peel his hands off me, “what color should I wear to the gala? I’ll get something ready.” His hands freeze in midair. Maybe the evening wore him out. He doesn’t have the energy to push back. He lets me go. Outside the hotel doors, I realize my palms are bleeding where my nails dug in.

The day of the engagement gala, I’m stationed at the entrance handling the guest book. Champagne in hand. My eyes can’t leave the couple everyone’s congratulating. In a daze, I think back to the day I signed the Mistress Agreement. I’d quietly slipped the pregnancy report into the study drawer. I thought — once he finds it, a proposal would be the natural next step. So when he pulled out that contract, my heart leapt. I thought it was a prenup. In these powerful families, signing one is perfectly normal. I was willing. Because all I wanted was him. I never imagined six years together would end as a joke. In one moment, I became a dirty secret — a mistress hidden in the shadows. Near the end of the gala. Serena stops in front of me, smiling warmly. “So you’re Ivy?” I blink, then nod. “Damien mentioned you. Said you’ve been with the organization for years — very capable.” I return a few polite words. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, by the way — starting next week, I’m having him move out of that apartment. We’ve already picked out our new place.” “I figure it’s awkward for you to stay there, so… you might want to start looking for somewhere else.” My fingertips jolt. The sting behind my eyes nearly spills over. I swallow it down while pretending to straighten the guest book. “Of course… I’ll take care of it.” The words barely leave my mouth before she picks up the champagne glass beside me. Before I can react, she lets out a shriek. “Ah—!” “You — how could you throw your drink on me?” Then a slap cracks across my face. I press my hand to my cheek and look up to see her — drenched, eyes glistening red. Half the room turns to stare. Damien walks over, frowning. “What happened?” Serena throws herself into his arms, sobbing: “Damien, I was just kindly letting her know you’re moving out, telling her to find a new place — and she threw champagne on me…” “Ivy.” “I didn’t—” My voice is raw. “So what — she poured it on herself and then came over to slap you?” His logic is flawless. No one would believe a bride-to-be would ruin her own dress on her big night. And he’s already decided I think of that apartment as my territory. His voice turns cold. “Apologize.” I don’t move. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know what today is. If this blows up, it’s bad for you. Apologize — or don’t bother showing up tomorrow.” I look at him. Six years ago he pulled me out of the rain and said, “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.” Six years later he holds the woman who just hit me in his arms — and tells me to apologize. The scab over my chest tears open again. I lower my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spilled my drink on you.” Damien isn’t satisfied. But he turns and waves the crowd away. “It’s fine. Misunderstanding. Everyone move along.” Before he goes, he gives me one last look. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass yourself out here.” I touch my swollen cheek and the hair shaken loose by that slap. Right. How embarrassing. But the most humiliating part — is the man I loved for six years convicted me in front of everyone without even asking. I pick up my phone and send one message: [Move everything up.] Then I smile through my tears.

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My stepfather was drugged. I became his only cure. When he woke up, Grandfather told him we weren’t blood‑related and ordered him to marry me. But Lucian believed an arranged marriage would ruin his one chance at real love. He got drunk and lay down on the train tracks. I saved him off, but I lost both my legs for him. He finally agreed to the wedding, his eyes red. But on our wedding night, he locked me in The Cage—his underground club where men paid to use women like broken dolls. They strapped me to a bed. They gave me injections and whipped me. He just sat in the shadows, smoking, watching like it was entertainment. After endless rounds of that, I found my chance. I set the curtains on fire. The whole place went up—him and me together. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on the night he was drugged. *This time, My father, I’m letting you have your real love story.* — A man’s hand on my waist yanked me awake. I opened my eyes flew open to meet Lucian Ashford’s bloodshot gaze. His eyes were thick with hunger—bottomless, primal. The kind of look I remembered from The Cage. Instinctively, I looked around. No rusted shackles bolted to the walls. No stained mattress reeking of sweat and iron. No muffled screams bleeding through concrete. No unnameable smell of sweat and blood and cheap perfume hanging in the air. Just his save private apartment, the bodyguard’ heavy boots shifting behind the door. This wasn’t The Cage. Lucian’s fingers dug into my hip bone hard enough to bruise. “Can’t you understand me? Take off your clothes!” He was too close. So close that my vision blurred and I was dragged back to my past life—to The Cage. To the men he’d sent in. The weight of bodies pressing me into that filthy mattress. Foul breath against my neck. Greasy hands tearing fabric from skin while the sound of his lighter flicked somewhere in the dark—click, click—the ember of his cigarette glowing like a single red eye watching from the corner of the room. I forced the memories down and sank my teeth into Lucian’s arm with everything I had. “Get off me!” The sharp pain snapped him back. His gaze dropped to my crooked collar, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before disgust swallowed it whole. “Elara Ashford, you’re revolting.” His voice dripped with contempt—the voice of a man who ordered executions without blinking. “Don’t think that sleeping with me will make me want you.” A stab of pain lanced through my chest. I thought of how I had died in my previous life. The flames eating through The Cage. The smoke filling my ruined lungs while Lucian burned beside me. I wanted nothing more than to grab the gun I knew he kept in the nightstand drawer and put a bullet between his eyes. But I couldn’t. Grandfather liked him. In this life, I wasn’t going to destroy myself for him again. I swallowed the nausea clawing up my throat. “Where’s your mistress? I’ll go get her.” Lucian froze. Even drugged out of his mind, the calculating instinct of a man who ran an empire never fully shut off. “How do you know I have a girlfriend?” “Is now really the time for that?” He stared at me for two long seconds, his eyes sharp with suspicion even through the haze of whatever was coursing through his blood. Then he gave me an address. “Thirty minutes. I want to see her.” I said nothing more. I took the armored sedan from the garage—the one with bulletproof glass and the Ashford crest discreetly etched into the door panel—and drove like a madwoman the entire way. In the rearview mirror, a black SUV tailed me for three blocks before peeling off. One of Lucian’s men, making sure the Don’s stepdaughter wasn’t running. I made it back with her in twenty. Serena Cross’s legs were trembling when she stepped out of the car. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice pitched to a delicate quiver. “Lucian, I don’t know what I did to offend her—she drove so fast the whole way, I was terrified.” Gone was the cutting edge she’d used on me in the car—the sneer, the hissed warning to *stay away from what’s mine*. And the surprise on her face when she saw Lucian’s flushed skin was perfectly measured. Not a fraction too much, not too little. “Lucian, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you to the hospital—” Before she could finish, he pulled her inside. The door slammed shut in my face. The deadbolt turned. Through the thick wood, I heard the sound of fabric tearing. My heart finally settled. My hands were still gripping the steering wheel, white‑knuckled. This time, the twisted fate between Lucian Ashford and me would go no further. —

Serena Cross was my classmate. She was on a hardship scholarship—couldn’t even afford a couple of dollars for a hot meal most days. I always lied and said I’d ordered too much food so she’d eat with me. When she said she spent the holidays alone, I brought her home to Ashford Estate. Past the iron gates. Past the guards with holstered weapons who nodded at me without expression. Even though we had Mrs. Clark (Ashford Estate housekeeper) to cook for us, Serena would wake up early every morning to help in the kitchen. In the evenings, she’d ask each person’s preferences and prepare dinner herself. I thought I’d found a lifelong friend. Until the necklace Lucian had given me vanished. I tore through the entire estate before finding it shattered on the kitchen floor. That necklace was his gift to me—one of the few things that proved the man who now commanded killers had once been capable of tenderness. I’d treasured it like nothing else. Only Serena had known where I kept it. And she was the only person I had ever told about my shameful feelings about my stepfather. When I confronted her, she knelt outside the front door in thin clothes, insisting it was an accident, saying she had nowhere else to go. I had her things thrown out anyway. She rose from the ground and limped toward the gate. And ran into Lucian at the entrance. He was coming back from whatever business of mafia handled at two in the morning—his knuckles raw, his shirt cuffs rolled to the elbow. He saw her shaking, barely able to stand, and his pity got the better of him. I was furious—but more terrified that he’d learn about my feelings and pull away from me forever. So I let her scheme succeed. I just never imagined they would become lovers. Serena started sending me photos of them together. Intimate ones. His lips on her neck. Her hand on his chest. The kind of photos that made my stomach turn. Each image a knife twisted slowly between my ribs. I tried to tell Lucian what she had done. His eyes went cold. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “People like you, who only understand arranged marriages and family alliances—you don’t know what real love is. Stay out of my business.” Things turned ugly. Lucian moved out of the Estate entirely—took a safehouse on the east side of the city. Grandfather said nothing, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes. Tonight, Grandfather had asked me to deliver documents to him. That was the only reason I’d stumbled upon his drugged state. But remembering the provocative look Serena shot me before walking through his door—that slow, victorious smile—I understood. This had all been her trap. A girl from nothing, with ties to bottom-feeder gangs, scheming her way into the most powerful crime family in Northgate City. Drugging the Don was the most direct route. In my past life, I had ruined her plan. This time, I would watch Lucian walk right into it. —

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I held my engagement invitation and went to find Nora, my friend of ten years. I pushed open her apartment door, and my eyes landed on the TV. On the screen, a video was playing of her and my fiancé, Dante, tangled together. My blood ran cold. Nora looked at me and smiled. “For the past three years, every time he said he was on a business trip, he was actually here with me.” I clutched the invitation in my hand and suddenly felt that everything I had given these past years was ridiculous. She picked up a pregnancy report from the table and waved it. “Two months. If you still want the wedding, you can be a free nanny for my baby.” The fingerprint lock beeped, and Dante walked in carrying chicken soup. Our eyes met, and his smile froze. I folded the invitation and slipped it into my pocket. From that moment on, there was no Nora and no Dante in my life. … “What were you doing here?” Dante changed out of his shoes and casually set the soup on the entry cabinet. His gaze swept over the report in Nora’s hand, then landed on my face. After a brief pause, he loosened his tie and sat beside Nora. “Since you’ve seen it, there’s no need to hide it anymore.” He looked at me. “The report is real. She’s pregnant with my child, almost two months.” The invitation in my pocket crumpled little by little in my grip. “So?” My voice was barely there. Dante frowned, clearly unhappy. “What kind of attitude was that? I hadn’t even blamed you for coming here uninvited.” He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, sounding completely justified. “You had two miscarriages. The doctor said your body was too weak now, it would be hard to get pregnant again.” “The Marchetti family needed an heir. Nora was willing to have the baby. She was helping us.” “When the child was born, it would call you Mom. You got a child for free. What was there to be upset about?” Ten years. I stayed by his side as he rose from an ignored son to the head of the family. I took bullets for him. I even lost two unborn children for him. And now he told me that cheating on me with my friend was for my own good. Nora leaned against his shoulder and gently touched her flat belly. “Aurora, I was an orphan. I always treated you like my own sister.” “In the future, the three of us would live together. My child would be your child.” She lifted her chin, her eyes full of triumph. “Didn’t you always want a family? Now it was complete.” Dante stroked her hair. “See how understanding Nora is. Not like you, always with that long face.” He pulled a document from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This was a supplementary agreement. I had a lawyer draft it.” “The wedding next month would go on as planned. You would still be Mrs. Marchetti.” “But to everyone else, Nora was my cousin. She would move into our home to rest during her pregnancy.” I stared at the document and didn’t reach for it. “Nora would live in our home as your cousin?” “Right.” Dante nodded. “I wasn’t comfortable with her living alone.” “What about after the baby was born?” I curled my lips slightly. “We would say it was your child. Nora was still young. She couldn’t be tied down by a baby.” Dante took out a pen and held it out to me. “I would give you an extra ten thousand dollars every month, just to take care of Nora and the baby.” “Aurora, don’t be greedy. I gave you the best life money could buy. What were you not satisfied with?” He looked into my eyes, sincere in a way that felt terrifying. He truly believed he had done nothing wrong. In his eyes, I was nothing more than someone without her own income, someone who couldn’t leave him. As long as he gave me a little, I should be grateful. Nora picked up the pen and pressed it into my hand. “Sign it, Aurora. If you didn’t, these ten years of your youth meant nothing.” “You didn’t even have a job. Without Dante, how would you live?” The pen dug into my fingers. I watched them echo each other, and suddenly this whole scene felt ridiculous. Ten years of youth, in exchange for an agreement that turned me into a free nanny for his mistress. I put the pen back on the table. “I didn’t sign.” Dante’s face darkened. “Aurora, don’t push your luck. I always felt guilty about the two children you lost.” “Take this child as compensation. What else were you making a fuss about?” He stood and looked down at me. “I gave you one last chance. Sign it.” I stood, took the invitation from my pocket, and threw it into the trash. “I would think about it.” I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Dante sat back down and handed the chicken soup to Nora. “I knew you would come around. Tomorrow, go pick a diamond ring.” “Nora liked pink diamonds. Pick one for her too.”

That night, I went back to the home I shared with Dante. I entered the password, and the lock gave an error beep. I froze, then entered it again. “Incorrect password.” The mechanical female voice echoed through the hallway. I stood outside the door, looking at the place I had walked in and out of for five years, and suddenly it felt completely unfamiliar. Two hours later, the elevator doors opened. Dante walked out, supporting Nora. When he saw me standing at the door, he frowned. “Why aren’t you going in? What are you doing out here?” I looked at him.“The password doesn’t work.” Dante slapped his forehead.“Nora said the old numbers weren’t lucky, not good for the baby, so I changed it.” He walked up and entered Nora’s birthday. The door opened. I followed them inside. My slippers were gone from the entryway. In their place was a pair of anti-slip maternity slippers. “Your slippers were too hard. I was afraid Nora might slip, so I had the maid throw them out,”Dante said casually, helping Nora toward the master bedroom. I walked to the bedroom door and froze completely. All my skincare products had been swept into the trash on the vanity. The closet doors were wide open, half of my clothes gone, replaced with Nora’s maternity wear. “Dante, what is this supposed to mean?” I pointed at the empty closet. Dante was pouring water for Nora and didn’t even look back. “Nora is pregnant. She can’t stand your perfume.” “I had the maid move your things to the guest room. You sleep there for the next few months.” Nora leaned against the headboard, touching her belly as she sighed. “Aurora, you’re not mad at me, are you? The doctor said my pregnancy is unstable. I need rest.” “The master bedroom has better light. It’s good for the baby. You’ve always been so good to me, you’ll give it to me, right?” I looked at her fake face and felt no urge to argue. The next morning, I sat at the dining table, drinking coffee. Dante walked out of the bedroom with his phone in hand. Right in front of me, he turned on speaker. “Hello, Viktor.” “Change the bride’s name on the welcome sign. Replace it with Nora.” My hand holding the spoon froze. There was a pause on the other end. “Boss, then Miss Aurora…” Dante pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing at me. “Aurora? She’ll be the bridesmaid.” He hung up and took a sip of his coffee. “Nora said she’s dreamed of wearing a wedding dress since she was a child. She’s pregnant now, her emotions can’t be affected.” “We’ve been together this long anyway. The wedding is just a formality. Let her have the bride’s place. Think of it as fulfilling her dream.” His tone was calm, like he was talking about something trivial. Nora walked out of the bedroom wearing my pajamas and wrapped her arms around Dante’s neck.“Dante, you’re so good to me.” She turned to look at me, smiling innocently.“Aurora, will you be my bridesmaid? I want you to witness my happiness with your own eyes.” Dante tapped the table, urging me.“Nora is talking to you. Don’t be so petty. It’s just a wedding dress.” I lowered my head and looked at the coffee in my cup. Ten years of devotion couldn’t compare to a single sentence from her. Even the place of the bride was taken from me. I put down the cup and took a napkin to wipe my lips.“Okay.” Dante smiled in satisfaction.“That’s more like it. A family should live in harmony.”

“Tonight is the gathering of the five families. Dress simple. Don’t steal Nora’s spotlight.” On the sofa was the cheap old dress he had thrown at me. Behind him stood Nora, dressed in a custom maternity gown, wearing my pink diamond necklace. “Dante, do I look good in this?”Nora lifted her skirt and spun around. Dante walked over and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You look beautiful. You’ll be the most stunning woman there tonight.” He turned to me, frowning slightly. “What are you standing there for? Go change. Don’t waste time.” I picked up the gray dress and walked into the guest room. When I came out, Dante had already left with Nora. I could only take a taxi to the hotel by myself. I pushed open the banquet hall doors and saw Dante holding a glass of wine, chatting and laughing with several family heads. Nora clung to his arm, soft and dependent. I walked over, about to stand behind Dante. “Mr. Marchetti, who is this?” One of the family heads pointed at Nora. Dante raised his glass, smiling brightly. “Let me introduce you. This is my fiancée, Nora.” Flattering voices rose around them. “Miss Nora is truly stunning. A perfect match for Mr. Marchetti.” Another family head recognized me.“Wait, then who is the lady behind?” The hall fell silent for a moment. Every gaze on me carried curiosity and mockery. Dante paused, not even turning his head.“Her? She’s my sister.” Ten years by his side, and I had become his sister. He did not even bother to give me a decent explanation. With one sentence, he erased everything about me. I stood in the corner, watching Nora receive everyone’s blessings. Midway through the banquet, Nora walked toward me with a glass of red wine.“Oh!” She suddenly slipped, and half the glass spilled onto my gray dress. The red liquid dripped down the fabric, leaving me a mess. “Aurora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Nora covered her mouth, pretending to panic. Dante rushed over, shoved me aside, and pulled Nora into his arms. “Are you okay? Did you hurt your stomach?” He turned and glared at me, his voice sharp. “Why were you standing so close? You know she’s pregnant, and you still got near her!” “Go to the restroom and deal with that. Stop embarrassing yourself here.” I said nothing and turned toward the restroom. After the banquet, we waited for the driver in the parking lot. Nora suddenly cried out. “Ouch, Dante. I twisted my ankle. It hurts.” Without hesitation, Dante crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” Nora climbed onto his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Over his shoulder, she looked at me walking behind them. Her lips moved silently. “You spent ten years with him, and it’s still not worth my three months.” I stopped, staring at their overlapping shadows. Dante turned back, impatience clear on his face.“Aurora, can you walk faster? The car keys are in your bag. Stop dragging your feet.” I stood there and didn’t move.“Give them to me!” His voice rose. I unzipped my bag, took out the keys, and threw them onto the ground with a sharp clatter. Dante froze. I didn’t look at him. I turned and walked to the roadside, stopping a taxi. When I got home, I opened my phone. There were more than three thousand photos in my gallery, all of them from my past with Dante. I selected them and deleted them, one by one, until nothing was left. I erased his number from my contacts as well. The last message popped up. It was from Dante. “Remember to try on the bridesmaid dress tomorrow. Nora wants pink.” I didn’t reply. In the corner of the living room, three packed suitcases stood quietly against the wall.

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