Five years after my firefighter husband died saving me, I walk into his baby’s 100-day party , and he’s not dead. I am. Eason freezes mid-laugh, his hand still on the baby’s cheek. He sees me. And behind him, all our old friends — the ones who cried with me, who told me to move on — they step in front of him like a wall. “Jenna, don’t. He had a reason for faking his death.” I look at these people. These perfect actors. And my voice comes out calm. “The three times I swallowed sleeping pills out of guilt and had my stomach pumped… you were all laughing at me, weren’t you？” No one says a word. No one looks at me. Then Charlotte , his childhood best friend, the one holding the baby — starts crying. Her body’s still soft from birth. “I’m sorry, Jenna. The baby needs his dad. Please don’t take him away. I just love him too much.” I should scream. Throw things. Lose my mind. But I feel nothing. Five years of guilt, of grief, of thinking I killed the man I loved , it all just died. Right here. Right now. Behind Charlotte, a big screen plays their photos. Pregnancy. Birth. First cry. This party. And one photo on top.Charlotte in a loose maternity dress. Ethan on his knees, ear to her belly. The caption: Finally. I stare at the timestamp.July 23, 2019. Seven days after the fire. Seven days after they told me he was gone. After the official report said I caused his death. After the headlines called me the wife who killed a hero. After his parents screamed at me ,  Why aren’t you dead? After my own mom whispered, Maybe don’t come home for a while. The neighbors talk. So I took the pills.The first time, the landlord found me. Nurses whispered while they pumped my stomach — That’s her. The one who got her husband killed.No one ever asked why I ran into that fire. I got a call that night. Unknown number. A man’s voice said Ethan was trapped in an old warehouse. I heard Ethan groan in the background. So I ran in.I saw him. I pulled at him. Then a beam collapsed. He pushed me away. Shoved me. And then the fire took him. No body. Nothing. For five years, I believed it was my fault. But while I was crying over a grave that didn’t exist, Ethan was right here. Watching Charlotte’s belly grow. I grab a glass of champagne from a waiter and walk straight toward the main table. Charlotte hugs the baby tighter. Ethan jumps up, blocking her. “Jenna. Let me explain.” All those friends stand up too. Forming a wall. “He had to disappear. Someone was after him.” “It was to protect you.” I laugh.Do they really think I’m going to throw champagne at a baby? I sit down at an empty table nearby. Raise my glass to them. “Your baby’s beautiful. I mean it.”Weirdly, I do. Because Charlotte wasn’t just his childhood friend. She was my only friend in this city.

I’ve always been a loner. So after college, I moved to this city by myself and started from nothing. The first time I rented an apartment, I got scammed out of all my savings. I was squatting on the sidewalk with my suitcase, crying, when Charlotte handed me a tissue. “I have an extra bedroom. I’ll rent it to you cheap. Want it?” She smiled with her eyes all crinkled, like an angel. Later I found out she didn’t need a roommate. She just felt bad for me. We cooked together, binge-watched shows together, complained about work and our bosses together. She always said: “Jenna, you’re way too quiet. You need to smile more.” She’s the one who introduced me to Ethan. “He’s my childhood friend. Firefighter. Super reliable. You’re alone here, so if you ever need anything, call him.” She winked. “But don’t get any ideas. He’s mine.” I didn’t have any ideas back then. But Ethan chased me hard. Breakfast every day. Waiting for me after work. If I worked late, he’d sit in his car downstairs until midnight. He said, “Charlotte’s like a sister to me. You’re the one I want. It’s different.” I believed him. The day I said yes to being with him, Charlotte stayed quiet for a long time. Then she hugged me and cried. “You have to be happy. Otherwise I’ll never forgive myself.” I thought that was a blessing. Now I know. It was a warning. I down the rest of my champagne. The cheap alcohol burns my throat, makes me cough so hard my eyes water. “Enough, Jenna! If you have a problem, take it out on me. Don’t do this here.” Ethan’s voice. Angry. Familiar. He pushes past the people blocking him and walks over, his eyebrows twisted tight. “Five years and you’re still like this. You have to embarrass me in front of everyone?” He thinks I came to ruin his party. The disgust in his eyes is almost too much. I don’t know how to explain that I literally walked into the wrong room. I point at my work suit. “I’m here for my company’s year-end dinner. Wrong room.” But Ethan doesn’t believe me. He grabs my wrist. Hard. It hurts. “Stop pretending. I’m sorry about what happened. After the party, I’ll drive you home.” Charlotte’s face goes pale. She stands up with the baby. “Ethan…” He turns to her, softer. “Charlotte, I just don’t want her causing a scene in front of the baby. Don’t worry.” But his grip on my hand doesn’t loosen. I pull free. Step back. Force a smile. “Not appropriate. Your wife and kid are watching.” He acts like he didn’t hear. Reaches for me again. It’s insane. Five years apart, and he’s changed so much. He used to be so careful about boundaries. When we were dating, a female coworker kept finding excuses to be around him. One time it was raining. She asked for a ride. He called her an Uber instead and drove me home the long way. Next day, he announced at work: “I have a girlfriend. Don’t hit me up for personal stuff. Work only.” He pissed off his boss. Didn’t care. He shut down every possibility of anything shady. Except Charlotte. Eight out of ten of our dates got interrupted by her calls. Lost keys. Broken pipe. Feeling lonely and wanting to drink. Even on our anniversary. Candles lit at the restaurant. Charlotte called. “Charlotte’s stomach hurts really bad. I’m going to check on her. Jenna, eat without me. I already paid.” When I complained, he’d ruffle my hair and smile. “Why are you jealous? She’s like my little sister. She’s alone here. Just be cool.” But I’m not a cool person. I’m so uncool that seeing Charlotte walk around in his shirt — my shirt — would keep me up all night. “Ethan! That’s my pajama shirt!” “Don’t overthink it. She took a shower and didn’t have clothes. She’s been my friend since we were kids.” To make me feel secure, he bought a ring. Got down on one knee. “Jenna, marry me. I’m only going to love you my whole life.” I believed him. So when Charlotte sent me a photo late at night — her in my pajamas, leaning on Ethan’s shoulder, both of them watching a movie on the couch — I told myself it was just the angle. They’re like siblings. Then I’d lie awake all night. Get up and scroll through their chat history. Charlotte always started the conversations. Ethan replied short, but he never said no. Once I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed his phone to send her a message about boundaries. He snatched it out of my hand so fast. That was the first time he really yelled at me. “Jenna! You’re checking my phone? What do you think I am? Charlotte’s my family. Don’t be so disgusting!” He slammed the door. The phone screen was still on. Open to his chat with Charlotte. Her last message: “Ethan, I miss you.” He didn’t reply. But thirty minutes later, Charlotte posted a photo on Instagram. Two hands, fingers laced together. A river view at night. The caption: Some things don’t need words. I stared at that photo. Recognized the watch on Ethan’s wrist. I gave him that for his birthday.

Everything comes rushing back, and my chest starts to ache. This champagne is cheap, but damn, it hits hard.My head is spinning. Ethan’s face blurs into two.I just want out of here. I turn to leave — and trip.Next thing I know, my feet are off the ground. He picks me up, holding me sideways. “You can barely stand and you’re acting like you’re fine?” He’s actually walking out the door with me in his arms. In front of every single person here.The whole place explodes. Charlotte’s parents jump up from their seats, their faces dark. Her dad yells, “Ethan! Put her down! What the hell is wrong with you? You know what day this is?” Her mom starts crying. “My daughter just had your baby and you pull this? Are you serious?” Charlotte’s just standing there holding the baby, tears streaming down her face. She’s biting her lip, not saying a word. Just looking at Ethan with this broken look. Anyone watching would call us trash. Ethan stops. He looks down at Charlotte. Something flickers in his eyes. I struggle. “Put me down!” He holds me tighter. Then looks up at Charlotte’s parents. “Mom, Dad. Jenna’s drunk. I’m taking her home. I’ll be right back.” Charlotte finally breaks. “Ethan… are you picking her? Fine. I’m leaving. I’m taking the baby and going.” She heads for the door with the baby. Total chaos. Ethan’s face goes white. He shouts, “Charlotte! Don’t. I’m just dropping her off. You’re my wife. Forever.” That sounds familiar. He used to say, “Charlotte’s like a sister. You’re the one I love the most.” I close my eyes. I’m so tired. Home? I don’t even have a home. He shoves me into the car. My stomach turns upside down. I start dry heaving. It’s not from the champagne. It’s a reflex. Five years of nightmares built into my body. The fire that killed Ethan , it happened on our third anniversary. I made a reservation. Waited for him to get off work. Nine o’clock. Nothing. His phone went straight to voicemail. Ten o’clock. A call from a number I didn’t know. A guy’s voice, breathing hard. “Hey… Ethan’s trapped in that old warehouse on the west side. Fire’s bad. He told me to tell you… he loves you.” In the background, I heard fire crackling. And Ethan’s voice, far away, screaming. “Jenna, don’t come in.” I lost my mind. I ran. Fire trucks outside. Police tape everywhere. Someone yelled, “Ethan’s still in there!” I didn’t think. I ran inside. Through all the smoke, I saw him lying by some shelves. I lunged to pull him up. Then a beam broke and fell. He shoved me as hard as he could. The blast knocked me flying. When I turned around, there was nothing but fire. Later, the report said I ran in without permission and messed up the rescue. That Ethan died because of me. His parents tore up our marriage license and threw me out. My mom called me, crying. “Sweetheart, I know you’re hurting. But your brother’s got a girlfriend now. Her family heard about you… they think it’s bad luck. Just… stay away for a while, okay?” Even my own people didn’t want me.

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On the tenth day of the zombie siege, I leave the last protein bar for my husband and walk out of the safe house alone. A horde of zombies tackles me. Teeth and hands tear into my flesh. The pain is so intense I think it might kill me. Then I hear the snap of a clapperboard. “Cut! Good take. Extras, take five!” The zombies scatter in an instant. The safe house door swings open behind me. My husband, Damien Blackwell, steps out. Selene Hart, Hollywood’s newest It girl, comes laughing from behind a half-collapsed fake storefront. “Damien, you’re a genius!” she laughs. “You faked the apocalypse, and she actually bought it.” Damien sneers. “She tried to sabotage your audition behind our backs. I wanted her to feel desperate for once. Maybe now she’ll learn.” I lie on the ground and watch the extras pull off their zombie masks. Tears slide into the blood at my lips. What they don’t know is that I hate pain more than anything. So before I walked out of the safe house, I drank paraquat. I drank paraquat, a restricted-use herbicide with no antidote. Once it’s in your system, your lungs scar over until you suffocate. When I finally regain consciousness, I feel weightless. I hover in the air. I look down. The unmasked “zombies” drip with sweat. They pass around bottled water and joke around. “Holy shit, I’m roasting in this suit. But Mr. Blackwell pays well—way better than working as an extra on a real set!” “No kidding. Mr. Blackwell rented out the entire backlot just to cheer Miss Hart up!” I see it now: there is no outbreak, no apocalypse, just ten staged days of fear and starvation. Staged by my husband for his college sweetheart. He rented an abandoned LA studio lot and hired a hundred extras. I look down at the “me” on the ground. White foam has dried around my mouth. My eyes bulge from the pain. My fingernails claw bloody lines into the concrete. Damien walks over with an iced Americano. He nudges my leg with his expensive loafer. “That’s enough, Aria. We’re done here. Get up.” I don’t move. I can’t. Selene loops her arm through his and lowers her voice into something soft and practiced. “Damien, Mrs. Blackwell is quite the actress. She’s probably too embarrassed to face us.” “When she gave you her last protein bar and walked out to die, I almost shed a tear.” Damien scoffs. Pure disgust flashes in his eyes. “Everything with her is a performance. She just wants my attention.” “She crossed a line when she tried to ruin your audition!” “Aria only hears you when it hurts.” Selene covers her mouth and giggles. “Oh, come on. I’m not even that mad anymore.” Damien doesn’t even spare me a glance. He pulls Selene toward the exit. “Let her rot on the ground and think about what she did. Leave two guards. Once she apologizes, haul her back to the Malibu estate.” The heavy iron gates of the backlot slam shut. The lock clicks. I want to scream. I want to ask him what the hell is wrong with him. But I am already a ghost. An unseen force yanks me back. Like a heavy chain strapped to my chest. It drags me straight into the backseat of Damien’s Rolls-Royce Ghost. He sits in the driver’s seat. One hand rests on the steering wheel. Selene sits shotgun. She touches up her lipstick in the vanity mirror. “Damien, I start shooting tomorrow. The director says we need a new location…” “Take whatever you need. Any property owned by the company.” Selene leans over and pecks his cheek. “Damien, you’re so good to me. Everything with Aria has to become an ordeal.” Damien tugs at his silk tie and says nothing. But something strange flickers in his eyes—gone before I can even name it. “We just left Aria out there alone. What if something happens?” Selene applies another layer of lip gloss, her voice soft and sugary. Damien snorts. “There are guards everywhere. What could possibly happen? She’s been spoiled rotten—she can’t handle even the smallest setback.” “But… she threw up so much blood.” “Fake blood, obviously. You know she’s a drama queen. She’d do anything for attention.” Damien slams on the gas. “Forget her. Let her starve for a day. That will shut her up.” “Give her a day or two. She always comes back and apologizes.” I float in the backseat, staring at the back of his head. Damien Blackwell has no idea that behind that locked gate, my body is already lying there. He will never hear my voice again.

The backlot lights click off, one by one. The terrifying “zombie siege” looks pathetic in the dark—no screaming extras, no dramatic lighting, just cheap plastic props and half-finished sets sagging under the dry California wind. I float back to my body. The night guards start their final patrol. Flashlight beams sweep across the fake ruins. “Hey, we’ve got someone still here.” One of the guards swings his flashlight over. The beam lands on me. The other guy walks over. He kicks the sole of my shoe. “Hey! Wake up! We wrapped hours ago. You can’t sleep here. Get back to the lounge!” I don’t react. The guard crouches. He hesitates. Reaches out and presses two fingers against my neck. A second passes, then another. He jerks his hand back and scrambles to his feet.  “Ahhhhhhh!” A scream rips through the night. The kind that comes from the bottom of the throat. “She’s dead! Call 911! We got a dead body!” The guard stumbles and sprints toward the gate. Sirens wail. Flashing red and blue lights soon wash over the fake ruins. EMTs lift me onto a stretcher. One peels back my eyelids and checks my pupils. Then he shakes his head. “No vitals. She’s already in rigor.” Crime scene techs bag the evidence. They pry a tiny bottle from my clenched fist. A brown plastic vial. The label is half peeled off. But the EPA warning sign is still visible. “Paraquat?” A cop frowns and drops it into an evidence bag. “Restricted-use herbicide. Where the hell did she get this?” “Could be suicide. Run her ID. Notify the next of kin.” Meanwhile, Damien pulls into his Malibu estate. His phone suddenly rings. The screen lights up. An unknown local number. Caller ID says County Sheriff’s Department. He glares at the screen and hits decline. Two seconds later. The same number rings again. He snatches the phone off the dash. Tosses it into Selene’s lap. “Handle it. I don’t have time for this!” Selene nods politely. She swipes the screen and kills the call. Her eyes dart in thought. She opens his contacts. Pulls up “Aria”. Hits block without missing a beat. I hover in the backseat. Watching her fingers tap the screen. Smooth. Effortless. Like she’s been dying to do this for years. The Malibu estate. Damien just gets out of the shower. A towel wrapped around his waist. His phone buzzes. A text notification has been filtered into the spam folder. He picks it up. Frowns. Moves to tap it. Selene snatches it right out of his hand. “Damien, go dry your hair! I got this!” She unlocks the screen. Scans the message. [URGENT: Aria Blackwell declared deceased at 4:14 PM. Suspected cause: Paraquat poisoning (Suicide). Next of kin must report to the County Medical Examiner’s Office to identify the body.] Selene’s hand jerks. The phone nearly slips from her hand, barely missing the marble floor. Aria is actually dead? She stares hard at those words. Shock flickers across her face, then disappears. By the time she looks up again, her expression is smooth, but something brighter has already taken its place. She hits delete with no hesitation. Deleted Items. Trash. “Aria begging for forgiveness?” Damien asks, towel-drying his hair. “Nothing important!” Selene tosses the phone onto the table. Her smile is perfect again. “Just spam. Want me to dry your hair, babe?” Damien steps back, dodging her touch. “No. Get some sleep. I’m heading to the office. Stay here for a few days. I won’t be back.” He stops at the door. “Let me know when the location shoot is done. I’ll send a crew to clean up. Otherwise, that psycho Aria’s gonna throw another fit when she comes home!” I hover near the ceiling. Watching the whole thing play out. I always knew Selene was pure poison. Knew it from day one. But Damien, he just gave away my home. The house I decorated with my own hands. Let another woman move right in. And called me a psycho! I reach for a breath and find nothing. The good thing about being dead? Nothing hurts anymore. Emotions are trapped behind thick glass. You see the fire burning. But you don’t feel the heat. Just like that. I vanished twice in one day. First, my body died on that cold concrete floor. Second, Selene deleted the last proof I was still expected anywhere.

Three whole days. I haven’t come home. Or at least, the “me” they still think is alive hasn’t. I haven’t called anyone else, either. Damien sits on the leather sofa. His face is a thundercloud, ready to snap at any second. A bottle of Macallan 25 sits empty on the coffee table. The crystal ashtray overflows. He rarely smokes. Now the ashtray is overflowing. Rosa walks over with a breakfast tray. She sets it down carefully. “Mr. Blackwell, please eat something.” Damien slaps the coffee mug off the table. Ceramic shatters against the marble floor. Dark liquid splashes everywhere. “Where is Aria? Has she called? Texted? Anything?” he asks through gritted teeth. Every word drips with venom. Rosa trembles. The tray rattles in her hands. “No… Mrs. Blackwell hasn’t reached out. Maybe you should call her?” “Me? Call her? In her dreams!” Damien points at the walk-in closet. “Clear out her closet. All of it. Let’s see how long she can play tough!” Rosa doesn’t dare argue. She grabs garbage bags. She hauls them out, one trip at a time. She stops when she reaches the terrace. An orchid stands there. A rare Dendrobium orchid. Potted in simple clay. Green leaves. Strong roots. Damien planted it himself. On the night he proposed. He said, “Aria, orchids are the hardest things to keep alive. They need perfect light, perfect water and perfect temperature. One mistake and they die.” “That’s what finding you felt like.” “As long as this flower lives, we will never part.” And then, somewhere along the way, he changed his mind. But the flower just kept growing. Watering it was my first chore every morning. Rotating the pot. Wiping the leaves. In five years, it bloomed only twice. Tiny white flowers. With a soft scent I could barely catch. “This too?” Rosa asks softly, glancing back at him. “Trash it! Throw out everything she touched! I don’t want to see a trace of her in this house!” CRASH! The pot is shoved off the balcony railing. It smashes against the patio stones. Shattered into pieces. Soil. Roots. Five years of my care. Gone in one second. Floating in mid-air, I stare at the broken stem lying in the clay shards. Nothing reaches me in time. Not even this. Just then, the front door opens. Selene walks in. She is wearing a long ivory coat. I freeze. It was for our first anniversary. Damien flew to Paris and had a couture house make it just for me. The only one in the world. I could barely bring myself to wear it. It hung in the back of my closet. Kept safe in a dust bag. She dug it out. She’d even had the waist taken in to fit her. Damien freezes too. His eyes lock onto the coat. He frowns and swallows hard. “That coat…” Selene glides over. She loops her arm through his. Her voice is breathy and sweet. “Damien, I have a massive premiere event tonight. I had nothing to wear in the closet. So I borrowed one of Mrs. Blackwell’s. She won’t mind, right?” He looks at the coat a beat too long. Then his face closes. “It’s a coat, Selene. Wear it if you want.” His voice turns icy. “Thank you, Damien!” They walk toward the foyer. Selene catches something out of the corner of her eye. A battered leather suitcase sits by the hallway closet. It’s my memory box, packed with photos from my childhood, college, and wedding, along with the only thing my mother ever left me. An old locket, dark with age. Inside is a thumb-sized photo. The woman looks exactly like me. But her smile is so much brighter. Taken when my mom was twenty-three. She passed away at twenty-five. That locket was the only piece of jewelry she ever owned. “Oops. Why is this out here?” She nudges the suitcase with the pointed toe of her heel—too hard to be accidental. The suitcase tips over. Everything spills across the floor. Photos scatter down the hall. The locket rolls out, bouncing twice on the marble. And then, CRACK! A tiny sound. The locket snaps open and breaks into three pieces. The hinges shatter. The photo inside slips out and lands face down. I lunge forward. I reach out, desperate to catch it. My fingers pass right through the broken pieces. Through her. Through everything. I can’t hold anything anymore. Mom. That was the last thing Mom left me. The only proof she ever existed. Damien glances down at the broken pieces. Annoyance flashes in his eyes. “Rosa. Sweep that garbage out!” Rosa drops to her knees. Her hands shake as she gathers the pieces. Her tears hit the marble. “Sir… that belonged to Mrs. Blackwell’s mother. It was the only thing she had left of her. If she comes home and sees this…” “She’s out partying but not coming home!” Damien roars. “Throw it all out! Put it in the outside bins! And tell her that if she doesn’t come back now, she shouldn’t come back at all!” My ghost crouches beside the broken pieces. I watch Rosa cry. She uses a dustpan to scoop up the shattered pieces. My mother breaks across his marble floor, and the only word he has for her is garbage.

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The day I was born, the midwife who touched me aged ten years in an instant. Every servant who made contact with me withered rapidly, their bodies collapsing into dried husks. The pack whispered I was a cursed thing—a creature that fed on life force itself. Father ordered me drowned in the lily pond. The moment they tossed me into the water, the pond dried up. Every water lily shriveled to ash. Fish and frogs became bone. Terror swept through the estate. Father’s face went from pale to green. Finally, he had me locked in the abandoned wing to die alone. I thought that would be my end. Then my sister Elara saved me. Every day, she’d slip me her own scraps—pastries, stew—feeding me through a wooden spoon so she wouldn’t touch my skin. Against all odds, I survived on Elara’s kindness. Mother and Father knew she was keeping me alive. They turned a blind eye. When I turned three, a traveling witch came through our territory. She cured my affliction. I finally became a normal pup. My parents breathed easier. They let me move out of the abandoned wing but still barely acknowledged my existence. Only Elara held me close, crying tears of joy. From then on, I followed her everywhere, her loyal shadow. But it didn’t last. When Elara turned eighteen, she was sent to the Inner Court to become the Alpha King’s consort. The day she left, Elara wiped my tears. “Don’t cry, Lyra. I’ll send for you soon.” I never saw her again. A year later, servants from the palace arrived carrying a coffin. Inside was Elara’s body. The head steward said Elara’s wolf had turned feral in the Inner Court—that she’d lost control during a shift, gone mad, and drowned in the lily pond. I didn’t believe a word. Elara perfect controlled over her wolf. She’d never lose herself to the beast. This was no accident. I tried to see her body. The attendant blocked me. “Insolent! This coffin was bestowed by the Alpha King. Once sealed, it must not be disturbed—any violation would be a grave insult to the Alpha!” I stared at that heavy black coffin, nails digging into my palms. A royal gift—a coffin that denied me even a final goodbye. How could I rest without seeing her one last time? That night, I slipped back to the mourning hall. Candles flickered. Two old servants dozed by the door, their voices drifting: “Such a waste. Lady Consort Elara was so beautiful. Only a year in the palace and she’s dead.” “I heard she crossed Luna Selene. They tortured her beyond recognition.” “Good gods. She died like that and the Alpha King did nothing?” “The Alpha allowed it. Otherwise, would Luna Selene dare? Hush! Walls have ears.” So Elara was murdered. Rage erupted in my chest like wildfire. I stormed into the hall, shoved past the servants, and pried open the coffin. A rotting stench hit me. I saw. Elara’s clothes were torn. Her body covered in blood. Trembling, I lifted her sleeve. Whip marks carved into her arms. Her fingers bent at unnatural angles. Her legs twisted—shattered, deliberately broken. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming. A single thought crystallized with absolute clarity: Luna Selene and the Alpha King will pay in blood. *** To get revenge, I had to enter the Inner Court. Soon, the Alpha King announced a new selection of consorts. I knelt outside Father’s study, begging to be sent. Mother and Father had only two daughters. With Elara freshly dead, Mother refused to let me go. She had me confined to my quarters. So I disguised myself and snuck out to the selection ceremony. The great hall was empty except for two figures behind silk curtains. Luna Selene’s voice dripped with mockery. “Another daughter from the Hale family. Your sister just died, and here you are. Does your family think the Inner Court brings good fortune?” Each word a needle, aimed to wound. I kept my head down, voice steady. “What happened to my elder sister is a loss to our family. I come only to serve, with no expectations beyond that.” Selene laughed coldly. “But I’ve heard you were born cursed. That you drain the life from anyone near you. And you dare present yourself here?” I stayed calm. “Curses are nothing but superstition. My sister was known throughout the pack as blessed—before she entered the palace.” Behind the curtains, Selene’s breath caught. The Alpha King, who had been silent until now, let out a soft laugh. Then a pale hand parted the curtains. He was younger than I’d imagined. Sharp features, cold eyes that studied me with curiosity and something darker—amusement. He watched me for a long moment, then spoke, his tone light. “Interesting. Since you’re here, you might as well stay.” Just like that, I was accepted into the Inner Court and assigned to Moonward Hall—one of the residences closest to the Alpha King’s own chambers. That very night, Kael took me to his bed. The entire encounter was mechanical, cold, devoid of feeling. Yet utterly inescapable. I closed my eyes, swallowed my nausea, and buried my hatred deep. Afterward, he didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the headboard, watching me. “Aren’t you afraid?” I knew what he meant. Elara had died here. Was I not terrified of becoming another corpse in the Inner Court? I met his gaze. Kael’s eyes held no emotion. Only pure, detached curiosity. I lowered my lashes and leaned into him. “Alpha, to serve you is my greatest honor. My sister simply lacked the fortune to enjoy such privilege.” He studied me in silence, then let out a low laugh—impossible to read. Then he moved, sliding something off his own wrist. A bracelet. Blood-red, with thread-like patterns swirling inside it, glowing faintly in the candlelight. He slipped the bracelet onto my wrist. It fit perfectly. The crimson looked striking against my skin—beautiful and ominous. “Wear it. Don’t lose it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” I touched the cold, heavy weight at my wrist and bowed my head. Kael said nothing more. He rose and left. Within days, the Alpha’s Decree arrived. Kael elevated me to the rank of Lady Consort—skipping every rank between me and a nameless selection candidate. Overnight favor. Unprecedented elevation. In the Inner Court, this kind of attention was rare. I stared at the blood-red bracelet on my wrist, a chill settling in my bones. This wasn’t favor. This was Kael painting a target on my back. Sure enough, the next morning, Selene arrived. Selene swept into my chambers in full regalia, frost in her gaze. “Sister, you have quite the talent,” she said, her smile cutting like ice. “One night, and you’re already a ranked consort. It seems the women of the Hale family are gifted at servicing men.” The servants held their breath, frozen in terror. I stood and offered a respectful bow. “You flatter me, Luna. The Alpha praised how fresh and appealing I am—the perfect age. Unlike you, who has served him for years. That must be exhausting.” Selene’s smile froze. Fury flashed across her carefully maintained face. “You—” Her voice choked. Then her eyes landed on my wrist. Disbelief flickered across her features, followed by deeper rage. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “Why do you have this bracelet?!” Her voice turned shrill, dripping with jealousy. “He gave you this? You filthy little bitch—you don’t deserve to wear it!” She reached to tear it off my wrist. I yanked my arm back, hard and decisive. Selene stumbled forward, nearly crashing into a flower stand. She caught herself, trembling with rage. “How dare you!”

I feigned surprise, looking at Selene with wide, innocent eyes. “Luna, this was a gift from the Alpha. How could I give it to anyone else?” “A gift?” Selene sneered, looking me up and down. “Your sister was far more favored than you, and he never gave her anything like this.” I met her contemptuous gaze. “Luna is right,” I said evenly. “But the Alpha placed this on my wrist himself. If you truly believe I’m unworthy, feel free to ask him directly.” “You—!” Selene’s face twisted. She clearly hadn’t expected me to talk back repeatedly. Her hand flew toward my face. “Bitch! How dare you speak to me this way!” I dodged before she could strike, then slapped her across the face in return. Crack! The sound echoed through the empty hall. Selene’s head snapped to the side, her ornate headpiece trembling violently. She froze, as if unable to believe what had just happened. Several heartbeats passed before she slowly turned back. A vivid handprint was already blooming across her pale cheek. Selene touched her face, eyes widening. The rage in them could have set the room ablaze. Her voice came out strangled, shrill. “Hold this insolent bitch down!” Two burly servants rushed forward, twisting my arms behind my back and forcing me to my knees before Selene. I struggled but couldn’t break free. Selene crouched in front of me, prying at my fingers. Bones cracked under the pressure. The pain was blinding. My grip finally loosened. She ripped the bracelet off my wrist, examined it briefly, then raised it high and hurled it at the floor. The blood-red bracelet shattered on impact, breaking into several pieces. Tiny shards scattered, slicing into my ankle. Selene picked up the largest fragment and pressed it against my cheek. “Your sister probably caught his eye with this face too. And what good did it do her? She died without even an intact corpse. You’re even more shameless than she was…” Her voice dropped to an icy whisper. “Tell me—if I destroy this face of yours, will the Alpha even glance at you again?” I knelt there, arms wrenched back, unable to move. I could only tilt my head to look up at her. The Alpha had said he’d visit after morning council. Calculating the time, he should arrive any moment now. This performance between Selene and me needed an audience—the Alpha himself. I looked into Selene’s eyes and smiled, deliberately provocative. The smile made her eye twitch. Fury deepened. She raised the shard, ready to carve into my face. Just then, a voice called from outside: “The Alpha approaches—”

Selene panicked, clearly not expecting Kael at this moment. I seized the opportunity to wrench free from the servants, collapsing to the floor in tears, playing the picture of wounded innocence. Selene quickly tossed the shard aside and hurried to Kael, her voice instantly taking on the perfect tone of grievance. “Alpha!” She bowed low, her fingertips trembling as she pointed at me. “Thank the moon goddess you’re here! Lady Consort Lyra has been utterly brazen! I merely came to teach her proper etiquette, but not only did she refuse to listen—she struck me!” She turned her face to display the handprint fully, her eyes reddening on cue. “I was so shocked that I had my servants restrain her briefly, but she fought back and destroyed the gift you bestowed. I was terrified, not knowing how to explain this to you, Alpha.” She lowered her head, shoulders trembling slightly, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice and fright imaginable. Kael said nothing at first. His gaze fell on the shattered bracelet, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly scanned past Selene before finally settling on me. I sat crumpled on the floor, hair disheveled, clothes torn from struggling. My appearance alone told the story. At times like this, admitting fault always earned more sympathy than explanations. I lifted my face, tears spilling without warning. I sniffled, voice choking. “The Luna is right. It’s all my fault.” I buried my face deeper, shoulders hunching. “She asked for the bracelet, and I should have removed it immediately and offered it with both hands. It was a royal gift—I’m not worthy of wearing it. It should belong to the Luna. I shouldn’t have tried to keep it, which angered her and caused the bracelet to break…” My voice cracked with emotion, head bowed lower. “Everything is my fault. Alpha, please don’t blame the Luna. I’m willing to accept any punishment.” Selene clearly hadn’t expected this response. She pointed at me, furious words escaping. “You lying bitch! What nonsense are you spouting?!” She turned to Kael, trying to explain. “Alpha, she’s lying! She broke the bracelet herself—” “Enough.” Kael cut her off. He strode forward and stopped before me, pulling me to my feet. My legs were still weak. I could barely stand without leaning against his arm for support, but my tears fell even harder. Kael looked at Selene, his tone flat. “Selene, have I not given you enough royal gifts?” Selene trembled violently, her legs giving out as she dropped to her knees. “Alpha, please see clearly! She struck me first! I only retaliated! The Inner Court has always punished those who act above their station. I’ve managed these halls for years—never have I been…” Kael interrupted again, impatience creeping into his voice. “You destroyed a royal gift and administered private punishment. Which of these actions befits someone managing the Inner Court?” Selene’s composure shattered completely. “Alpha! I’ve always followed protocol! Today I was simply provoked by this bitch—” “Issue the decree,” Kael said, not even looking at her anymore. He turned to his head attendant. “Luna Selene has acted improperly and failed to maintain decorum. Effective immediately, she is confined to Everspring Hall for reflection. Without my direct order, she is not to step outside its gates.” “Alpha!” Selene’s voice broke in a cry of disbelief. But Kael had already turned away, his arm still supporting me as his voice softened. “Are you frightened? Return to your chambers and have the healers examine you.” His tone held no particular emotion, but the protective intent was unmistakable. I was half-guided, half-carried back into the inner hall. Behind us, Selene’s suppressed sobbing echoed. I lowered my eyes, a satisfied smile curving my lips. Luna Selene—this is only the beginning. Everything you did to my sister, I’ll repay a thousand times over.

That night, Kael returned to Moonward Hall. By candlelight, his gaze fell on my bandaged ankle. He gently stroked my hair. “Does it still hurt?” His voice was tender. I shook my head, lowering my eyes. “Thank you for your concern, Alpha. It’s nothing.” He smiled and pulled something from his sleeve, taking my hand and sliding it on. Cold and heavy. Another blood-red bracelet. This one was even deeper in color than the morning’s—so dark red it was nearly black. Under the candlelight, it looked like flowing blood. “Do you like it?” He traced my wrist with his thumb. I looked up, forcing a delighted smile. “Anything you give me, I treasure, Alpha. This color is so unique.” “Good.” He seemed pleased with my reaction, leaning down to kiss my forehead. Then he rose from the bed. “Since you like it so much, let me show you something interesting.” My heart skipped. “It’s so late. Where are we going, Alpha?” “Somewhere fascinating.” Kael pulled on his outer robe and wrapped me in a heavy cloak. He called no servants to follow. Taking only a dim horn lantern, he led me out through Moonward Hall’s back entrance. Night lay thick around us. The palace paths were silent. He guided me through a maze of turns until we reached a derelict courtyard with an abandoned well. He pressed several spots along the well’s edge. A stone slab shifted aside, revealing descending stairs. A dank, moldy stench mixed with the smell of blood rushed up to meet us. My heart pounded in my chest. Kael descended first, lantern in hand. After a short while, the space opened up. It was a massive underground chamber. The center held a sunken circular arena. Around it rose stone tiers with crude seating. Not a palace hall—a fighting pit. The place was empty now. Strange torture implements hung on the walls, some still bearing dark brown stains. “What is this?” My voice came out dry as I clutched the cloak tighter. “One of my… recreational spaces.” Kael led me to the high seats, his tone casual. “Occasionally I watch performances here. Very entertaining.” He clapped lightly. From the far end, a group of shackled prisoners were dragged out by guards on iron chains. About ten people, skeletal and covered in overlapping scars—old and fresh. My gaze locked onto them. Not just scars. Their wrists and ankles were bent at unnatural angles, swollen grotesquely. Several dragged broken legs as they moved. My breathing grew ragged. Rage swelled inside me. Those whip marks. Those deliberate breaks. Identical to the wounds on Elara’s body. I whipped my head toward Kael. He leaned on one hand, watching the prisoners with interest. Even pleasure. “Do you know, beloved,” Kael said suddenly, looking at the bracelet on my wrist, “How this treasure was made?” I shook my head stiffly, throat tight, unable to speak. Kael smiled. “With their blood. Cultivated through a special process.” The moment he finished speaking, a guard in the arena swung an iron rod, smashing it into a prisoner’s kneecap. The crack of bone echoed clearly. A raw, ragged scream followed. I sat beside him, watching this hellish scene unfold. My blood felt frozen. Hatred more intense than ever before consumed me. Now I understood. There was no losing control. No accidental drowning. All lies. Every wound on Elara’s body, every break, every moment of terror and pain—it all started here. The one who truly killed Elara, who tortured her to death, was Kael.

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“Eleanor. Did you steal the strawberries from my fridge?” Hailey tagged me in the family group chat while I was having tea at my old friend Margaret’s place in the Hamptons. I’d used a few of the white strawberries sitting in her crisper drawer to make a simple purée for Leo that morning. Before I could type a word, Liam jumped in. “Mom, those were imported white strawberries. Fifty bucks a box. You can’t just help yourself to Hailey’s things without asking. We need boundaries in this house.” Hailey piled on. “You keep saying you came here to help with the baby, but you sneak behind my back and steal my strawberries? You’re no better than some common thief.” I opened my banking app and Zelled her $5,000. Then I typed back: A hundred times what they’re worth. Are we square now? Hailey accepted the transfer in under three seconds. Then she kept going. “Liam, you need to handle your mother. She thinks because she has a little money she can walk all over us.” I didn’t type another word. I packed my bag, called my driver, and went straight back to the estate in Southampton. On the way, I called my attorney and told him to start the paperwork to repossess the Tribeca penthouse they were living in. Let’s see how well they eat without the thief in the house. The car hadn’t even cleared the Midtown Tunnel when my phone started buzzing. Liam. “Mom, what the hell is this? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?” “I’m going home. To my own house. That’s not a tantrum.” “You’re humiliating us in front of the whole family, Mom. Hailey is sensitive. You’re the adult here, you’re supposed to let things slide. And the $5,000 thing? Who were you trying to embarrass with that stunt?” I almost laughed. “She called me a thief in writing, Liam. And you want me to let it slide?” “Mom—” “The penthouse you live in? I bought it cash. The Cayenne you drive? I wrote the check. I wire you twenty grand a month to float your life. And I’m a thief over a box of strawberries?” “Jesus Christ, Mom, do you have to make everything about money? Families don’t keep score like this. Hailey’s right, you’re controlling. You act like we owe you something. Just come home and apologize to her and we can move past this.” Apologize. To the woman who just called me a thief on a group thread with thirty relatives on it. I hung up. The phone started lighting up again immediately. The family group. Hailey had posted an essay. Eight hundred words, minimum. To everyone — I’m sorry to air this here but I don’t know what else to do. Eleanor didn’t just blow up at me over a misunderstanding today, she actually walked out on us. And that’s not even the worst part. I just went to get ready for dinner and my grandmother’s Van Cleef necklace is GONE. Nobody else has been in the apartment. Eleanor left in a rush with a huge bag. I don’t want to accuse anyone but that necklace was the last thing I had of my grandmother’s. The replies started rolling in. Liam’s sister Catherine was first out of the gate. Eleanor, I am SHOCKED. You’ve always seemed so put-together. How could you? Then Uncle Raymond, doing his usual fake-peacemaker routine. Hailey sweetheart, let’s not blow this up. When she gets back just ask her to open her bag. Let’s keep it in the family. Please don’t call the police. Hailey hit him with a crying emoji. Uncle Ray, I don’t want to either. But she literally threw money at me today and said she has plenty of it. If she has so much, why would she take my necklace? I stared at the screen and my hands went cold. They were building a case. A permanent one. The kind you never wash off. I typed: Hailey. Back up your accusations with evidence or stop talking. Liam chimed in before she could. Mom, don’t dig in on this. That necklace means everything to her. Just give it back and we’ll drop it. Nobody has to know. Thirty years I raised that boy. And it felt like someone had driven a fist through my chest. “Liam. You actually think I took it.” He sent a voice note. I could hear the exhaustion he was performing for the audience. Mom, come on. You’ve always been like this. You take extra plastic bags at the grocery store. You pocket the free pens at the bank. It’s a pattern. Maybe you had a moment, we get it. Just return it and we can all move on without humiliating you. My hands were shaking. I take reusable bags to the store to save two cents at checkout. I send him twenty thousand a month. And that was the evidence I’d stolen a diamond necklace. Catherine again. Eleanor, honey. Liam is handing you a way out. Take the off-ramp. You’re too old to end your life as the family embarrassment. I gripped the phone until my knuckles went white. I’ll say this one more time. I did not take it. If you don’t believe me, call the police. Hailey posted a screenshot. An NYPD online complaint receipt, already filed. Eleanor, you forced my hand. I looked at that screenshot and whatever was left of my feelings for that boy and his wife went out like a candle. There were debts on this ledger. It was time somebody balanced them. I scrolled to my contacts and dialed the private investigator my late husband used to keep on retainer.

The car pulled through the estate gates just after sunset. The hedges had gone wild. The lawn was knee-high in places. I hadn’t been out here in almost three years — not since Richard died and I moved into the city to help with Leo. I’d barely gotten my suitcase through the front door when I heard tires on the gravel drive. The black Cayenne I’d paid for in cash was parked at an angle across my front walk, like they owned the place. “What do you two want?” I opened the door just a crack. “Did the NYPD already track down the necklace in my luggage?” Hailey rolled her eyes and pushed right past me with Leo on her hip. “God, Eleanor, you hold a grudge. Nobody was actually going to have you arrested. It was a wake-up call. We came all the way out here to bring you home.” “I am home. The apartment doesn’t have room for a thief, apparently. So I’ll stay here.” Liam stepped into the foyer, rubbing his temples like I was giving him a migraine. “Mom. Stop. You’re in the middle of nowhere. You can’t even get DoorDash out here. How are you going to live? And who’s going to cook for Hailey and watch Leo while she works?” “She called my cooking unsanitary. She said my parenting was Stone Age. So she can do it herself.” Hailey had already started walking through the house. Living room. Dining room. Up the main staircase. Her eyes were moving like a real estate appraiser’s, and I didn’t like what I was seeing in them. “Babe,” she called down to Liam. “Actually, this could work.” “What could work?” She came back to the landing, smiling in a way I’d come to recognize. “The air in the city is terrible. Leo’s had that cough for weeks. It’s so much healthier out here. Why don’t we just move in? All three of us.” “Excuse me?” “You can take the nanny’s suite downstairs. It’s right off the kitchen, so you’ll be close when Leo needs a bottle at night. Perfect, actually.” The estate had six bedrooms. I’d raised Liam in the main wing. The nanny’s suite was a windowless seventy-square-foot room off the pantry. “You want me in the staff quarters.” “Obviously the master is ours. Leo needs a nursery. I need a room for my Pilates reformer — my trainer said I have to keep practicing. Liam wants a home office. And we’ll need two guest rooms for when my mom and brother visit.” She cocked her head. “That leaves the nanny’s suite. I mean, you’re not going to be difficult about this, are you? It’s for Leo’s health. You always say how much you love your grandson. Surely you can give up a bedroom for him.” I turned to Liam. “Liam. And you’re fine with this?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Mom, Hailey’s thinking about Leo. You don’t need a big bedroom all to yourself, that’s just wasted space. The nanny’s room is fine, you can fix it up.” Something cold ran up through me. This was my son. The son I’d carried, fed, sent through Choate, put through Wharton. And he was negotiating me into a broom closet to keep the peace with his wife. I pointed at the door. “Get out.” Hailey’s face snapped. “Excuse me?” “Out. Both of you. Off my property.” She laughed, sharp and ugly. She shoved Leo into Liam’s arms and dropped onto my living room sofa like she was in a hotel lobby, crossing her legs. “Your property? Eleanor, honey, you need a reality check. Richard built this house. That means half of it is Liam’s. We’re not going anywhere.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “In fact, you’re going to get the contract out right now and sign it over to Liam. Tonight. I’m not letting some senile old woman leave this estate to a charity someday because she got mad at her family.” My voice came out very quiet. “Hailey. You are in my house.” She stood up, fast, and slapped my hand away from where I’d been pointing. “You’re in my way. And I haven’t even gotten started on the necklace yet. You sign that contract over tonight, or I walk into the 1st Precinct tomorrow morning and file charges.” “You want to do your eighties in Bedford Hills? Try me.” Her hand shot out and grabbed something off the console table. “Pang—” Porcelain shattered across the hardwood.

I stared at the pieces on the floor. Richard’s teapot. The one he’d kept on his desk for thirty years. The one he was holding in the last photograph I had of him. “What did you just do.” Hailey dusted her palms off like she’d gotten something sticky on them. “Oops. Slipped.” She shrugged. “Relax, Eleanor. It’s just some ugly little pot. You’re scaring Leo screaming over it.” Liam bounced Leo away from me, frowning like I was the problem. “Mom, seriously. You know Hailey’s temper. Why would you provoke her? It’s a teapot. I’ll order you one off Amazon tonight. Twenty bucks, looks identical, on your porch by Friday.” I looked up at him. My vision had gone blurry at the edges. “Twenty bucks.” “Yeah, Mom. Don’t make this a thing.” “That was your father’s. It was Yixing clay. The auction house valued it at two hundred thousand dollars.” Hailey’s eyes flicked sideways when I said the number. I saw her do the math. Then her voice went up an octave. “Two hundred thousand? Are you insane? Are you trying to shake us down? ” “I’m telling you right now, you’re not getting a dime. You stole my necklace, that was thirty grand. We are even.” She walked over and kicked the largest piece of porcelain across the floor, watched it skid to the baseboard. “Let me make this simple for you. You’re signing the deed tonight. You’re not going to argue. And if you breathe one word of pushback, you will never see Leo again. Not his birthdays. Not his graduation. Nothing.” She pointed at Leo in Liam’s arms. “Liam. Take him out. I don’t want him breathing this old-lady air. And from now on, she doesn’t touch him without my permission.” Liam hesitated. “Hailey, come on. She’s his grandma.” “So? With a shoplifter for a grandmother, he’ll get bullied at school. He’ll have to explain her at Christmas dinner his whole life. Liam, I swear to God, if you take her side on this one, we are filing papers tomorrow morning.” Liam crumbled so fast it was almost impressive. He turned to me with that look. The one that had always meant fix this for me, Mom. “Mom. Just get the contract out. Please. Before she really loses it. This house is coming to me eventually anyway. What’s the difference?” I pushed myself up off the floor. My knee was bleeding where I’d knelt in the porcelain, but I didn’t feel it. “Liam. You are using your father’s ashes and your son as leverage to get this house out of me.” “Jesus, Mom, don’t be dramatic. It’s called estate planning. You’re one old woman rattling around in a mansion.” “What does it accomplish? Keep playing this selfish game and see who’s changing your diapers in ten years.” I looked at him. Carefully. And I couldn’t find the boy I’d raised anywhere in that face. I took a long breath in. The inside of my mouth tasted like copper. “You want the house.” “Yes. Thank you.” “Second floor. Top drawer of the writing desk.” Hailey’s whole face lit up. She shoved Leo back into my arms and grabbed Liam’s sleeve and dragged him toward the staircase. Actually, What was in that drawer was a signed contract for the sale of the Tribeca penthouse. And a repossession notice for the Cayenne sitting in my driveway.

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My sister and I found our mates on the same night. I was born with a crescent mark on my collarbone. My wolf was white. The pack elders said I was the fated mate of Alpha King’s son Kaelen. Lyra’s wolf never came. She was never supposed to set foot in that ballroom. But the night before the Ball, my stepmother Selene drugged my wine. She sent Lyra in my place. In my last life, I ran to the ballroom to tell the truth. Lyra threw herself against a pillar. Kaelen caught her. But she still lost the pup. Kaelen said I faked my birthmark. He said I tried to kill his heir. His guards shaved my head and clawed my face open. They sealed my wolf with a hex and threw me out of the territory. I became the most hated wolf in the land. Lyra took my mark, my scent, and my place. She became Kaelen’s Luna and gave him twin pups. The whole pack called her the blessed white wolf. I died past the border. Rogues tore me apart. When I opened my eyes again, the door swung open. A shewolf stepped in. She froze. “Miss Elara? Why are you still here?” The courtyard got loud. Several she-wolves ran in. “Who got into the carriage? Was that Lyra?” “If Elara is still here, the Alpha King will kill us!” Selene pushed through the door. She was already crying. “Elara, are you crazy? You were supposed to be Kaelen’s mate! How can you force your sister to go in your place! The Alpha King will have our heads!” Everyone looked at me. Suddenly I was the villain. The selfish older sister shoved her sibling into the fire. I looked at Selene. That panicked face she wore so well. She was doing it again. This time I was not going to let her finish. I stepped back. My eyes filled with tears. “Mother, what are you talking about? Last night you asked me to share a drink with Lyra. I took one sip and blacked out. When I woke up, Lyra was gone. My gown was gone.” The room went quiet. “Elara!” My aunt Rowena shoved her way to the front. She grabbed my arm. She turned on Selene. “You poisoned her! You drugged Elara and sent your own daughter in her place!” Selene went white.

“I organized this entire ceremony. Now I am the criminal? I raised Elara as my own. Why would I hurt her?” I pulled back. My sleeve slipped down. A strip of dark red stained the fabric. Rowena grabbed my wrist. “Why is this fabric discolored?” One of the she-wolves spoke up. “That is a reaction to poison. The fabric changes color when it touches sedatives.” Rowena stared at Selene. “Get Healer Aldwin. Now.” Healer Aldwin came running. He looked at the stain on my sleeve. He sniffed. His face went dark. “Wolfsbane extract. Heavy sedative. It damages the wolf core.” “A full dose would have killed her in her sleep. She is lucky to be alive.” The room went silent. I looked up at Selene. Tears ran down my face. “Why would you do this? If you wanted Lyra to go to the Ball instead of me, why not talk to Father first?” “He is an Alpha. One word to the Alpha King and he could have arranged something for Lyra. It did not have to be like this.” “Now Lyra is out there pretending to be me. If the Alpha King finds out, she is dead.” “And Father loses everything. Our whole family goes down with her.” I choked on the words. “You did not just drug me. You put a target on all of us.” Selene dropped to her knees. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Elara, I was foolish. Lyra was terrified. She panicked and the carriage already left. If we drag this into the open now, she will be killed.” She grabbed the hem of my dress. “You have always been generous. Just say you gave her your spot. Save your sister’s life.” Rowena slapped her across the face. “Save her life? Your daughter drugs my niece, steals her place, and now Elara should cover for her? You climbed into my brother’s bed and got his true mate killed. Now your daughter is stealing Elara’s future. You think this family has no one left to protect her?” Selene held her cheek. Her eyes went cold. “Your brother left me in charge of this pack. Both girls are mine to manage. You mated out, Rowena. You are not part of this family anymore. Mind your own business.” I stared at her. “Then where is my birthmark record? The pack elders confirmed my crescent mark when I was a child. That record belongs to me.” Her eyes shifted. “Yours, hers, what is the difference? You are both daughters of this house. You are the older sister. Let her have this one.” In my last life, she said the same thing. Lyra took my mark, my identity, and every piece of my mother’s things. Not this time. Everything they took, I was taking back. I held Rowena’s arm. I turned to the she-wolf at the door. “Is there still a carriage outside?” She nodded. “Tell them to take me to the Ball.”

The ballroom was packed. Kaelen stood at the center of the floor with Lyra on his arm. She wore my gown, had my crescent mark painted on her collarbone. She smelled like me. He was about announce her as his mate in front of every wolf that mattered. “Stop.” My voice cut through the music. The violins died. Every head turned toward the door. I walked in with Rowena at my side. The crowd parted. Kaelen’s hand froze on Lyra’s waist. Wolves closest to the front gasped. “Is that Elara?” “Then who is that on his arm?” Alpha King Theron rose from his seat. “Elara. What is the meaning of this?” Lyra shrank behind Kaelen. Her face went white. I stopped in the center of the ballroom. Kept my voice steady. “Alpha King, I came to take back what is mine. Last night my stepmother drugged me. When I woke up, everything was gone. I came as fast as I could.” Theron’s gaze cut to Kaelen. “You did not notice anything wrong?” Kaelen stiffened. “This is my mate. She smells right. She has the mark.” I looked up. Let the shock show on my face. “I have had this mark since birth. I am willing to be checked.” Theron’s eyes moved to Kaelen’s hand on Lyra’s waist. His expression went cold. Lyra dropped to her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “My sister kept saying she did not want to be mated to the Alpha Heir. She drank too much last night and would not wake up this morning. The carriage was already at the door. I did not know what else to do.” I tilted my head. “That is funny. Because the way I remember it, you were the one clinging to Mother and crying all night about how scared you were. You insisted on sleeping in my room. Now I am starting to think that was so you could swap my gown and my documents while I was drugged.”

Lyra’s face crumbled. “How can you say that? I was trying to protect you! I was going to switch back with you later. Everything I did was for you, Elara. You can hit me. You can punish me. But please do not say I stole from you.” Kaelen pulled her behind him. His eyes locked on me with disgust. “You rejected me, Elara. Lyra stepped up when you would not. She saved you from embarrassing yourself and your family. I have made my choice. Lyra is my mate.” I looked at them quietly. They had done the same thing in my last life. One playing the victim, one playing the hero. They pinned the blame on me and made themselves look like lovers. Not this time. I sighed. Let the sadness fill my voice. “Lyra, you really did all this just for me?” Lyra looked up with wet eyes. “We are sisters. I would never let you suffer. Kaelen is perfect. I did not want him to be shamed. I did this for you.” Kaelen softened. He pulled Lyra closer. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a folded letter. “I love you. I have always loved you. Make me yours. I will be whatever you need me to be.” I read the last few words slowly. They landed like thunder in the dead-silent room. “This is dated six months ago. Lyra has been writing to Kaelen in secret for half a year.” The crowd erupted. Kaelen went white as a sheet. Lyra lunged for the letter. “That is fake! You forged it!” I pulled out more letters. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. “All fake? All forged?” I held up a small vial. “And these herbs? The ones used to ensure pregnancy? Also fake?” Theron’s voice rang through the ballroom. “Healer. Examine her. Now.” The healer stepped forward. He examined her belly. His face changed. “Alpha King. She is one month pregnant.”

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Three years after the divorce, my ex-husband Julian showed up with roses, grinning like he’d already won. “Babe, I kept my word. Right on time to get you back.” Three years ago, he played Truth or Dare with his friends and lost to his childhood sweetheart Serena. Serena had a request: “I want to see if you and your wife are really in love.” “So you two get divorced. Three years. No contact.” “If she remarries you after three years, I’ll admit it’s true love.” He and Serena never had boundaries—always flirting, always blurring the lines. We fought about it constantly. I thought he’d say no. He agreed without hesitation: “Deal! ” His friend tried to stop him: “Dude, think this through! Divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked at me like it was already settled: “I trust what we have. My wife’s obsessed with me for life.” “She’ll definitely remarry me!” I didn’t say a word. He had no idea that was his last chance. Back to the present—he shoved the flowers at me. I didn’t take them. Stepped back. Voice flat: “My husband doesn’t let me take flowers from other men.” … A smirk tugged at Julian’s lips. “Mad at me?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Be good. Don’t be mad.” His tone was syrupy, convinced I was playing hard to get. Like before, he moved in to pull me close. I stepped back again. Face harder now: “Mr. Chase, keep your distance!” His hand froze mid-air, eyes still glued to my face, all soft and loving. “Really pissed this time?” “Tell me what’ll make you feel better. Anything.” Still thought he could sweet-talk his way out of it, like always. He stepped closer. Every step he took, I took one back. His eyes flared with that hunting look, like he was already claiming me. “Julian, three years is enough to change everything.” He nodded like he agreed: “True.” My back hit the wall. Nowhere left to go. He caged me in, hands on either side of my head—his signature move. Back when we were dating, he loved pinning me against walls, kissing me under the moonlight. “Did you have a boy? Or a girl?” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. The thought of that baby still tore through my chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. After he lost that stupid game— At Serena’s demand, he divorced me anyway. Three years. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Now he had the nerve to assume I’d have his kid, sit around waiting for him to come back! A bitter smile curled my lips. Before I could tell him I got rid of it, his phone rang. He pulled it out. The screen lit up with a contact name: Little Princess. That’s what he called Serena. I’d seen it a thousand times—the way he’d pat her head, grin, and say she’d been his little princess since they were kids! Never gave a damn how it made me feel when I was still his wife. He answered immediately. “Julian, please, come quick—I’m on my period and it hurts so bad.” Serena’s whiny crying came through the speaker. Julian’s eyes filled with panic: “Don’t worry, I’m coming right now.” He hung up. Gave my head a quick pat like I was some obedient pet: “I gotta check on Serena. I’ll come find you later.” Before I could blink, he was gone.

Serena posted to her feed like clockwork—showing off again, rubbing it in. The photo showed her lying in Julian’s arms, hair damp with sweat. Julian’s hand was on her stomach, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s loved me most since we were kids. No matter how important the matter, or how important the person— As long as I’m not feeling well, he drops everything and rushes to my side. Giving me all his care and love. He’s truly the best man in the world!!! I hit Like. Not just one Like—every single day for three years, Serena posted about their relationship. Three years. She posted 1,095 times. I liked every single one. She found new ways to flaunt it daily. Like how she didn’t work—Julian gave her his card, unlimited spending. She could crash at the place Julian and I used to share whenever she wanted. My stuff? She’d use it if she felt like it, toss it if she didn’t. For three years, those two did everything couples do. I knew she posted them for me to see. Every Like was my way of showing I didn’t give a shit. But Serena thought I was jealous, losing my mind, desperate for attention. Next time I saw Julian was when he and Serena showed up at my coffee shop. They wore matching camel coats—couple’s outfits. Julian, who always wore boring suits, was in some trendy casual blazer. I used to suggest couple’s outfits. He’d always say he was used to suits, didn’t want to switch it up. Serena looked around my coffee shop, eyes wide. Shocked. Julian frowned at me: “I gave you all that money. Why are you doing this kind of hard labor?” When we divorced, I asked for half his assets. He gave it without hesitation. I stopped making the coffee in my hands, looked up at him, face blank: “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” Julian’s expression didn’t change. Still convinced I was just mad at him. Serena put on her fake sweet voice: “Chloe, it’s been three years. How’ve you been?” “Great.” Serena looked surprised by how calm I was. Julian’s phone rang. He turned and went outside to take it. The second it was just me and Serena, the mask dropped. Her smile twisted into something smug and taunting: “Stop playing games. But don’t get too excited yet.” She looked down at me, lips curled in a sneer: “Even if you remarry Julian this time, so what?!” “His mom hates you. She’s always wanted me as her daughter-in-law.” “Julian’s only remarrying you out of obligation.” “He even asked for my permission before coming to find you.” “And you’re signing a prenup.” “Oh, and I wrote it myself.” She pulled a prenup out of her bag and slapped it in front of me. I glanced down, barely hiding my disgust. First line: All Chase family assets have nothing to do with you. After marriage, you cannot call your mother-in-law Mom—must address her as Auntie. In public, you cannot claim to be Mrs. Chase—you’re the ex-wife only. The audacity made me laugh. I shoved the papers back at her: “If his mom loves you so much, how come you’re still nobody to him!” “Three years, and Julian still won’t claim you. How pathetic.” Serena’s face twisted. Her hand flew up to slap me— Then Julian’s footsteps echoed from behind. She switched faces faster than flipping a page, tears streaming, playing the martyr: “Chloe, I really do want you and Julian to remarry.” “As his childhood friend, I just want him to be happy.” “This prenup is just a formality. Don’t be upset, okay?” Same act as three years ago. The second Julian saw her crying, his brain turned to mush. Couldn’t tell right from wrong.

“Serena, what’s wrong?” Julian pulled Serena into his arms, eyes filled with concern. Serena shook her head, playing the victim: “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Chloe.” The more she said that, the more Julian was convinced I’d hurt her. “Chloe!” He snapped at me: “Apologize!” His tone—like he was giving orders to the help. A cold smile crept across my face. He frowned, voice dripping with disappointment: “Serena grew up with me. She’s like my sister!” “She’s family. Can you stop being so hostile to her!” “For my sake, just be nice to her, okay!” My face stayed blank. I’d seen this exact scene a hundred times three years ago. I was over it. I was about to kick them out when my phone rang—video call. The screen lit up: Baby Boy. Julian’s eyes lit up when he saw that. He hit Accept before I could stop him. I grabbed my phone fast. My two-year-old son’s chubby face filled the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” Julian heard “Mommy” and went rigid with excitement. Convinced I’d had his son. I said a quick word to my son. Before Julian could grab my phone to talk to him, I hung up. “I want to see my son!” He was grinning like an idiot, all the tension from before vanished like it never happened. Serena’s face darkened. “He’s not your son!” I looked him dead in the eye, voice ice-cold: “Stop bothering me, you sick freaks!” He didn’t get mad. Just kept assuming, condescending as hell: “Alright, alright. Stop being mad.” “I’ve really missed you and our son.” I finally got it. Guys like him—so full of themselves— Wouldn’t believe I’d stopped loving him until they saw my husband in person. He suddenly said: “Mom’s birthday is in a few days.” “You’re a good cook. Make some of her favorite dishes.” “Use this as a chance to fix things between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knew. Three years of marriage— Three years of his mother treating me like garbage. His mother hated that I came from nothing. Even though I was Julian’s legal wife, she wouldn’t let me attend any family dinners. If she was there, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I hated her too. Our relationship was walking on eggshells—we just ignored each other. And in all of it, he’d stayed silent. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. I asked on purpose: “Julian, let’s say—hypothetically—” “What if I cook a whole feast and your mom still won’t let me sit at the table?” He hesitated before answering: “You can say something nice, butter her up.” “You know how she is—all bark, no bite.” Serena jumped in with fake helpfulness: “Chloe, it’s not shameful to beg your elders. Auntie can’t resist when someone begs at her feet.” She was mocking me, telling me to beg on my knees. I laughed bitterly, locked eyes with Julian, voice sharp and serious: “Julian, three years changes everything!” “I’m married now. And the kid isn’t yours.” Then I turned to Serena: “You should be the one begging on your knees. Maybe that’s your ticket into the Chase family.”

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During the request segment, I gripped the ring box in my pocket. Eight years together. Tonight, I’m proposing to Lucian Vance. The spotlight stopped on me. Sadie screamed in my earpiece. “Go!” I took the mic and looked at Lucian, face burning. He glanced at me, raised his hand, and took the mic. He turned and handed it to his assistant Chloe Reed on his other side. “The light hit her first. It’s Chloe’s first live show. Let her have it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Gentle as always. Chloe took the mic, eyes wide, and picked a love song. Lucian clapped first. Sadie’s voice changed in my earpiece. “Chloe Reed again?” I almost laughed. Lucian had no idea. This wasn’t just a mic. This was the last chance I was giving us. In one week, the Sterlings would announce my goodbye. …… The singer froze for a few seconds, cleared his throat, and started warming up the crowd again. Sadie had lost it in my earpiece. “What is wrong with him? New Year’s fireworks, he brought Chloe. Your birthday dinner, he brought Chloe. Now the concert too? Is he dating you or babysitting the intern?” Sadie stopped herself. “Sera, that came out wrong.” I managed a laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Lucian brought his little assistant everywhere. He said it was for work. Sadie lowered her voice. “Everyone’s at the restaurant. Balloons are set, banner’s up. Just waiting for you two. Then he pulls this. I could kill him.” She paused. “Should we still wait?” I forced a smile. “Don’t.” What was there to wait for? The mic wasn’t even in my hands. I took out the earpiece and shoved it in my pocket. My fingers touched the ring box. The corner dug into my skin. One carat. I’d spent weeks on the setting. I’d waited until Lucian was asleep, wrapped a string around his ring finger, and took it to the jeweler. For tonight, I’d called the organizers two months early and filmed a three-minute video. Eight years together. Our friends filmed their blessings one by one. The last frame was me looking into the camera, saying the words. I filmed it seventeen times before I got a take where my smile didn’t shake. Chloe’s song ended. The crowd went wild with cheers and whistles. Everyone probably thought she and Lucian were the couple. Lucian glanced at me. Like he just noticed I wasn’t clapping. “What’s wrong?” I said nothing. The show ended and the crowd pushed toward the exits. He walked beside me, arm around my shoulder, keeping me from the crowd. “Sulking? Over a song request? Seriously.” He was on his phone, not looking up. “I’ll book you a whole show later. Pick whatever you want.” Sometime. Next time. Later. His three favorite words. “Lucian.” I stopped walking. He didn’t. Took two more steps before turning back. “We had a deal. Eight years, you’d give me an answer. It’s been eight years.” He put his phone away, looked at me, and smiled. That “here we go again” smile. “What’s the rush? I’ve got five deals going before year-end. Once things settle after New Year’s, I’ll take care of the wedding.” After New Year’s. Pushed back one more notch. He’d said the same thing three years ago. The first time I took him home. Flights were booked. The day before, his secretary said there was an urgent pitch deck. He canceled his ticket. He’d said the same thing then. “What’s the rush? I’ll meet them eventually.” I flew alone with two sets of gifts. My dad asked where he was. I smiled and said work came up. The car pulled into the garage and stopped. He leaned over and rubbed my earlobe with his thumb, barely touching. “I’ll get you that bracelet you liked, as an apology. Deal?” I turned my head away from his hand. He froze. “Lucian, stop.” “I don’t need it anymore.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow and tapped the steering wheel. “Oh great, you’re mad again. Go home, sleep it off. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He glanced at his phone and muttered. “Chloe left something at the venue. I’ll go back and find it.” I nodded. “Okay.” Got out. Closed the door. He watched me from the driver’s seat for two seconds. Something felt off. Then the taillights flashed and the car pulled away. I went upstairs alone. His jacket hung over the back of the couch. The collar still smelled like cedar. The balcony door was half open. Words were carved into the railing. He’d scratched them with a key the day we moved in. Crooked letters. A strip of paint scraped off. “Seraphina Sterling, one day I’m going to marry you.” He’d just closed his first round of funding. On top of the world. He picked me up and spun me around twice in the empty living room. “Once I’ve made it, I’ll give you the wedding of a lifetime.” I believed him. I waited eight years. Year one, he said the company was just starting. Give it time. Year three, he said they were expanding. He couldn’t leave. Year five, he said it was almost done. Next year for sure. Year eight. I stood on the balcony, tracing the carved words with my finger. Where the paint had chipped, rust had crept in. The ring box pressed hard against my hip. I took it out. Opened it. The diamond caught a bit of light from the living room and flashed. If he wasn’t going to ask, I would. Three months of working up the nerve. Calling the organizers, filming the video, buying the ring, getting Sadie and the others to set up the restaurant. And I barely touched the mic. The lock clicked. I put the ring away. Lucian walked in and tossed his keys on the console table. He saw me looking at the balcony railing and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so interesting? Come to bed.” I didn’t move. “Did you find it for her?” “Yeah.” He walked past me and started taking off his watch. “Lucian.” I stopped him. “It’s over.” His hands stopped for a beat. Then he scoffed. “Over a song request? Really?” “She’s never been to a live show. What’s wrong with letting her have a turn?” “I can’t have another woman around besides you?” He sounded tired. “Enough. I said I’d book you a show. Go to sleep. I have investors tomorrow.” He kept walking toward the bedroom. I looked at him walking away. “The Sterlings are hosting a dinner next week. They’ll make an announcement.” “After that, we’re done.”

Lucian stopped. He turned, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Seraphina, let me be clear.” His tone went cold. “Getting your family to pressure me into a proposal won’t work.” “You’re that desperate to get married?” “What do you mean ‘done’? Is that a threat? Or are you playing hard to get?” I didn’t answer. He had no idea this dinner had nothing to do with him. The Sterlings were going to announce that I was giving up my position as heir. That I was joining a classified federal research program. Eight years. After that, I would disappear. No public appearances. No trace. The dinner was the Sterlings’ way of closing the book. Telling everyone: Seraphina Sterling is gone. Don’t look for her. Don’t ask. But he took it for granted I’d always be there. His voice went low. Worse than shouting. “What did your idiot friends put you up to? It has to be this year? Right now? Do you know how busy I am?” Busy. He was busy. Busy on forty-minute “work calls” with Chloe at midnight. Busy memorizing Chloe’s coffee order but forgetting my allergies. Busy throwing Chloe a birthday party with a balloon wall. Calling her “the team’s little ray of sunshine.” His time, his attention, his care. All spoken for. Just not for me. “I’m in crunch mode. Three rounds of investors before year-end. Every step matters.” He pressed his fingers between his eyes. “What are you trying to pull?” “Calm down and think about what you’re doing.” He turned to leave. “Lucian.” He stopped. “You’re right. I am playing hard to get.” I looked at his back. “So. Will you marry me?”

Lucian didn’t turn around. A few seconds of silence. “Get some rest.” He walked into the study and closed the door. Something sour spread through my chest. I knew the answer. I asked anyway. Maybe eight years isn’t something you just let go of. But this was the last time. Late that night, I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. A stack of pages lay inside. The corners had yellowed and curled. Two years ago I’d saved wedding photos off the internet and printed them. Venues, flowers, invitation fonts, vow templates. I brought them to him, beaming. He was on the phone. He mouthed “later” and waved me away. Two years. That “later” never came. My phone buzzed. Sadie was still angry. “Restaurant’s cleared out. Sera, the more I think about the concert, the madder I get. Three months of planning and he just…” “Sade, it’s fine. I’m leaving anyway.” The other end went quiet for a long time. “You’re sure? Eight years together, eight years gone. When you come back, nothing will be the same.” “Yes.” “You won’t even tell him?” “Sade, there’s nothing left to say.” Sadie didn’t speak. After a while, her voice came back thick. “I’ll keep the banner. Just in case…” “Sade.” “Yeah.” “Throw it out.”

Day four of the cold war. Lucian left early, came home late, went straight to the study. When we ran into each other in the living room, he looked at his phone and I looked at the TV. Nobody said a word. Like two strangers sharing an apartment. Sadie saw I was down and dragged me out to eat. “Stop sitting around. I got us a private room. Cry if you want, yell if you want.” We sat down. Laughter came from the next room. I knew that laugh. Sadie’s face changed. “Maybe we should go…” I shook my head. Chloe’s soft voice came through the wall. “Lucian, I still feel bad about the concert. The mic was meant for Seraphina. I should have known better. Maybe I should apologize to her?” “Nothing to do with you.” Lucian’s voice was flat. “I gave it to you. You took it. That’s it.” One sentence in front of a whole table. She was off the hook. But whenever I went to his office, he kept his distance. Said people talk. One of his friends kept going. “But Luce, I heard Seraphina had something planned that night?” A beat of silence. “I knew she was going to propose. Someone told me a month ago.” Same lazy voice. Sadie’s head snapped toward me. My nails dug into my palms. “You knew and you still gave the mic to Chloe?” The friend couldn’t believe it. “What was I supposed to do? The harder she pushes in public, the less I give.” “When she throws a fit, I play along. But marriage? She needs to learn that making a scene won’t work.” The friend sighed. “Still, eight years. Wanting to make it official isn’t crazy.” Lucian went quiet. “Of course I’ll marry her. But not because she made me.” “When I do it, that’s my call.” Another friend lowered his voice. “Honestly, Seraphina loves a scene. Always making it a big deal.” “Right. Chloe’s so easy. No drama. When has she ever given you trouble?” Chloe’s voice came through, sweet and pouty. “Don’t say that about Seraphina. She probably just loves Lucian too much. After all these years… she’s not getting any younger.” That last part. “After all these years.” Just the right amount of pity. Lucian said nothing. A round of knowing laughter. Sadie’s hand reached across and grabbed mine. Her fingers were shaking. I patted her hand, picked up my bag, and stood. “Sade, let’s go.” I pushed our door open and walked past theirs. Glasses clinking inside. Chloe’s sweet laugh. It was raining. The streetlights stretched a long wet line into the dark. I kept walking. I didn’t look back.

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On the night of the Spring Hunt Festival, to make the adopted girl laugh, my fiancé Killian and my brother Silas dressed me up as a toy. Selene tore my dress apart and smeared lipstick across my face, writing the word whore. I didn’t react, then she kicked me into the cesspit. By the time they fished me out, a crowd had gathered, phones raised, laughing. The noise was grating. Silas stood a hundred feet away, face twisted in disgust, hand over his nose, refusing to come closer. Selene’s smile was innocent. “Elara, happy Spring Hunt!” My fiancé tucked her behind him and spoke like it was nothing. “It was just a joke. Don’t take it to heart.” He raised a hand and signaled for someone to hose me down. I was knocked flat, skin turning purple from the cold, but I didn’t beg. Overnight, the video of me — stripped, soaked, bare — spread through every Pack in the region. Silas blamed me for ruining the Blackmoor Pack’s reputation and threw me out. Killian cancelled the engagement in front of everyone. “I can’t take a mate with a stain on her name.” I nodded to all of it. I didn’t argue. They thought I was putting on an act, pretending to be calm. They didn’t know the Trial was three days from ending. These people — I couldn’t stand the sight of them. …… In the courtyard, my father swung the silver whip, lash after lash across my back. “Shameless! Disgusting!” I didn’t explain. I just clenched my teeth. Arguing only made the beatings worse. I’d been brought back to this pack only days before. Selene accused me of stealing her moonstone pendant. My parents searched my room. Silas stripped me bare in front of everyone. They found nothing. I thought I’d get an apology. Instead, Silas slapped me so hard a tooth flew out. “You sold Selene’s pendant! Where’s the money!” My room was barely big enough to stand in. I didn’t own a single coin. I tried to explain. He hit harder, called me unrepentant. I curled into a corner. He kicked me until I coughed blood. Then Selene let out a little gasp. “Found it!” The moonstone pendant shimmered in the sunlight. All I felt was blinded. I looked at Silas. No guilt on his face. He said it flatly, like it was nothing. “Small misunderstanding. Don’t dwell on it.” “I’m Selene’s brother. I trust her completely.” Silas remembered he was Selene’s brother. He forgot I was his real sister. In the courtyard, my father’s whip kept falling. My body was covered in welts. Silas stood to the side. Didn’t say a single word for me. He was the one who let Selene humiliate me. When I was filmed naked, he blamed me for damaging the Pack’s reputation and threw my few clothes out the door. He told me to leave. I agreed. But my father roared. “You think you’re going somewhere? Haven’t you embarrassed us enough!” He took the silver whip and beat me for two hours. Called it Pack discipline. Two hours later, my mother frowned and stopped him. “Enough. Make her knock her head on the ground ninety-nine times. Then a written confession. We’ll call it even.” My father threw the whip down, voice sour. “You spoil her.” Spoil? I almost laughed. My mother’s version of kneeling meant my skull had to crack against the stone loud enough to hear. If it wasn’t loud, it didn’t count. The confession had to be written in blood. Less than ten thousand words, not sincere enough — do it again. But I didn’t say a word. I knelt and slammed my forehead down. When I passed out, they splashed cold water to wake me. I kept going. The blood confession ran twenty thousand words. Every character groveling, ground into dust. I thought it was enough. Selene pinched her nose and took a step back. “Silas, it’s not that I won’t let Elara inside — she just smells too bad.” Silas rubbed her head fondly, then slid his gaze sideways to me. “You don’t deserve the servants’ room. Go sleep with Nyx.” Nyx was Selene’s giant python. I was terrified of snakes. I remembered the day the warrior brought me back to this Pack. Selene had looked at me with the same disgust. But back then, Silas didn’t send me to the snake pit. He just put me in the dog kennel. The dog’s cage was bigger than the servants’ room I got later. As long as Selene didn’t give the order, the dog didn’t bite. I could at least sleep. The snake pit — absolutely not. I threw myself at my parents’ feet, knocking my head against the floor frantically. “Please — if I smell, I’ll leave the Pack House, I’ll sleep in the kennel — just don’t make me go in the pit.” My father’s expression shifted. A flicker of something almost soft. He was about to speak — Silas yanked me up by the collar. “Elara, cut the act!” “You think the Pack became a joke because of anyone else? Be grateful you have a roof at all!” He started dragging me toward the snake pit. I turned my head to look at my father. He looked away. The pit reeked. The stench nearly knocked me out. The snake’s tongue flicked across my face. I closed my eyes in despair. Then a voice reached me — warm, gentle, like a hand resting softly on my forehead. “Child. Two days remain before My trial ends.”

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After my dragon mate bought me at the auction with the highest price of the entire session, which crushed everyone else’s bid. Then, I became pregnant. Dragon-kind struggled to produce offspring. Yet I carried three little dragonlings to term in a single birth. But the male who had once been so possessive he bordered on obsessive now regarded me with cold indifference. “Honestly,” Drakar said, “I regret it.” I looked up at him in confusion. His gaze swept over my full chest and the curve of my waist and hips. “I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me back then. I shouldn’t have chosen you just to spite Lyara. Looking at you now — you’re nothing, just knows how to breed. And that’s how you’ve come to live such a wealthy life.” “While my Lyara,” he continued, “has suffered all these years because of me.” My whole body went rigid. My eyes slowly burned red. I whispered a quiet protest — told him he couldn’t live without me. But Drakar wasn’t moved in the slightest. If anything, he grew more animated, already scheming about how to bring his true love back to him. He turned that contemptuous gaze on me one last time. “You think I’d have ever kept circling back to you if your body weren’t what it is?” “Don’t worry. You gave me offspring, so I won’t throw you out. As it happens, my brother still doesn’t have a female. When he comes back, you’ll move into his quarters.” Dragon-kind were creatures of deep appetite. Once they’d been with a female, they couldn’t go without. And his brother — that male had been sneaking around trying to get close to me when we first met. — “Are you certain you want to transfer the original female’s registration to your brother’s name?” The orc clerk at the record office clearly thought he’d misheard. He looked at me — full-figured, abundantly curved — and then looked at the frail, paper-thin female cradled in Drakar’s arms, the kind who looked like a strong wind might carry her off. “Once the transfer is filed, it cannot be reversed without the consent of another registered male.” But Drakar acted as though he hadn’t heard a word. He furrowed his brow impatiently. “Of course I’m certain. Please make it quick — my female was just brought back, she’s not adjusted to the environment here yet, and I need to get her settled at home.” The clerk swallowed his irritation and crossed out the name behind Drakar’s, replacing it with a new one. My name was now filed under a dragon-kin called Caelun. “Done. Your brother still needs to come in and press his mark. When does he return?” Drakar was too busy soothing the female in his arms to give a proper answer. “Tomorrow, probably.” — When we left the registration office, I stood alone to one side. I watched Lyara pout and cling to Drakar, sulking about how he’d abandoned her all those years ago — and how he’d stood right in front of her and bought another female at auction. Drakar coaxed her with tender patience. When he finally finished, he glanced back at me. In the cold wind, I must have looked small and desolate. He paused. Something flickered across his face — words that never made it past his throat. In the silence that followed, I spoke first. “Am I moving out today?” Drakar’s brow creased. “You don’t have to rush—” “You’re Amber, aren’t you?” Lyara cut in suddenly, looking me over from head to toe with naked jealousy. “I remember you. You were the most sought-after female at that auction.” “Orcs just love that type, don’t they?” She smiled thinly. “Tell me honestly — don’t you find it embarrassing, carrying around a body like that? If I looked like you, I wouldn’t leave the house.” She glanced sideways at Drakar, her expression going soft and wounded. “Drakar… you like that type too, don’t you?” Drakar’s face tightened at once. “Who said anything like that? It disgusts me.” I went completely still. My eyes stung. Disgusts him. But every single night, he’d wrap his dragon tail around me and pull me close, taking and taking until I was trembling and boneless. His scales would brush the length of my spine, slow and deliberate. Sometimes once wasn’t enough. He needed twice. Three times. Only when I was completely spent would he finally be satisfied. And all of that, apparently, disgusted him. Lyara curved her lips in a small, satisfied smile and hooked her arm through Drakar’s, watching me with practiced pity. “Don’t take it personally. If Drakar hadn’t bought you that day, do you think you’d be living as well as you have been? You should really be thanking me — if I hadn’t had that falling-out with Drakar, there never would have been room for you.” I looked at Drakar. He didn’t react. I let out a dry, hollow sound of agreement. Seeing that I had no fight left in me no matter how she twisted the knife, Lyara lost interest and pulled Drakar forward, demanding to go home. He followed her with an indulgent smile. After a few steps, he glanced back. “Amber. Since you want to move, go ahead.” “Don’t take it to heart. We’re still family.” Family. Yes. We were still family. Only I was no longer his female. I belonged to his brother now.

The moment Lyara arrived home, her expression collapsed. She stormed straight into the room I shared with Drakar. She tore through every corner, pulling out anything connected to me, hurling it all outside one piece at a time. A pair of woven grass rings I had braided myself. A protection charm I had quietly tucked beneath Drakar’s pillow. I had spent a long time sewing that charm. The stitches were tight and even — every one of them careful, every one deliberate. Now it was being ground beneath her heel like rubbish. I stood frozen in place, watching Lyara pass through our home like a hurricane, scattering everything I had built with my own hands. And Drakar stood right there beside her. He didn’t stop her. He gave a helpless little laugh. His gaze caught mine — brief, weightless. “Let her have this,” he said lightly. “I owe her. A little venting is fair. Whatever she breaks, I’ll replace.” My eyes burned. I shook my head and said quietly, “It’s fine. Nothing important.” Drakar paused. He studied me, a vague restlessness crossing his face — but he didn’t say another word. — Along the fence in the yard, my vegetable garden grew in a straight, tidy row. Drakar had complained about the trouble, said it was easier to just buy food at the market. But I’d still wanted to grow my own. And for all his grumbling, he had quietly built a low wooden fence around the beds for me later on. Now Lyara walked straight through those seedlings without a second glance. She yanked my undergarments from the drying line and shook them with exaggerated disgust. “You actually hang these outside where everyone can see? Are you trying to advertise yourself? A totally whore!” She dropped the garment and stepped on it. Beside her, Drakar couldn’t quite suppress a laugh. His warm, attentive gaze followed Lyara everywhere, completely unaware of the color draining from my face. I hunched my shoulders instinctively. For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of my own body. But Lyara wasn’t finished. She prowled the rest of the yard, until her eyes landed on the woven basket sitting against the wall. The sun had been good today. I’d been worried the room was too stuffy, so I’d carried the basket outside to let the dragonlings nap in the warmth. My stomach lurched. I called out sharply: “The young ones are in there—” I didn’t get to finish. She had already picked it up. I went white and lunged forward without thinking. But I was too late. Lyara startled, stumbled back a step — and in that instant, a dark shape flashed past her and caught her before she could fall. The three dragonlings, curled in their nest of soft cloth, tumbled out like three small fruits shaken from a branch. They were so small. So small that when they hit the ground, they made no sound at all. Only the largest of the three — startled awake by the impact — let out a thin, reedy cry. “Baby—!” I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering all three of them into my arms with trembling hands. They were frightened. Their tiny tails wound around my fingers, their little bodies shaking in stuttering, irregular tremors. The oldest one had scraped the skin from his forehead. A faint bead of blood welled up at the wound. The pain of it squeezed the breath out of my chest. Drakar had been closer to that basket than Lyara. If he’d wanted to, he could have pressed it down before she ever reached it. He hadn’t. He had chosen to catch Lyara first. And then watched, without so much as a furrowed brow, as our young hit the ground. I used to wonder about all those nights — the desperate, tangled closeness, the thousand small tendencies he had of bending toward me, the thousand ways he had of sheltering me. If that wasn’t something like love, I had asked myself, then what was? But in this moment, I could no longer pretend I hadn’t been wrong. —

I raised my head, voice shaking, eyes red. “Drakar, please. Please don’t let her throw anything else. I’ll pack everything myself — I’ll take it all with me. I promise I won’t leave a single thing behind.” Drakar flinched. He slowly released the arm he had around Lyara. The dragonlings were still crying — thin, heartbroken sounds aimed at their father. They wanted him to touch them the way he used to. Just once. But before Drakar could even speak— Lyara whirled on him, eyes flooding with tears. “Drakar. You felt something just now, didn’t you? You felt sorry for her. Sorry for the young she gave you. Didn’t you?!” “I knew it. You said you were disgusted, but you never let go of her — not really!” Drakar’s brow furrowed. He moved to deny it instinctively. “That’s not—” “You promised you’d come back for me!” Lyara’s voice broke open. The tears came in a torrent. “You stood in front of everyone and bid top price for her. The other females laughed at me for half a year after that. Said I was deluding myself, that a male like you would never choose someone like me.” “After that, no one wanted to buy me. I had to wash other people’s clothes. Split firewood. Every filthy, exhausting task you can imagine — I did it all.” “One winter I ran a fever for seven days. I was barely conscious. And all I could think about, lying there burning up, was you. Wondering when you would come.” “And where were you? Were you with her? Had you already forgotten I existed?” Her crying softened into something smaller as she pressed herself against his chest, fists beating weakly against him. “Drakar, we’ll have young of our own. I can give you so many…” “Just stop looking at other females. Please.” The tension gradually drained from Drakar’s body. He pulled his gaze away from the dragonlings. Away from me. He raised a careful hand and wiped the tears from Lyara’s face. “Don’t cry. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.” The dragonlings called for him. Their voices grew thinner and thinner. They pressed their small snouts against my fingers, their dark, luminous eyes reflecting my face back at me. Asking a question I didn’t know how to answer. Why are we hurt, and Father won’t look at us? I just watched. My whole face had gone numb, locked into something that wasn’t quite an expression at all. I reached out and touched each of their heads, one by one. It took a long moment before I managed anything resembling a smile. “It’s all right, little ones.” I lowered my head and began gathering things off the ground. Picked something up. It fell again. I picked it up again. It fell again. Tears dropped onto the dirt and disappeared. In the background, Lyara was telling Drakar she wanted a new bed built — she refused to sleep in one that had been shared with another female. She wanted the vegetable garden torn out and replaced with flowers. She wanted the fence taken down. Drakar looked in the direction she pointed. His gaze rested on my green, tended rows for just a moment. He looked down at me. Then he turned away. He tucked his chin against the top of Lyara’s head. “Whatever you want.”

Over the days that followed, I moved into Caelun’s quarters. He had been gone too long. The room was heavy with damp. I cleared out a small corner as best I could. Layered old clothes over dry grass to make the dragonlings something like a nest. At night, the thick, sticky summer air drifted in through the window, carrying the cloying scent of the flowers Drakar had planted over my vegetable beds. The dragonlings fussed and squirmed against my chest, too unsettled to sleep deeply. They were heartbroken. From the day they were born, their father had never been cold to them like this. I leaned down and pressed my lips gently to each of their foreheads. My eyes stung. Outside, the sound of crying carried through the dark. I rolled over and pressed my hands hard against my ears. Then — a crash. A heavy, jarring impact. “Drakar, don’t — don’t touch me. Please, I’m frightened—” Lyara’s voice was filled with a trembling of fear. Then, a stumbling footsteps in the dark. My whole body went taut. The next second, the door was shoved open from outside. Drakar stood in the doorway. His pale green dragon eyes were fixed on me with a wild, locked intensity. His gaze moved over my face, then dropped to the open collar of my robe. I knew that look. I had seen it on a thousand nights. In the dark, it preceded him pulling me close, his tail winding around my waist, and the long, relentless hours that followed. He was in heat. I pressed myself back against the wall. Something in Drakar’s jaw ground tight at the sight of it. He didn’t know what he was angry about. His instincts surged forward regardless, drowning out the rest — that is my female, no one takes her from me. As he stepped toward me, I shook my head desperately. “No. I don’t want this.” My refusal seemed to cut through him. He stopped. He looked at me like he’d been wounded. Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who let me go. “I don’t consent—” But I hadn’t finished the sentence before he caught my wrists easily and pinned them above my head. Then a sharp hiss. The largest dragonling fought free of the blankets. Pushing with his little tail, he dragged himself forward until he was positioned in front of me. I could feel him trembling. His eyes reflected Drakar’s half-shifted form, and what filled them was terror. But he opened his mouth anyway. He bared his small, still-forming fangs and hissed a warning directly at his father. The other two jolted awake. They imitated their brother, shaking violently, pressing up in a trembling row. Three dragonlings barely bigger than my palm, lined up between me and the male who had made them. The tears burst from my eyes without warning. “Baby — don’t, don’t come closer—” I tried to reach for them. Drakar held my wrists. I couldn’t move. Drakar looked down. The heat had clouded his mind. He reached out. The dragonling thrashed in his grip, tail lashing frantically. “Let go of him! You’re hurting him!” I fought like I’d lost my mind. My nails raked his arm. Drakar’s expression tightened. With an absent, careless motion, he tossed the dragonling aside. The tiny body struck the wall and slid down. “Baby!” The pain drove the breath from my lungs. My eyes went red. “What is wrong with you? That is your child! How could you—” Something surfaced in Drakar’s face. A brief flicker of clarity. He stared at his own hand. He looked at the dragonling crumpled against the wall. But the instinct rose again. His gaze returned to me. His hand came back up. “Amber…” he murmured, barely coherent. From the doorway came a scream. “What is happening in here?!” Drakar went rigid. He spun around. Lyara stood barefoot in the entrance, her eyes stretched wide, staring at us. Drakar shoved me away. His face twisted with something I didn’t have a name for. In the panic of the moment, the words came out before he could stop them. “It was — she came onto me.”

I went completely still. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Everything I had known — everything I had believed about the past three years — collapsed in a single moment. And then I laughed. A quiet, involuntary sound. Something in Drakar’s expression shifted as he watched me. His head swam. “That’s not what I—” he started. But before he could finish, Lyara was already on me. She seized a fistful of my hair. Her open hand connected with my face. “You shameless thing!” Before she could land a second blow, Drakar’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. “Lyara!” “So you’re protecting her now?!” His hand slowly lowered. I watched Drakar struggle. His gaze was flat and hollow. Something inside me went quiet. Lyara dragged me by the hair toward the door, pulling hard enough to make me stumble. She hauled me out into the open yard and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Everyone, come look! Drakar doesn’t want her anymore, and she’s still out here throwing herself at my male! Shameless! Disgusting!” Torchlight appeared as other settlement members came out to see. I let her drag me. I had nothing left. There was a ringing in my ears. My mind kept playing back the words Drakar had just said. The next moment, Lyara grabbed the front of my robe. “You like everyone looking at you so much? Then let them look!” Shame and helplessness crashed over me. I began fighting her in earnest. But the fabric tore anyway. Around us, low murmuring ran through the crowd. “Isn’t that Drakar? I thought he was obsessed with Amber. Now he’s throwing her aside for some bony little thing?” “What a waste. Think he’d let someone else take her home?” “Try it if you want your skull caved in. You know how dragon-kin are. No logic.” The cold air hit my skin. I shivered. Drakar stood at a distance. He was ashen. His lips moved. Whatever thought he’d formed, he swallowed it. Lyara finished her performance. She threw the torn fabric in my face, turned on her heel, and slammed the door. Several sets of hungry eyes lingered on me. They slid away one by one when they glanced at Drakar. The crowd dispersed. Drakar walked toward me. His fingers trembled slightly. He curled them into a fist and stepped past me. “I’ll go calm her down. When she settles, I’ll come back for you.” The door closed. Silence. I slowly pulled the remnants of my clothing around my body. My crying had already gone hoarse. All that remained were ragged, irregular breaths. I didn’t know how much time passed. Then someone stepped in front of me, blocking the moonlight. I looked up. My vision was blurred. A young dragon-kin stood over me. His face was strikingly, almost dangerously beautiful — and at that moment, etched with shock. He breathed out a single word. “…Sister-in-law?”

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“Let me loosen your dress. Don’t embarrass us at the banquet.” My mother approached my waist with scissors. In my past life, she snipped the seam. I was exposed in front of the entire Sterling family. My sister draped her coat over me and stole the marriage contract. I was exiled to the countryside and froze to death in a shack — only to learn on my deathbed that my sister was my father’s secret love child, and my mother was her accomplice. This time, as the scissors came down, I lunged into her arms. The blade sank into her own palm. My sister rushed to help her, and I tugged loose her belt. “Does your hand hurt, Mom?” I wiped the blood from her fingers. “In my last life, I hurt a thousand times more than this.” …… After finally finding my biological parents, they arranged for me and my adopted sister to meet the heir of the Sterling Group. Before we left, my mother personally straightened my collar, but she secretly pulled a loose thread from my dress’s waistline. The moment we arrived at the Sterling manor, I leaned over to change my shoes, and the side of my dress burst open, exposing my slip. Mrs. Sterling sneered in disgust, “Blood-related or not, she’s so indecent she can’t even dress herself—what an embarrassment!” My sister, Maya, draped her designer coat over me right then, earning praise for her grace and sisterly love, which effortlessly secured her the marriage contract. Back home, I knelt and begged for justice. My father only snorted, “You couldn’t even keep your clothes together and humiliated the entire family; how dare you blame others?” My mother added with fake concern, “Since you returned, Maya has been crying every day out of guilt; you only lost a marriage, so stop acting like it’s the end of the world.” Later, Maya had a grand wedding while my reputation was ruined, and I was exiled to a derelict farm in the countryside where I eventually froze to death in a drafty shack. It was only before I died that I realized that thread had been intentionally snipped by my mother’s scissors. I have been reborn. My mother is smiling again, reaching out to straighten my collar: “The silk is slippery, honey; let me tighten this so you don’t look unrefined.” I snapped back to reality, seeing that same fake smile on her face. “The silk is slippery, honey; let me tighten this so you don’t look unrefined.” As she spoke, her fingers brushed toward my sleeve, revealing the tip of a tiny blade. In my past life, these small scissors snipped the seam of my waistline, leaving me exposed and humiliated in front of the Sterlings. In the freezing midwinter of my past, I had shivered in that shack. Maya had stepped on the back of my hand, mocking me: “Sister, I didn’t expect that just because I said I was afraid you’d outshine me, Mom would personally cut your future to pieces.” The cold wind of that shack seemed to still linger in my bones. I stared at my mother’s well-manicured hands, my heart hammering against my ribs. She continued to smile as she adjusted my collar, her fingers ready to strike my waistline with the scissors. Suddenly, my knees buckled, and I lunged forward. “Oh!” I let out a cry and crashed into my mother’s arms. Caught off guard by my sudden fall, her hand slipped. The scissors sliced through the air and stabbed directly into the back of her own hand. “Ouch!” My mother shrieked in pain, and the scissors hit the floor with a loud clang. I took the opportunity to wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing tightly from behind. Using my body as a shield, my right hand reached out to the side. Maya was standing nearby, waiting for the show to begin. She was wearing a limited-edition dress my mother had custom-made for her, cinched with an exquisite leather belt. Before she could react, my fingers hooked onto her belt buckle and gave it a sharp pull. The fastened buckle instantly came loose. I stood up quickly, feigning total panic. “Mom! Are you okay? It’s all my fault, I slipped!” I held her steady, looking deeply concerned. My mother clutched her bleeding hand, hissing in pain, and shot me a venomous look: “Clumsy girl! We’re going to the Sterlings, and you’re acting like a savage!” Maya stepped forward, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wrap my mother’s hand. She rolled her eyes at me with contempt before pretending to speak up for me: “Mom, Elena is just nervous, don’t blame her. She just got back from the countryside and hasn’t seen the world, so it’s natural for her legs to go weak.” My father, Arthur, stood at the door with his hands behind his back, glancing at the clock with a scowl: “Enough! Stop wasting time! We’re going to be late, and if you keep Mrs. Sterling waiting, can either of you handle the consequences?” Father didn’t even glance at me; his eyes only softened when they landed on Maya: “Maya looks elegant today, truly sophisticated. Once we’re at the manor, keep an eye on your sister so she doesn’t humiliate us.” Maya nodded obediently: “Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll take good care of her.” She straightened her back, puffing her chest out like a proud peacock. I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips.

My mother’s hand was still seeping blood, staining the handkerchief. Since time was running out, she didn’t have a chance to mess with my waistline and instead grabbed a jewelry box. “Maya, this was a gift from your grandmother; I’m giving it to you now for good luck.” She took out a sapphire pendant and personally fastened it around Maya’s neck. “This blue suits your skin tone; it’s beautiful but subtle for the Sterlings.” Maya touched the pendant, her eyes curving with delight: “Thank you, Mom, I’ll treasure it.” I stood to the side with empty hands and a plain, cheap belt. My mother finally noticed me and rummaged through a corner of the box, pulling out a handful of old hairpins with peeling gold paint: “Elena, wear these so you can’t say I’m biased. Your outfit is plain, so these will provide some contrast.” She shoved them into my hand, not caring if they even matched. Father watched and, instead of finding it unfair, nodded in approval: “Maya was raised in London; she has the class for that pendant. Elena spent her life in the dirt; wearing fine things would just look ridiculous on her.” I squeezed the cheap hairpins until they bit into my palm. The countryside? Why was I even there? It was because they threw me away to some distant relatives years ago to hide from their creditors. Now they only brought me back because the Sterlings insisted on the “biological” daughter to fulfill the old marriage pact. Even though Maya was the favorite, she was legally just an adopted orphan. They needed to use me as a stepping stone to get Maya into the Sterling family. In my past life, I never understood why my own parents were so heartless. Until the moment before I died, I heard the neighbors gossiping. “Mr. Blackwood is truly cruel, leaving his real daughter to die for the sake of an adopted one.” “Adopted? That’s his secret love child with his mistress!” “Mrs. Blackwood knew all along, but to keep her husband happy, she raised the bastard as an ‘adopted’ child and trampled her own daughter to pave the way.” So that was the truth. One was the precious child of a mistress. The other was the unwanted burden of a legal wife. My mother sacrificed her own child just to keep her husband’s favor. My father treated me like trash for the sake of his hidden affair. I gripped the hairpins until they bent and broke in my hand. I looked at the three of them—Maya holding my mother’s arm, my father looking on with fatherly love. They were a happy family, and I was the intruder. “Dad, Mom, it’s time to go.” Father gave me a look of pure annoyance: “What’s the rush? No manners at all. When we get to the manor, speak less and follow Maya’s lead. If you ruin this marriage, I’ll send you straight to a strict boarding school in the middle of nowhere!” I lowered my gaze and said nothing. A boarding school? I’ve already been to hell; that’s nothing.

The car drove toward the Sterling estate. Maya sat in the prime seat, constantly fidgeting with her sapphire pendant. The Sterling’s head housekeeper, Rachel, was also in the car, officially as an escort but actually to observe our character. Maya didn’t stop talking the entire way. “Rachel, I heard the Sterling gardens are the finest in the country.” “Rachel, I’ve learned a new piano piece; do you think the Mistress would enjoy a recital?” “Rachel, look at this pendant; my mother gave it to me specially.” Rachel grew pale, her brow furrowing as she pressed her hand against her temple, clearly in significant pain. I watched this and smiled inwardly. In my past life, Maya was just as noisy, but she got lucky because Mrs. Sterling happened to have a migraine that day. Maya had used a scent recipe she stole from my notes to relieve the headache and won the Mistress’s favor. This time, I wouldn’t give her the chance. I took a small, elegant box from my bag. Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a slender glass vial with a rollerball tip. I had spent my three years of exile apprenticing with an old-world apothecary, mastering the art of therapeutic botanicals. This was my own signature blend. “You look pale, Rachel,” I said, uncapping the vial. A crisp, clarifying scent of peppermint, eucalyptus, and something deeply green filled the air. “I made this for tension headaches. Just a touch on your temples or wrists should help.” Maya immediately glared, her voice a low hiss. “Elena! What is that stuff? Are you seriously giving Rachel some homemade concoction? If you make her condition worse, can you even afford the doctor’s bill?” Rachel was already nauseous, and Maya’s screeching made her head feel like it was exploding. She shot Maya a look of pure annoyance, then ignored her completely. Turning to me, she gestured toward the vial. “May I?” I handed it to her. She held it under her nose for a moment, inhaling deeply. The crisp, clarifying scent of peppermint and eucalyptus, grounded by a hint of sandalwood, seemed to cut through the stuffy air in the car. “This is lovely,” Rachel admitted, a touch of surprise in her voice. She dabbed a small amount onto her wrists as I had suggested. I moved closer. “Forgive the intrusion, Rachel.” My fingers found the tense muscles at the base of her neck and behind her ears. “There’s a pressure point here.” Using a specialized technique, I applied firm, rhythmic pressure to the knots of tension. In moments, Rachel’s tightened brow relaxed, and she let out a long sigh of relief. The sallow, strained look on her face began to fade, replaced by a healthier flush of color. “That’s an excellent technique,” Rachel said, opening her eyes. Her gaze, now clear and sharp, was filled with a new kind of scrutiny and respect. “Miss Elena, where did you learn that? That’s not something just anyone can do.” I paused, letting my hands fall away. “Just some basic acupressure I picked up from a physician while I was away,” I replied calmly. “Nothing to make a fuss over.” Rachel smiled, a genuine, appreciative smile this time. “You’re far too modest. If that’s ‘basic,’ then most of the city’s top massage therapists should be ashamed of themselves.” Maya sat beside us, twisting her napkins in a silent rage. She didn’t expect me to have this skill and tried to cut in: “Rachel, she just got lucky—” Rachel shot her a cold look: “If you’re tired, Miss Maya, perhaps you should rest your voice. Mrs. Sterling likes peace and detests those who are too noisy.” Maya’s face stiffened as she shut her mouth. Rachel ignored her and whispered a tip to me: “Not only is the Mistress here, but the young master is home too. Master Julian is cold by nature and dislikes girls who are overdone or fake. Character is what matters most here.” I nodded slightly: “Thank you for the advice, Rachel.” The car slowed to a halt; we had arrived at the Sterling manor.

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