I am the Matriarch of all Lycans — ancient beyond counting, immortal, ageless. The Lycan keeps me hidden within the palace, a sacred relic they parade as their good-luck charm. I have guided every Lycan King across the centuries. I devised their strategies, advised their wars, and carved out kingdoms from nothing. Then a new Luna arrived. The moment the Lycan King stepped away, she kicked open my chamber door. “I always wondered what kind of cheap little whore had the King running to this corner of the palace every day,” she spat, stepping inside as though she owned every stone beneath her feet. “You don’t even have a title. You’re nothing but the lowest mistress around here. Disgusting.” I almost laughed. My great-great-grandson — who is barely a thousand years younger than I am — would make me his mistress? The thought alone was absurd. Beside me, my handmaiden tugged anxiously at my sleeve, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Matriarch, please don’t let it upset you. When the King returns, he’ll set things right for you…” I smiled, rose from my chaise, and smoothed my robe. Whether the King set things right was the least of my concerns. After all, whoever sat on the throne of this kingdom — that was my decision to make. Word had reached me that Alpha Lucas had returned to the capital just days ago, victorious from the northern campaign. That boy. I had raised him with my own hands. He had ten times more sense than this Lycan King. … I had no interest in wasting breath on such a foolish creature. I tilted my chin toward my handmaiden. “Elara. Go deliver a message.” “Go to Alpha Lucas’s pack. Tell him my peace has been disturbed, and I’d like him to come collect me.” The Luna blinked — then burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. “I didn’t realize the palace had produced such a character. Invoking Alpha Lucas, of all people.” “Do you have any idea who Alpha Lucas is? He is the Lycan King’s own uncle. He commands five hundred thousand elite warriors. And you — a nameless, titleless nothing — think you’re worthy of being collected by him?” Those five hundred thousand warriors were mine to begin with. I trained them personally and passed them to Alpha Lucas when he came of age. He had begged me for years to come live at his pack. But the Lycan King had been young and fumbling on the throne, running to me every single day with questions. I had declined out of obligation. I said nothing to the Luna. I simply glanced at Elara. Elara finally snapped to attention and hurried toward the door. “Stop.” The Luna’s voice cracked like a whip. The attendant at her side moved instantly to block Elara’s path. “I have not given permission to leave. Since when do handmaidens walk wherever they please? Have you no sense of order?” I reclined against the chaise and watched the scene unfold with quiet eyes. A thousand years. I had seen this exact performance more times than I could count. Every generation, someone new had to try it. The Luna noticed that Elara would not answer her, and her interest sharpened. She turned toward me, wearing a grin. “Oh, how loyal. Your mistress stays silent, so you stay silent too. Tell me — do you both think you’ve found someone important to hide behind?” “I’m genuinely curious about you,” she continued, prowling closer. “What exactly is your story? The King is here every other day. He skipped the Lycan royal’s anniversary banquet. He walked out of a council session mid-deliberation because someone told him you weren’t feeling well.” “I expected some breathtaking beauty. But looking at you now…” She shrugged. “Nothing special.” I kept the amusement off my face. Of course the King put my wellbeing first. Without me, he would never have clawed his way onto that throne as a weak werewolf of a lesser line. And he certainly would not have kept it. The Luna stepped closer and cupped my chin in her fingers, forcing my head up. “Let me guess,” she said, studying me. “Is it that you’re exceptional in bed? Or did you use some kind of spell — slip something into his drink to keep him crawling back?” I let her hold my chin. I smiled. “How old are you, Luna?” She blinked, thrown off by the question. She answered before she could stop herself. “Eighteen.” “Eighteen.” I nodded slowly. “When I was your age, your great-great-great-great-grandfather was still in diapers.” Silence settled over the room like snowfall. The Luna’s expression traveled from confusion, to blankness, to fury. “You — you dare insult me?!” She raised her hand to strike.

I did not move out of the way. Not because I couldn’t. After a thousand years of living, there was not a soul in this palace fast enough to touch even the hem of my robe if I chose otherwise. But I suddenly remembered the last time I had been struck. More than four hundred years ago. A Lycan Queen, just as entitled, just as blind to her own smallness. She had stormed through my door the same way. Called me the same names. She later spent an entire night on her knees outside my chamber, forehead to the ground, begging me to put in a good word for her with the King. The slap landed. My cheek burned. I lay against the chaise and let it hurt, and I thought: four hundred years, and these people have learned absolutely nothing. The Luna froze after hitting me. “Why didn’t you dodge?” I looked at her. I didn’t answer. Something in my gaze unsettled her. Her humiliation curdled into rage, and she lunged forward, grabbing my collar. “What kind of look is that? I hit you and you look at me like that?” Elara was frantic on the other side of the room — trying to push past the much larger attendant, unable to break through, her voice cracking with tears. “My Lady! You can’t do this! You really cannot — she’s not — she isn’t—” The attendant moved before Elara could finish. A single strike, precise and brutal. Elara crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The fist I had tucked inside my sleeve tightened. A thousand years. I had made my peace with loss long ago. The handmaidens in my life came and went like tides — each one a brief shimmer in the long river of time, and then gone. But that did not mean I would stand by while they suffered for serving me. The Luna noticed my reaction. Her eyes lit up as though she had found something delightful. “Oh. That hurt you, didn’t it?” She released my collar and strolled to where Elara lay, nudging the girl’s face with the toe of her shoe. “She’s just a handmaiden. Is she really worth your feelings?” “Luna.” My voice was even. “Does the Lycan King know what you’re doing here today?” She paused. “The King? He’s in council with his advisors right now. No time to worry about something as small as you.” “And even if he knew — do you really think he’d pick a nameless, titleless thing like you over me?” I said nothing. She seemed to remember something then, and turned to her attendant with a curious frown. “Actually — how long has she been in this palace? What exactly is she?” The attendant smiled nervously. “My Lady, I looked into it. She has no rank, no title. Everyone in the palace calls her the King’s… outside mistress.” The Luna’s face transformed. She laughed until her sides shook. “A mistress? An outside mistress? All this time I thought she was someone, and she can’t even claim the lowest rank among the mistress!” I rose slowly to my feet. She took one instinctive step back. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Only trying to tell you something, Luna,” I said, unhurried. “You are eighteen. That is a young and beautiful age — a time when life has given you everything and asked nothing in return. You grew up cherished. Nothing has broken you yet.” Something almost like pride crossed her face. “Naturally. My father and brother gave me everything I ever wanted.” “Which is exactly why,” I continued, “you do not yet know which words must never be spoken, which lines must never be crossed, and which people must never be provoked. You need know which is your power and rights boundry.” “Leave room with your respect, Luna. The bridges you burn today are the ones you may need to cross tomorrow.” She stared at me for a moment. Then she laughed again, high and sharp. “You — a mistress without even a name to call your own — are lecturing me about power and rights?”

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My father hated me for ten years. He blamed me for my mother’s disappearance. He hated that my face bore no resemblance to hers. He adopted a girl who looked almost exactly like her — eight out of ten, people said — and spoiled her rotten. He took her on trips around the world, brought her to Ice-Moon Pack gatherings, paraded her on talk shows, and announced to every werewolf in the territory that she was his one and only daughter. Meanwhile, I wore ill-fitting hand-me-downs and slept in the servants’ quarters. He let her bully me, slander me, push me — a girl who couldn’t swim — into Moonlight Lake. He said I deserved it. And I believed him. Until the day I turned sixteen. That was the day Mom came back. ———- Three days from now was my sixteenth birthday. Every year, on that same day, Father threw a birthday banquet — for Vivienne Hartwell. Every single classmate had received Vivienne’s birthday invitation. Every one of them except me. “Rosalind, don’t take it personally,” Vivienne said, drifting up to my desk with practiced sympathy. “It was probably the butler’s mistake. He must have miscounted and missed one.” She stood there, her face a mask of apologetic innocence. I kept my head down, working through my problem sets without so much as a glance in her direction. I’d had nearly ten years to study Vivienne’s tricks. I’d long since stopped being surprised by any of them. “Vivienne, why are you even explaining yourself to her?” A classmate shot to her feet, indignant on Vivienne’s behalf. “You’re too kind, that’s the problem. That’s why she keeps walking all over you.” “Exactly!” another chimed in. “She’s a servant’s daughter, freeloading under your roof, eating your family’s food, going to school on your father’s money — and instead of being grateful, she steals from you. Anyone else would have thrown her out by now.” “She’s nothing but an ungrateful little snake!” “She’s just jealous, Vivienne. Jealous of your family name, your grades, your popularity.” “Better she doesn’t come at all. Last thing we need is for her to ruin a perfectly good birthday party.” “She lives at Hartwell Manor anyway — she doesn’t need an invitation. On the mistress’s birthday, shouldn’t the help be there to serve?” Laughter rippled through the room. Vivienne waited until they’d had their fill, then spoke in her soft, unhurried way. “Oh, please — I wouldn’t ask Rosalind to do that. Other days, maybe, but that day is her birthday too.” She tilted her head, an artful little frown playing at her lips. “Rosalind, I’m so sorry. I did want to invite you to cut the cake with me. But Father said no. Can’t exactly blame him, can we, after what you did? It’s only natural he doesn’t want you there.” I picked up my pen and threw it directly at her face. “Get out.” —

Ten years ago, my mother disappeared. She had gone to pick up the birthday gift she’d ordered for me — a gift I had begged and pleaded for — and she never came home. Father searched for her like a man possessed. He turned the territory upside down. He found nothing. I cried for her every day. Mom had raised me like a little queen. All my life, one cry from me had been enough to make the world bend in my direction. One afternoon, the nanny couldn’t settle me down and brought me to Father as a last resort. He stared at me for a long moment with something cold and dark in his eyes. Then he kicked me away. “Get out of my sight.” “How dare you cry. How dare you.” “If you hadn’t thrown your tantrum about that birthday gift, your mother would never have gone out. This is your fault.” “Don’t let me see your face again. Go.” From that day on, the little princess who had been cradled in her mother’s arms became a burden no one wanted. Whether I ate depended on the nanny’s mood. And then Father brought home a girl from the orphanage. A girl who looked like Mom. He gave her my bedroom. He gave her my princess dresses. He gave her my birthday. He gave her my identity. While he filmed a family reality show with her at age six, I was back at the manor being mistreated by the nanny, eating soured leftovers. The day he publicly announced that Vivienne Hartwell was his only daughter, I understood: I had lost my father. —

After school, I came home bleeding. Vivienne was wildly popular. The moment I’d thrown the pen at her, a boy in our class had leapt up and shoved me into a desk. My forehead caught the corner of it, and as I lay there on the floor, I looked up at a room full of faces — cold, amused, utterly indifferent. From elementary school through high school, I had never had a single friend. Vivienne had seen to that, cheerfully orchestrating my social exile year after year. I wasn’t afraid of being isolated. What I was afraid of was the teacher’s demand: a parent had to come to school by Monday. The boy’s parents arrived that same afternoon, all fierce defense and wounded pride. “My son was standing up for what was right — everyone saw it. She threw the pen first.” “Baby, are you hurt? Let me look at you.” “A girl this unstable shouldn’t be allowed in school. Who knows what she’ll do next time?” I stood there with blood drying on my face and thought: if Mom were still here, she’d fight for me like this. She wouldn’t do what Father did — check Vivienne’s face for scratches while waving me away with a look of disgust. —

“You knew Vivienne had a filming session today, and you still had to go and mark up her face.” “Rosalind Hartwell, your mother was one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known. How did she produce something like you? Sometimes I wonder if you’re even hers.” “Haven’t you done enough damage to your mother already? Now you want to destroy Vivienne too?” I studied my father’s face. That look of revulsion — I’d been watching it for ten years. He hadn’t always looked at me that way. When Mom was alive, he loved me. He grieved sometimes that I didn’t resemble her the way he wished I did, but he poured himself into being my father all the same. He named me Rosalind. Said I was Hartwell’s most precious jewel. He bought me beautiful dresses and fine jewelry. On my fifth birthday, he gave me an estate. When a classmate shoved me on the playground, he was furious — he summoned the child’s family to apologize in person and hired three different coaches to teach me self-defense. “If someone hurts you,” he told me, “you hit back. I don’t care who it is.” “No matter what happens,” he promised, “your father and mother will always have your back.” The man who had made that promise was now standing in front of me, demanding to know why I had hurt *his* Vivienne. “Go to your room and think about what you’ve done. You don’t leave until I say so.” Not once, through any of it, did he look at the wound on my forehead. Not once did I find the courage to tell him what the teacher had said. He wouldn’t come to school for me. In all these years, he had only ever attended parents’ meetings for Vivienne. —

By the time they let me out the next morning, my wound had gone septic. I pushed open my door to find the main hall full of cameras — lighting rigs, production crew, a host and her assistants arranged around Father and Vivienne in the sitting room. The tenderness on Father’s face was something I hadn’t seen directed at anyone in ten years. Host: “As the Alpha of Ice-Moon Pack, you must have very little time to spend with your daughter. How have you managed to raise such a remarkable young woman?” Father: “She’s just naturally good. I only have the one daughter, and no matter how busy I get, I always make time for her.” Vivienne snuggled into his arm and pouted prettily. “My daddy is the best daddy in the whole world. I just wish he had even more time for me! Daddy, we haven’t gone abroad at all this year!” Father laughed, indulgent and a little helpless. “Alright, alright. After your birthday, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” I blinked. My chest felt hollow. I had seen this scene so many times that it barely cut anymore. Not much, anyway. But I couldn’t help it. My mind drifted back — ten years, to when Mom was still here. I had been the one tucked under her arm, making ridiculous little demands, testing the limits of how much she would give me. The answer was always: everything. She’d had a moonstone necklace she’d worn for as long as I could remember. I mentioned once that I liked it, and she took it off and fastened it around my neck without a second’s hesitation. “Take good care of this, my Rosalind. It belonged to your grandmother. I’ve worn it for so many years.” She had stroked my hair as she said it, and there had been something in her eyes I was too young to understand — a grief and a longing I couldn’t name. On the other side of the room, the host’s voice shifted. “Vivienne, do you think about your mother often? The late Mrs. Hartwell was known throughout the pack as the perfect Luna. We’ve heard that Vivienne hopes to attend the Luna Academy — is that ambition inspired by her mother’s legacy?” The air in the room tightened. Mom’s name was a forbidden thing in Father’s house. Normally, a question like that would have made him explode. But today was different. Today was Vivienne’s first public appearance since her wolf had awakened. She had emerged as a low-ranking Omega, and Father was already laying the groundwork to position her as a future Luna — hoping that status, carefully cultivated, might one day attract a powerful mate. Vivienne’s expression fell into practiced sorrow. “I miss my mother every single day. I want to be a Luna who truly cares for the members of this pack — partly because I want to become someone as perfect and capable as she was.” She reached into her collar and drew out a necklace. “This is the only thing she left me. Whenever I’m sad, I take it out and hold it, and I feel like she’s still with me.” The moment I saw it, something detonated in my chest. That was my necklace. My mother’s necklace. The one she had given me. Vivienne had taken everything from me over these ten years. That necklace was the last thing I had left. I crossed the room in four steps and tore it from her hands. —

“Rosalind Hartwell!” Father’s face darkened instantly. “Who gave you permission to come out here?” “Rosalind?” Vivienne stood, confusion arranged perfectly across her features. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” “When did you steal it, Vivienne?” I checked the box where I kept the necklace every night before I slept. Last night, it had still been there. Through every year they’d refused to care about me, that necklace had been the one thing that kept me from drowning. It was proof that someone had once loved me. Proof that my mother had been real. “Steal? I — what?” Vivienne’s eyes went wide with theatrical innocence. “Rosalind, that is enough.” Father’s jaw was tight. “This is Vivienne’s interview.” “I don’t care about any interview! This necklace belonged to my mother and she gave it to me. What gives her the right to take it? She’s already taken everything else — wasn’t that enough?” “And another thing — my mother is not dead. Watch your mouth, Vivienne. This is not a keepsake. It is not a relic.” The host looked between us uncertainly. “Is this…?” Vivienne shot Father a panicked glance. Father’s expression settled into something smooth and cold. “A servant’s relative. She lives on the grounds.” I gripped the necklace until the chain bit into my palm. The cold started somewhere at the base of my spine and spread upward. Father had told the world long ago that he had only one daughter. Vivienne had spent years at school calling me the nanny’s child. But this was the first time he had said it to my face, out loud, with cameras rolling. The panic drained from Vivienne’s expression. Satisfaction replaced it. She moved while I was still reeling, and snatched the necklace from my hand. “Rosalind, I think you’re confused. This isn’t yours.” “If there’s something else you’d like — anything else, no matter the cost — just tell me and I’ll give it to you. But this necklace is the only thing my mother left me. I can’t let it go.” The crew watched me with poorly concealed contempt. A servant’s child, crashing a live broadcast to steal from the young mistress. The math wasn’t hard for them. Someone muttered: “She’s doing it on purpose. Wants the drama. Wants to go viral.” I didn’t have the energy to care what any of them thought. I only wanted the necklace back. “Give it back. It’s the last thing she gave me. Give it back.” Vivienne let me grab her wrist — then opened her fingers. The necklace fell. The moonstone pendant struck the marble floor and shattered into pieces. I stumbled. My mind went perfectly blank. The last thing my mother had ever given me. Gone. “Now are you satisfied? Get out.” Father’s voice was barely controlled fury, his eyes like he wanted to tear me apart. Vivienne pressed a hand to her mouth, tears welling. “Rosalind — how could you?” The crew murmured their disapproval. I heard none of it. I was already on my knees, gathering the fragments. The broken edges sliced my fingertips. My tears fell onto the cuts — warm, wet, stinging. —

I became the target of everyone’s rage. The footage went out the same day. Viewers flooded in to comfort Father and Vivienne while I was dissected and denounced by thousands of strangers. Several of my classmates set themselves up as insiders and began posting exposés — claiming that the Hartwell family funded my private school tuition, that Vivienne had endured my abuse with saintly patience for years, that I was the aggressor, always had been. *Ungrateful little snake.* *This is exactly why you shouldn’t help people. They raise them up and get bitten for it.* *That necklace was moonstone — Hartwell-level quality. Where would a servant’s daughter get something like that? If her mother could afford moonstone, what was she doing working as a nanny?* *Make her pay for what she broke. That was Vivienne’s mother’s property.* *Vivienne looks so much like her mother. I used to follow Serena — seeing Vivienne cry is breaking my heart. If Serena were alive, she’d be heartbroken to see her daughter treated this way.* *Serena adored her daughter. If she knew this was happening…* Serena was my mother’s name. I read that last comment and felt a dull, deep ache. If Mom were still alive, would she grieve for me? If she came back — would she even recognize me? Would she take Vivienne’s side the way Father did? After all, it was my fault she’d disappeared. After all, I looked nothing like her. —

Vivienne’s birthday party: the whole class was invited, and they all came. They knocked on my door and shouted insults through it, rallying to Vivienne’s honor. I was locked in. Father’s orders. He hadn’t even deigned to enter the room — he’d delivered his verdict through the door. “Rosalind Hartwell, do you have any idea how much your mother would be ashamed of you? That necklace was the most precious thing she owned. It belonged to your grandmother.” “You deliberately went after Vivienne. Do you know how long she spent preparing for that broadcast?” “If your mother could see you now, she would regret ever having you.” After Father left, Vivienne let herself in with a key. “Rosalind. Tell me — when Father said out loud that you were a servant’s daughter, what did that feel like?” “You’ve got real nerve, staying in this house. You killed your mother. Father despises you. He wishes you were dead — he just hasn’t said it to your face yet.” I didn’t answer her. I looked out the window. The grounds were lit up and alive. They’d set up a venue along the edge of the artificial lake — flowers, banners, helium balloons in clusters, a champagne tower. Gift boxes were stacked in every color. The birthday cake was ten tiers high. I had seen this scene every year for ten years. It was my memory, my dream. The birthday that had been taken from me and given to someone else, in my own home, while I watched from the window. Someone called Vivienne down to cut the cake. Her face went cold. She hated being ignored. “Rosalind! I’m talking to you!” “Why didn’t you die with your mother?” She grabbed the moonstone fragments from my hand and hurled them out through the open window — into the lake. I was on my feet before I’d made any decision. I climbed the windowsill and jumped. Screams. Shouts. Cold water flooding my ears and nose. As consciousness slipped away from me, I thought I heard her voice. Mom’s voice. Calling my name. “Rosalind! Baby, I’m here!” —

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On my wedding day, my wife’s crew of guy friends cornered my little sister in the bridal suite. I grabbed a chair and tried to smash the door down to save her. My wife wrapped her arm around my throat and threw me to the floor. “It’s our big day, babe. The boys are just having a little fun.” Her father sat on the couch across the room, rolling a pair of walnuts in his palm, watching like it was entertainment. When the door finally opened, my sister stumbled out — clothes torn, blood running from her mouth. She had bitten through her own tongue trying to end it. Her father called in favors to have it ruled an accident. They told me to keep my mouth shut for the sake of both families’ reputations. I came at them with a kitchen knife. My wife kicked me square in the chest. I choked on my own blood and died right there in the hallway outside the bridal suite. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment the wedding cars pulled up. The first thing I did was send my sister away — told her to go find our aunt. I watched her walk out the front gate of the estate and finally let myself breathe. I thought we were safe. I thought we’d escaped. Then, a few minutes later, a scream tore through the ceiling above me. I looked up in horror at the locked door of the bridal suite. My sister was gone. So who the hell was inside? A scream from upstairs. Then a heavy thud — the kind that vibrates through the floor and makes the crystal chandelier in the foyer sway. My head snapped up toward the second-floor landing. The door to the bridal suite was shut tight. I straightened my jacket and bolted for the stairs. An arm shot out from nowhere and shoved me hard in the shoulder. I lost my footing and slammed my lower back into the banister, the pain punching the air out of my lungs. Linc was leaning against the railing, chewing gum, casually wiping his hand on the lapel of his groomsman suit. “Easy, brother-in-law.” He grinned. “Big day like this, you don’t wanna go killing the vibe upstairs, do you?” “Something goes wrong up there and you cause it? That’s on you.” I stared at the grease on his face and said nothing. Another sound from above — glass shattering, clean and sharp. Then fabric tearing. Then a woman’s muffled, broken sobbing. The sounds filtered through the door like they were coming from underwater — heavy, suffocating, hopeless. I shoved Linc aside. “Move. Someone up there is screaming for help.” He didn’t budge. He shoved me back, his knuckle dragging a raw line across my forearm. “Help?” He laughed. “That’s just Zane giving the place some good luck. That girl should be thanking him.” “Half the women in Florida would kill to get Zane’s attention, and she just stumbled into it. Lucky her.” “Especially since it’s your wedding night. She’s riding your coattails.” I shook from head to toe and raised my fist. Someone caught my wrist mid-swing. Cassidy — my bride — reeking of champagne, wrenched my arm down and stepped between us. I stumbled backward and nearly went down. She adjusted the neckline of her wedding dress, her expression flat with irritation. “Ethan. What the hell is your problem?” “That’s the boys blowing off steam. Why would you go up there and ruin it for everyone?” “They came out today as a favor. You should be grateful.” “The more chaos, the more blessing. It’s tradition, babe.” I pointed at the ceiling. “Tradition? Tradition is rape?” “That is a crime, Cassidy. Open that door. Right now.” She let out a cold laugh and planted herself at the foot of the stairs. “Rape.” She said the word like it tasted ridiculous in her mouth. “That’s just fun. That’s just a good time between grown-ups.” “Your uptight little sister has been acting holier-than-thou her whole life. I bet she’s having the time of her life up there.” “Getting Zane’s attention? She won’t have to worry about money for the rest of her life.” Her father — Hector — was spread out on the leather sectional, cracking open pistachios with his thumbnail, dropping the shells on the floor. He didn’t look up. “Enough. You’re embarrassing yourselves.” He gestured lazily. “This is a gift. That girl getting Zane’s attention? That’s good fortune for this family.” “You’re her brother and you’re standing there screaming like a lunatic. You’ve got no manners.” Then the scream from upstairs shifted — higher, more animal, ripping through every wall in the house. “Help me! Please — somebody help me!” My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I lunged again. “I’m calling 911.” Cassidy’s eyes went hard. She spun and drove her stiletto heel straight into my gut. I folded, gasping. My phone skidded across the tile. She crossed to it in three steps and brought her heel down on the screen. The crack was clean and final. She picked up the broken shell of it and dropped it into the fish tank by the entryway. It sank slowly, trailing a string of small bubbles. Cassidy walked to the front door and turned the deadbolt. She pocketed the key. Then she got in my face, her cheeks flushed and shaking. “Nobody leaves this house. Not until Zane is finished. You hear me?” “If you do anything — anything — to mess this up for me, I will put you in the ground myself.” Hector spit a pistachio shell at my chest. “Pathetic. You married into this family and the first thing you do is try to sic the cops on your own wife.” “Men like you deserve everything coming to them.”

The noises from the second floor went on for a full ten minutes. I tried to get to a window to signal someone outside. Linc grabbed me by the collar and hauled me back. Buttons popped off my shirt and scattered across the floor. I gritted through the pain and drove my fist into the side of his face. He yelped. His cheek went red immediately. Cassidy came at me from behind, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me onto the couch. Hector was up now, wielding a feather duster like a whip, raining it down on me. “You hit my nephew? In my house? On my daughter’s wedding day?” “You piece of trash — your own parents didn’t even want you!” He kept swinging. The feathers hissed with every stroke. I covered my head and pushed into the corner of the couch. And then the sounds upstairs changed. A single dull impact. Like a skull meeting a wall. Then a faint, faint trembling — barely audible. Then nothing. Total silence. The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. Linc straightened his jacket, grinning. “Well. Sounds like she finally came around.” “Told you. They all act tough. Then they get in the room and their whole attitude changes.” “Brother-in-law, your sister knows a good opportunity when she sees one.” “When she’s rolling in Zane’s money, don’t forget who set it all up.” Hector dropped the feather duster on the coffee table and picked up his drink. “Young girls today.” He sipped, satisfied. “They say no with their mouths and yes with everything else.” “Zane’s a real man. Not every guy can handle a firecracker like that.” I stared up at the closed door, my palms slick with blood from where my fingernails had dug in. I had watched my sister walk out the gate with my own eyes. But what if she’d come back? Cassidy checked her watch, smoothed out her gown, and smiled like she’d just closed a business deal. “All right. We’re about due. Zane’s probably wrapping up.” “I’ll go check in. We’ll bring him down for a toast.” “The construction contract hits our account by Monday. Vega Construction is going to own this whole city.” She started up the stairs. Each step she took landed somewhere inside my ribs. She reached the door — painted a deep colonial red — and turned the handle. A click.

The door swung open. Cassidy stepped inside and disappeared. Several seconds of absolute silence. Then a shriek — not a scream, a shriek — from upstairs. Cassidy’s voice, completely unraveled. “Oh my God—” Then Zane, furious and snarling. “Would you shut up? Jesus Christ. What is wrong with you people?” “The girl is out of her mind. She threw herself headfirst into the damn wall.” “I barely touched her and she loses it. I almost got blood all over my shirt.” Downstairs, Hector’s hand jerked and tea sloshed down his front. He was on his feet. “What happened? Is someone hurt? Oh God, don’t tell me someone’s dead in this house.” He scrambled for the stairs. Linc followed, loosening his tie. “Cass! Talk to me!” I was alone in the foyer. I dragged myself to the front door. Still deadbolted. No key. I grabbed a vase from the console table and hurled it at the window. Glass exploded outward — but the security bars bolted to the frame didn’t move. I turned and stared at the staircase. Five minutes passed. Footsteps coming down — uneven, stumbling. Cassidy came first. Face drained of color. Sweat on her forehead. Hector behind her, clutching the railing, knees buckling. Linc last, hand pressed over his mouth, gray-faced. Zane came down with his shirt hanging open, something dark spattered across the fabric. He didn’t look at anyone. The woman from the room — she wasn’t with them. Cassidy reached the bottom of the stairs and sat down hard on the couch. Her hands were shaking too badly to unlock her phone. She tried three times before the screen responded. Zane dressed himself with aggressive, impatient movements, like the whole thing had just been an inconvenience. “Cassidy. Your girl has problems. I barely touch her, and she starts acting like she’s dying.” “She ran her own head into the wall. I couldn’t even stop her.” “If this gets out, people are going to think I’m some kind of psycho.” I crossed the room and grabbed Cassidy by the neckline of her gown. “Where is she? Why didn’t you bring her down? I need to call an ambulance.” Cassidy jerked her head up. Her eyes were red, wild. “Shut up. There is no ambulance.” “She’s resting. She passed out. Nobody goes in that room.” Linc was across the room, pressing his hand to his chest like he’d nearly had a heart attack. “Scared me half to death. Face all swollen, blood everywhere. I couldn’t even tell who—” He stopped. “Brother-in-law, your sister is one dramatic girl.” “Is she trying to set up a lawsuit? Destroy her own face just to get money out of Zane?” “She’s trying to trap him. Has to be.” Hector straightened up, his triangular eyes narrowing. “Exactly. Classic shakedown. Trying to use this to claw her way into Zane’s world?” “Zane, this has nothing to do with you. She lost her footing. We all saw it. We’ll all swear to it.” Zane pulled a card from his wallet and slapped it on the coffee table. “Five hundred thousand. Get her face fixed — or don’t. That’s not my problem anymore.” “Cassidy. Clean this up. If even a whisper of this gets out, your whole family disappears. You know what I mean by that.” Cassidy stared at the card. Her eyes went from terrified to hungry in the span of a second. She snatched it off the table. “Done. Handled. Nobody will ever know.” “This was an accident. A family matter. You have nothing to worry about.” I lunged for the landline by the kitchen. “There’s a woman bleeding out upstairs. I am calling 911.” Cassidy grabbed an ashtray and brought it down on the phone like a hammer. Plastic and circuitry exploded across the counter. She spun on me, her mascara running in dark rivulets. “Ethan. Do you want to get us all killed?” “Zane is running for president of the Chamber of Commerce. This cannot come out.” “We handle this in-house. Private doctor. No hospitals.” “Until the doctor gets here, that door stays closed.” A sound from above — barely there. Like a fingernail, scraping slowly across hardwood. In the dead silence of the house, it sounded like a scream. Hector flinched so hard his glass hit the floor. “That girl is… she’s still moving? After all that blood?”

Cassidy pulled a notepad and pen from the kitchen drawer and started writing. When she finished, she dropped the paper in front of me. It was a settlement agreement. “She pressed the pen into my hand, eyes flat and cold.” “You’ve seen how this sits, Ethan. Zane cannot be touched. I cannot be touched.” “You sign this — you confirm it was consensual, confirm it was an accident — and I call the best private doctor in the state right now.” “You don’t sign it, and she bleeds out up there. That’s your choice.” Linc crouched down to my eye level with a fake-sympathetic look. “What are you waiting for? Every second you don’t sign, that’s on you.” “Half a million dollars. She could buy a house back home. Even with a messed-up face, she finds a good man, she’s set.” “You love her? Sign the paper.” Hector was staring at the card in Cassidy’s hand, practically drooling. “Sign it. We’re helping her. This is us looking out for her.” “Stop being dramatic and put your name on it.” The scraping from upstairs had stopped. The kind of silence that feels like a door closing. Linc glanced up at the ceiling and made an exaggerated face. “Uh oh. She’s gone quiet, brother-in-law.” “You better hurry up, or you’re going to be signing a death certificate instead.” My hands were shaking. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Pressed my thumb in the ink. Left a print. Cassidy ripped the paper from the table and actually kissed it. “There you go. Smart man. We are going to be rich.” “Zane, we’re good — it’s done.” Zane gave a single approving nod. “Good. Now I’m going to walk out that front door, and this never happened.” I was on my feet immediately. “You said you’d call the doctor. Call him.” Hector grabbed Cassidy’s arm before she could dial. “A private doctor costs a fortune. You know what those house calls run?” “The girl isn’t even that bad. Shock, probably. Let her sleep it off upstairs, and in the morning we drive her to the walk-in clinic and they stitch her up.” “The face is already done. What difference does it make where she heals?” I stared at him. “You just promised—” Cassidy slipped her phone back into her pocket and looked away. “Dad’s right. The doctor might report it. We wait. She’s not going to die.” “Don’t push it, Ethan.” While the three of them started talking about how to divide the half-million dollars, upstairs the person in that room was alone and bleeding. And then — three hard slams against the front door. BANG. BANG. BANG. Like someone trying to take the door off its hinges. Cassidy’s head shot up. “Who is that? Who’s here?” Linc swung around toward me. “Did you tip someone off? I knew it — I knew you had a backup plan—” The person outside started kicking. “Cassidy Vega, you open this door right now!” Cassidy, afraid the neighbors would hear, had no choice but to go to the door. “Who is it? This better be important!” She unlatched the deadbolt and the door burst inward, catching her across the forehead. She staggered back with a cry. In the doorway stood seven or eight people — some of them holding bats. My relatives. The ones I’d quietly called to the wedding from out of town. Cassidy took one look at them and immediately shrank. “Oh — hi, everyone. Today’s been a little chaotic, it’s not really a great time to—” She was already sidling toward the stairs, trying to block the bottom step with her body. Linc ducked behind her and poked his head out. “You can’t just break into a private residence! This is trespassing!” “We will call the police on every single one of you!” I stood in the center of the foyer. “I asked them to come.” I said it quietly. “They’re here to take someone home.” Hector jumped to his feet, pointing. “Nobody is taking anyone anywhere! My family’s guest is resting upstairs!” “Get out of this house! All of you!” The group parted. A clear voice came from just behind them. “Resting upstairs?” A young woman stepped through the door, grocery bags looped over both arms, looking around the room with open confusion. “Sir, who exactly are you talking about?”

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The night I got off work early, I came home carrying a barely touched kale Caesar salad. I pushed open the door. Jimmy Choo red-soles lay scattered in the entryway. Alex’s bespoke blazer was tossed over the couch. Heavy breathing and a woman’s moans leaked through the bedroom door. I knew this scene too well. But this time I didn’t storm out like before. I sat at the kitchen island and ate every last cold, soggy crouton and wilted salad leaf. *** Ten minutes later, the bedroom went quiet. Alex strolled out, shirtless, fresh scratches bleeding down his back. He saw me at the island. Didn’t even blink. Cracked open a beer. “Thought you were pulling an all-nighter at the firm.” I swallowed the last bite. Wiped my mouth. “Finished the cross-examination prep early.” He took a swig. Nodded. A young woman trailed out after him. Torn Victoria’s Secret lace chemise. Pale skin covered in red marks. Looks like it got intense. I recognized her. Alex’s new assistant. Madison. Fresh out of Cornell. Classic blonde sweetheart. She wrapped herself around him from behind. Voice lazy. “Alex, how did I do?” He smirked and ruffled her hair. “Perfect.” She pushed her luck, lips nearly pressed to his ear. “Next time… your Hamptons pool?” Before she finished, she spotted me at the island. Shrieked. Scrambled behind him like she’d just seen a burglar. I snorted. “She’s jumpier than the last one. That one just raised her martini and clinked glasses with me.” Madison’s face went scarlet all the way to her hairline. Alex shot me a glance. He patted her cheek. “Go get dressed, sweetheart. I’ll have my driver take you back to the Upper East Side.” After Madison left, he pulled a sparkling water from the fridge. Casual. “She’s young. Just out of school. Don’t take it out on her.” I let out a cold laugh. “You bring her to our marital bed. You want me to applaud?” The fresh hickey on his neck was still raw. Not a trace of guilt on his face. He sprawled on the couch. “I’m hungry. Heat up some pizza for me.” He grabbed the remote and flipped to ESPN. Like nothing happened. I didn’t move. He frowned. “What?” A sly grin spread. “What, jealous?” He came up behind me. Slid his arms around my waist. Fingertips dipping under my blouse. Cologne and stale sex hit me. My stomach lurched. I shoved him away. He froze. I’d never pushed him off before. His face darkened. “What the hell is wrong with you, Evelyn?” I looked down. A used condom wrapper on the carpet. He followed my gaze. Clicked his tongue in irritation. “I told you. You’re the lady of this house. Always. Can’t you just turn a blind eye? Every wife on the Upper East Side does it. They have their fun on the side. What’s with the face?” I stared at him. Blank. He buttoned his shirt. Cold. “Looking at you pisses me off.” The door slammed. A Porsche 911 engine roared in the garage.

Half an hour later, Alex’s Story popped up. Him and Madison in his penthouse jacuzzi. Fingers laced. Bubbles up to their chests. His left ring finger had a pale stripe where his wedding band used to be. I stared at the screen. Felt nothing. Almost laughed. This wasn’t his first time. Two years ago. Our Hamptons vacation house. I walked in on him and a client. My hands shook. A wine glass shattered on the floor. Two words came out. “Get divorced.” That was me. Obsessive love. Couldn’t stomach betrayal. He dropped to one knee. Held white roses. Cried till dawn. Swore it was a one-night stand during a Vegas work trip. He was blackout drunk. I cried all night. Didn’t give in. That next month, Alex tried everything. He booked out the three-Michelin-starred spot where we had our first date. Dug up old Yale Law photos. Recited every detail from the day we met to the wedding. Stood outside our firm holding a sign that said “I’m sorry” for an entire day. Suit rumpled. Face wrecked. I caved. For a while, he was perfect. Signed a postnuptial agreement. Shared his location 24/7. Blew off every work dinner to marathon Netflix with me. Less than six months later, I found him in the guest room with a Silicon Valley intern. He said he’d smoked too much weed. Thought she was me. I stood there holding my coffee, smiling like ice. He lost his temper and stormed out. After that, Alex stopped hiding anything. No more excuses. No more lies. He flaunted different women at charity galas. Brought them home. Over and over. I fell apart. Every morning I stood in front of the walk-in closet mirror. Stared at the fine lines under my eyes. The skin starting to sag along my jaw. The woman in the glass looked exhausted. Old. Was I not attractive anymore? Too boring? Was that why he had to chase thrills elsewhere? The thoughts wouldn’t stop. I stopped sleeping. Clumps of hair on my pillow. In the shower drain. The therapist’s report read “severe depression.” I was trapped in a maze with no exit. Every time I thought I found a way out, I turned the corner and saw Alex with another woman. Those images flashed on repeat. Three in the morning in our Manhattan apartment. I wanted to scream until I couldn’t breathe. The worst part? I knew the marriage was rotten. And still I couldn’t leave. Like I was cursed. Every time I got ready to call a divorce attorney, Alex would toss out a casual, “Hey sweetheart, I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” And I’d light up with pathetic hope again. I yelled. I fought. Dragged us to expensive counselors. The worst time, I grabbed a knife. I pressed the blade to his throat. Voice hoarse. “Alex, if you can’t keep it in your pants, let’s just get divorced. You do what you want. I get my freedom.” I knew I was sick. He’d driven me insane. I wasn’t myself. He just sighed. Pushed the knife away. “Evelyn, don’t make a scene. It’ll end up in the New York Post gossip column. What’ll that do to our families’ reputations?” “I promise you. You’ll always be Mrs. Cross. You’re the primary beneficiary on every legal document I have. That will never change.” Even more ridiculous, friends from the Hamptons crowd tried to talk me down. Those socialites sipped their Prosecco and spoke like they knew better. “Alex is the youngest managing director at Goldman Sachs. A husband who makes that much money? Count your blessings. Your trust fund is full. You’ve got a Hamptons house. What more do you want? His fidelity?” “Let him play around. Just don’t let him rub it in your face. That’s the Upper East Side code. Making it ugly only makes you look like the joke.” “Those women out there mean nothing. You’re in your thirties. Stop chasing true love.” Every word was a dull knife. I went numb from the humiliation. It took a long time before I could admit it to my therapist. Alex didn’t love me anymore. The boy who passed me a note in the law library, ears turning pink. The man who sobbed at our Central Park wedding, swearing he’d love only Evelyn forever. He died the night of that first Vegas affair. This man wore the same face. A stranger. The next morning, I called my old Columbia mentor, Professor Hathaway. “Professor, do you still need people for your climate project? I want in.” A few beats of silence. When I graduated, Professor Hathaway had pressed me hard to join her polar ice research team. A top National Science Foundation project. But it meant long stretches in Alaska or Greenland. Alex had held me and said, “Evelyn, I can’t stand the thought of you so far away. Stay in New York. Do corporate law. I’ll take care of you. We’ll get a penthouse on Park Avenue. Get a golden retriever.” “Evelyn.” Professor Hathaway’s voice pulled me back. “Are you sure? Conditions are brutal. Our next mission is the North Slope of Alaska. Might only have satellite internet for months.” She paused. “Does Alex… agree?” “Professor.” I cut in. “I’ve decided to divorce him.” “What happened?” “He cheated.” “Ten years together…” “Nothing to hold onto.” I took a breath. “Professor, I need to leave. As far as possible.” “Good. Evelyn, come. Your spot is still open.”

I handed in my resignation at the firm. The senior partner looked regretful. “Evelyn, with your cross-border M&A skills, junior partner next year was basically guaranteed. You’re sure?” I shook my head. Smiled. That seven-figure job. I only took it to prove myself in Alex’s Wall Street world. My real dream was always Professor Hathaway’s team. Real science. The remote corners of the world. What a joke. I traded my dream for endless billable hours and Alex’s betrayal. The next few days, Alex didn’t show up. Texts ignored. Calls bounced to his secretary. “Mr. Cross is in a meeting.” I was too busy handing off cases to chase him. Finalized the departure date with Professor Hathaway. Two weeks out. Flying to Fairbanks, Alaska, then a bush plane into the Arctic Circle. I went to his Midtown hedge fund office. I pushed open the glass door to his corner office. Madison was straddling him, tongue-deep. Clothes half off. Her silk blouse unbuttoned to her waist. “Bad timing.” I stepped back. Calm. Madison scrambled to button up. Her pencil skirt was bunched around her knees. She glared at me. “Nobody taught you to knock before entering the CEO’s office?” Alex said nothing. Just flicked her a glance. He straightened his Hermès tie. Slow. Smirk curling. “What, finally decided to come find me?” He slapped Madison’s backside. “Sweetheart, go grab a latte from Blue Bottle downstairs. I need to talk to my wife.” Madison shot me a venomous look. Slammed the door on her way out. “Miss me?” Alex leaned back. “Told you. Just a little tantrum. Give you two weeks and you cool off. How about that place with the three-month waiting list tonight?” “I want a divorce.” His hands stilled on his cufflinks. Eyes narrowed. “Say that again.” “I want a divorce.” He burst out laughing. “Evelyn, is this your new move? Using divorce to get my attention?” He reached for my face. “I know I’ve been neglecting you. Tell you what. Next week I’ll clear my schedule. We’ll go to St. Barts.” I stepped back from his touch. His smile froze. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag. Held them out. He didn’t take them. I set them on his mahogany desk. “I’m not joking. I’m done wasting my time with you. It’s all laid out. Asset division is clear under the prenup and the postnup. Sign when you’re done reading.” Alex stared at the document. His pupils shrank. He dropped into his chair. Flipped a few pages. Then ripped the papers in half. “Divorce? Over my dead body.” I rubbed my temples. “What’s the point? Divorced, nobody cares how many girlfriends you fly to the Hamptons.” “Evelyn.” His voice softened. “We’ve been together since law school. When my father cut off my trust fund, you were there in that tiny Brooklyn apartment.” “Everyone else is just a fling. I never once thought about leaving you.” He rounded the desk. Bespoke suit. The cologne mixed with the stench of what he’d just done. My stomach turned. How noble it sounded. He’s the one who brought his mistress into our home. Left me with a 104-degree fever to fly his side piece to the Hamptons for her birthday. Stabbed me in the heart over and over with his promises. Strip it all down. He wasn’t scared of losing me. He was scared of his perfect image cracking in front of the Wall Street elite. He needed an Ivy League wife as a front. A prop to keep up the respectable businessman act.

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After I moved into the house my parents bought me, the electric bill hit $100,000 in a month! My parents emptied their retirement fund to buy me a house, despite my brother’s objections. I moved in with joy. But one month later, my phone showed an electric bill of $100,000! I rushed to the power company to check the statement. The clerk looked at it and shook her head. “Ma’am, your electric bill is legitimate. There’s no fraud.” To investigate, I removed every appliance from the house. I even charged my phone at work. But the second month’s bill came out at $100,000 again! I’d only been working a few months. I couldn’t possibly pay this astronomical bill. Under pressure from collections, my parents borrowed from loan sharks to pay for me. I wanted to sell the house, but word about the electric bill had spread. No one would buy it. The bills kept piling up. I pulled the main breaker, not daring to use any electricity. But the third month’s bill came out at $100,000! I nearly fainted. My brother didn’t believe me. He called me ungrateful, accusing me of using fake electric bills to scam our parents’ hard-earned money. My parents were completely disappointed in me. They kicked me out to fend for myself. Within months, I owed millions of dollars in predatory loans. In the end, I was beaten to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my parents bought the house. …… Dad smiled as he handed me the new house keys, his eyes full of affection. “Hazel, what are you thinking about? Don’t tell me you’re speechless with emotion?” “Our Hazel finally has the little house she’s been dreaming of. Hurry up and move in to see how it feels!” The memories of my tragic death flooded back. I couldn’t help shuddering. I quickly refused. “Dad! Julian got married last month and you just bought him a house.” “Buying one for me this month is too much spending!” “Why don’t we return the house?” Dad paused, then burst out laughing. “Silly girl, you think this is grocery shopping? You can’t just return it like that.” Mom also laughed. She took the keys from Dad and pressed them into my hand, brooking no argument. “Hazel, if your brother has one, you must have one too!” “Being fair to both of you—that’s our bottom line. No discussion!” “Your dad and I have things to do. Go check out your new home first!” I opened the door with a heavy heart. The house was fully furnished and very new. I could tell my parents had spent serious money. They said they wanted to buy the best, so I could move in and enjoy it immediately. I scanned the entire place. One bedroom, one living room, one kitchen, one bathroom. I carefully checked every room. No high-power appliances. Even if there were, they couldn’t possibly cost $100,000 a month! I opened my phone and logged into the electric utility system. My mind went blank with shock! It showed the house had already used 237 kWh. 237 kWh was more than a normal person would use in a month. But only one hour had passed since I completed the paperwork! “I don’t believe it… why is this happening!” I frantically searched on my phone, looking for a solution. Suddenly my eyes lit up! A news headline read: Man’s Electric Bill Triples—Neighbor Was Stealing Electricity! Instantly it dawned on me. Of course. In my past life, I’d searched every inch of my home and found nothing wrong. Even after I pulled the breaker, the meter kept spinning at high speed. If someone had secretly wired into my electrical system, everything would make sense! I immediately hired the best electrician in the city and asked him to inspect the entire building’s wiring. The master electrician’s expression turned serious. “Miss, inspecting the whole building is no small matter.” “Coordinating with neighbors is very difficult, and the cost will be tens of thousands. Are you sure?” Looking at the three thousand dollars left in my account, I gritted my teeth and opened a credit card, then took out online loans. If I didn’t spend the money now, I’d spend much more later. I paid the deposit and coordinated with the neighbors one by one. Then the electrician began the formal inspection. My heart was in my throat. After the electrician finished inspecting the last unit, I looked at him expectantly, hoping for a reasonable answer. But to my surprise, the electrician’s face was grave. He sighed. “Miss, no one is stealing your electricity. It’s your own household using it.”

My eyes widened in shock! How was that possible! In my past life, I’d removed all the appliances. There was no way to use electricity! This life, though I hadn’t gone through all that, the appliances in the house were just a fridge, washing machine, and lights. These couldn’t possibly use 237 kWh in one hour! The electrician shook his head and left, his tone full of helplessness. “Miss, I don’t know about this. Why don’t you contact the power company again?” I collapsed on the floor in despair. In my past life, I’d already searched through all the relevant departments. Power company, housing bureau, even the fire department and police. But in the end, nothing was found. Bang bang bang! Someone suddenly pounded on the door. I opened it. It was my brother. He looked at the fully furnished house, his eyes full of resentment and anger. “Hazel, congratulations. You finally beat me once.” “While my mortgage isn’t even paid off yet, you convinced Mom and Dad to buy you a house in full. You must feel pretty smug, huh?” I forced a bitter smile. I didn’t feel smug at all. On the contrary, I felt miserable. Since childhood, though our parents said they’d be fair to both of us, the bigger apples always went to my brother. This time, for once I got better treatment than him, but it turned out like this. Bang! I slammed the door with all my strength, shutting him out. Looking at the electric bill still jumping rapidly on my phone, anger, resentment, grievance, confusion… all my emotions surged up. I grabbed a hammer. Bang! Bang! Bang! Like a madwoman, I smashed all the interior decoration to pieces! The electrician said it was my own usage. Fine, I’d smash everything—all the fixtures and furnishings—I refused to believe I couldn’t find where the electricity was being used! Shards flew everywhere, piercing my skin with searing pain. But I felt nothing. I just kept swinging the hammer. Tiles, closets, bed… everything I could see was smashed to pieces! This should solve the problem. But when I opened my phone with trembling hands, my pupils shrank! It clearly showed 2,500 kWh used! “How is this possible!” My eyes were bloodshot, staring deadly at every corner of the house. The house was a complete mess, everything shattered to fragments. But the electric bill kept jumping rapidly. “No, this is impossible!” I refused to accept it. I hired some demolition workers to tear down the walls. Now there was nothing left in the house, yet the bill kept rising. Could all the secrets be hidden in the walls? Several workers demolished for an entire day. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom… all the interior partitions were torn down, leaving it empty with only four bare load-bearing walls! I stood in the ruins and opened my phone with shaking hands. Surely the electricity couldn’t keep running now. But after logging onto the website, a chill shot straight to the top of my head! The electric bill was still rising at high speed!

This time not just me—even the workers were shocked. They took turns checking my phone. “This is absolutely impossible!” “There’s nothing left in your house. How is it still using electricity?” One worker glanced around and muttered quietly. “Miss, could there be something… unclean… in your house…” Hearing his words, the others’ faces changed instantly. They shoved the phone back at me and fled. Looking at the empty house, my heart filled with despair. I’d never believed in supernatural nonsense, but now except for this, there seemed to be no other explanation. But what should I do? Was I destined to be burdened with massive debt in this life too? Suddenly there was knocking at the door. I opened it to find my parents. They cheerfully handed me fruit and vegetables. “Hazel, we’ve been busy at work these past few days, so we’re only coming to see you now.” “How is it? Are you living comfortably in your new house?” I smiled bitterly and didn’t answer. They looked behind me curiously. The next second, their smiles froze! Dad rushed into the house, looking at the debris on the ground, utterly shocked. “Hazel, what happened?” “Wasn’t this fully furnished when we bought it? How did it become a bare shell?” I pulled out my phone, opened the website, and showed them. My parents’ faces instantly went pale. Dad angrily kicked over a stool on the ground. “Heartless realtor! How dare they scam my daughter!” “Hazel, don’t worry. Dad will go find them right now and make them exchange it for you!” Mom silently helped me clean up the house. Looking at her thin figure, my tears fell uncontrollably. In my past life, I dragged them down, forcing them to borrow from loan sharks to help me pay the debt. This life, I absolutely couldn’t do that again. I walked into the bedroom, found paper in the ruins of the desk, and began writing a will. If in the end I still couldn’t find out why, after my death this house would automatically be donated. That way even if huge fees accumulated later, it would have nothing to do with my parents. As I wrote, I suddenly found a section of wire under the desk. The bedroom wiring wasn’t in this location at all. Why would there be a wire here? Thump thump thump! My heart suddenly pounded violently! Could this be the source of the $100,000 electric bill? Grabbing the wire, I wanted to see where it led. But no matter how hard I pulled, the wire never reached its end. Just as I was puzzled, suddenly Mom’s voice sounded behind me. “Hazel, what are you doing?” I whipped around. Mom’s eyes were fixed deadly on the wire in my hand. Her expression wasn’t like her previous loving one—it carried a hint of darkness. My heart instantly tightened. A bad thought vaguely surfaced. I forced a smile at Mom, trying to sound casual. “Mom, I’m cleaning up the bedroom.” “I want to help so you’re not too tired.” Mom looked at me suspiciously for a few moments, then snatched the wire and shoved it back under the desk before pulling me out of the bedroom. “Mom’s not tired, you don’t need to clean.” “You’ve been mentally and physically exhausted these past few days. You need to rest properly.” I wasn’t willing to give up. I tried to get around Mom to look at that wire again. But unexpectedly, Mom took several steps directly in front of me, her hands gripping me like iron clamps, trying to pull me out of the room again! Looking at Mom’s evasive expression, the panic in my heart grew larger and larger. Why did she keep stopping me from inspecting the wire? Could there really be some unspeakable secret there? The terror of my past life’s death kept crashing over me. I panicked instantly. I shook off Mom’s hands and grabbed that wire, yanking hard! The next second, my pupils shrank!

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My best friend and I gave birth on the same day. As a joke, I suggested we arrange a match between our babies someday. My husband, Ethan Hargrove, went dark in an instant. He looked at me with absolute seriousness. “They’re siblings,” he said. “They can’t marry.” I froze. I was sure I’d misheard him. He smiled — light, unbothered, like he was commenting on the weather. “On our wedding night, after we were done, I slipped a sleeping pill into your drink. She used her bra to cover your face. We went at it until dawn, right there beside you.” “That’s the night you both got pregnant.” The world detonated inside my skull. I turned my head, stiff as a board, toward the bed beside mine — where my best friend, Vivienne Ashton, lay sleeping. Twenty years old. I took fifteen stab wounds saving her life. She told me she would owe me forever. Ethan shifted, blocking my line of sight without any urgency, his tone perfectly casual. “Don’t worry. Vivienne won’t fight you for anything. We’ll all live together. You’ll still be Mrs. Hargrove.” Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. My phone buzzed against the mattress. A message from an unknown number. *You may abandon the redemption of the target. Do you wish to exit here immediately?* My gaze drifted to Vivienne’s wrist. She was wearing a strand of prayer beads. The same prayer beads I had spent three days on my knees at a Church to obtain when Ethan nearly died in a car accident — praying until my legs gave out, begging for his life. He had never taken them off. Until today. When Vivienne and I had both been wheeled into our delivery rooms at the same time, he hadn’t hesitated for even a second before pressing them into her hand. Ethan calmly reached over and tucked Vivienne’s arm back under her blanket. Then he turned to me and used the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheek. “You’re a mother now,” he said gently. “Still crying like this?” I slapped his hand away. “Why her?” My voice came out cracked, raw. “She had a boyfriend! You threw yourself at her — do you have any idea how pathetic that is?” Ethan glanced at his hand where I’d struck it, then looked back at me with something like genuine surprise. “You still think the boyfriend she’s been hiding this whole time was someone else?” He seemed to find something funny in that. A short laugh escaped him. “There were times you called her while we were in the middle of it. She’d be trembling, trying so hard not to make a sound.” His expression turned wistful. “Honestly, I’ll miss that.” I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper. My throat had closed up completely. I couldn’t make a sound. After a long silence, I finally managed to speak. “Why lie to me? If you’d just told me the truth, I would have stepped aside. I would have let you go.” I would have walked away early, with at least some part of myself still intact. Not like this. Not shattered beyond recognition. Ethan let out a quiet sigh. Something almost like pity moved through his eyes. “What do you expect? We felt guilty.” “The night you were attacked trying to save Vivienne — the night they hurt you until you lost the baby — I was parked around the corner with her.” A pause. “We got carried away. We forgot to call for help.” The last thread holding me together snapped. I remembered that night. Vivienne and I walking back from the movies. The parking garage. The men who came out of the shadows. I threw myself between her and them. I held on, and held on, because I knew she would go for help. I knew she would come back for me. I believed that, all the way through. When I woke up in the hospital, Ethan was holding me, shaking. He swore revenge, and he had delivered. I thought it meant he loved me. Looking at him now — so calm, so unbothered — I understood for the first time that love can be performed. That I had been watching a performance for years. If a kind stranger hadn’t found me that night, I would have died. I grabbed the ceramic soup bowl off the nightstand and hurled it at him. It hit the floor and exploded. Broth spread across the tiles in a dark stain. He had made that soup himself, the night before. It had peanuts in it — Vivienne’s favorite. He had forgotten, or not bothered to remember, that I was allergic to peanuts. It had all been there, all along. I just never let myself see it. Ethan stood perfectly still, broth dripping from his hair, completely composed. He wasn’t angry. He exhaled slowly. “Hate me all you want. I’m only asking one thing — don’t blame Vivienne. She cares about you deeply. She just gave birth, and she’s fragile right now. The last thing she needs is postnatal depression. Please try to understand.” I pressed my fingernails into my palms until the shaking stopped. The incision from my delivery screamed with every breath. It was a constant, visceral reminder that he knew I needed to rest, needed calm, needed care. He simply didn’t care enough to provide it. My phone buzzed again. *The countdown has begun. 24 hours remaining. If no choice is made, you will lose the only chance to leave here.* —

My tears came back without warning. I twisted toward Vivienne’s bed and screamed until my voice tore. “Vivienne Ashton! How long are you going to keep pretending to sleep? Was it that good? Was sleeping with my husband really worth all of this?” Vivienne opened her eyes. Her face was drained of color. She couldn’t look at me. She grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it at Ethan. “How could you tell her? How could you hurt her like this?” “I told you — I didn’t want a title. I was going to leave after the baby came!” Ethan caught her in his arms before she could move again, holding her too tightly, voice breaking apart at the edges. “I couldn’t let you leave. That’s why I told her. Don’t go, Vivienne. Please. Don’t leave me.” “This is all my fault. Don’t move, you’ll tear your stitches—” He’d said those exact words to me once. I thought of what I knew about him. His mother had died when he was small. His father worked constantly. He’d been left alone with a housekeeper who, it turned out, was deeply disturbed — someone who hurt him in secret, over and over, for years. I was ten years old when I kicked down his front door and found him half-dead on the kitchen floor. I dragged him out of that house and he never had to go back. Later, when the housekeeper retaliated, she hired people to take me. Ethan had refused to let go of my hand while they beat him bloody. He held on until the adults came. He stayed at my bedside in the hospital, unable to stop clinging to me even after we arrived. *Don’t leave me, Elara,* he kept saying, over and over. The way he’d looked at me then — like I was the only real thing in his world. He was looking at Vivienne the same way now. I had once asked myself: if we ever fell apart, what would I do? I’d thought about it seriously. My conclusion had been that I’d drag Vivienne to a bar, drink for three days straight, cry until I had nothing left, and then go back to loving him. Because that’s how much I loved him. But it was Vivienne. Who was I supposed to call now? Vivienne wrenched free of Ethan’s arms and collapsed to her knees at the edge of my bed, tears pouring down her face. “Elara, don’t cry. I’ll leave tomorrow. You two can go back to how you were.” I pressed my lips together. The ache in my chest was unbearable. Vivienne had once been a girl from a wealthy family. At five years old, she was the only one who survived a car accident that took everyone else. Her relatives divided up the estate and dumped her in an orphanage, where she was bullied for years. When we met, I begged my parents to take her in. They loved her like a second daughter. She had stood in front of her first birthday cake in our home and cried, and I’d laughed and told her: everything I have, I’ll split with you. Half the good food. Half the good days. Half my parents’ love. She had taken the half of me I never offered. “Get out,” I said through my teeth. “I don’t want to look at you. You’re a liar and a homewrecker and I want you gone.” The babies startled at the noise and began to wail. I lifted my daughter and held her close, trying to soothe her through my own tears. Vivienne buried her face in her hands, broken sounds coming out between her fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” Ethan’s expression hardened. He picked up Vivienne’s son, and when he turned to face me, his voice was controlled but cold. “You have no idea how much Vivienne tried to protect you. She never wanted you hurt.” He paused. “Vivienne was my fiancée first. She was the one I was always going to marry. That makes you the other woman — not her.” I stared at him. He had told me his fiancée died in a car accident. He had said it to my face, with tears in his eyes. He and Vivienne had met in front of me dozens of times and pretended to barely tolerate each other. I had actually mediated their arguments. I had congratulated myself on finally getting two people I loved to get along. I had been the fool the entire time. I laughed. The kind of laugh that comes out with tears attached. I reached over and tore the prayer beads from Vivienne’s wrist. The string snapped. Beads scattered across the floor like broken teeth. “These were mine,” I said. “You don’t deserve them. Neither of you do.” I held my daughter against my chest, stood up on legs that barely held me, and walked out. Every step felt like walking on glass. The pain from my incision was extraordinary. I didn’t slow down once. Behind me, Vivienne was sobbing. Ethan was saying something cold and furious. My phone buzzed. *18 hours remaining.* —

I wandered the hospital corridor with my baby, hollow and shivering. I should hate Ethan for his cowardice. I should hate Vivienne for her betrayal. But beneath all of it, the thing I hated most was simpler: they had taken two people from me at once. I only had room in my heart for a finite amount of love, and they had used all of it. I sat down on a bench and opened my phone. I went to my photos. A thousand images. More. Ethan and I on a mountain trail at four in the morning, waiting for the sunrise. Kissing in a field of wildflowers somewhere I can’t quite remember now. The three of us on a beach trip — Ethan, me, and Vivienne — laughing in the ocean. There had never been two of us. It had always been three. I just hadn’t known which configuration was real. I deleted every single photo. All fourteen thousand. When I was done, I looked at the screen of my phone. A new message had arrived from the unknown number. *You ask what Ethan Hargrove did wrong. The answer is simple: he stopped loving you. That’s all. No villain, no monster. Just a man who looked away.* I pulled my daughter tighter and laughed — a broken, private sound. *I know.* *I’m sorry, baby girl,* I thought, pressing my lips to the top of her head. *I have to leave you in here. Forgive me.* Let me stay a few more hours. Just a few. Ethan’s shoes appeared in my field of vision. I looked up. He stood there watching me, his expression full of something that looked like remorse. Before I could react, he pulled me into his arms. The familiar warmth of it undid something in me. My tears came back without permission. Part of me — the stupid, stubborn part — whispered: *maybe he still loves you, just a little.* “I’m sorry, Elara. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t thinking.” “You have to understand — I panicked. I was afraid Vivienne would actually take the baby and disappear. I needed you to hear the truth, even if it hurt.” “Come back inside. She hasn’t stopped crying since you left—” *Vivienne, Vivienne.* In the end, that was all there was in his eyes. She was the entire world to him, and I was the atmosphere he’d forgotten he needed to breathe. The last fragment of hope I’d been holding went out. I cut him off quietly. “Promise me something. Take care of the baby. Whatever else happens — take care of her.” Ethan blinked. He relaxed, just slightly — misreading the moment entirely. He cupped my face in his hands, his voice lifting. “Of course. I’ll take care of you both. You just had a baby — you need to rest, you need—” His phone rang. He answered it. His face went white in an instant. “I’m coming. Don’t move.” He hung up. The warmth evaporated. He looked at me with something close to accusation. “Vivienne’s baby has a congenital heart defect. They can’t find a compatible donor. She’s already emotionally unstable, and then you deleted your photos — she thinks you’ll never forgive her. She’s on the roof.” His voice was tight. “She’s going to jump.” “You’re coming with me.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the stairwell, not waiting for an answer. The jolt tore something in my incision. I felt warmth spreading between my legs. The corridor blurred at the edges. I bit through the inside of my cheek to stay upright. — The rooftop was cold and brutal with wind. Vivienne stood on the other side of the railing. Her hospital gown billowed around her like something already half-departed. She looked like she might blow away. When she saw me, her eyes lit up — just briefly — then went dark again. Her face was wrecked with crying. “Elara. My baby is dying. And you’ll never forgive me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have nothing left. I have nothing at all.” Before I could speak, Ethan’s voice cut across the roof. “Vivienne, listen to me. Elara knows she was wrong. She came up here to ask for your forgiveness.” I spun toward him, stunned. The absurdity of it was almost dizzying. Vivienne didn’t believe him either. Her eyes went glassy, unfocused. “You can’t forgive me.” Her voice dropped lower. “You especially can’t forgive me. Because if you ever found out — that the men who hurt you that night were men I hired—” The ground fell out from under me. I lunged forward. A hand seized my arm and yanked me back hard. I turned to find Ethan, his grip like iron, his eyes like stone. “She was young. She didn’t know what she was doing. She’s nearly destroyed herself with guilt over it — she almost took her own life twice. If I hadn’t stayed with her through those months, you might never have seen her again.” I stood very still. He knew. He had known the truth the entire time. And he had chosen her. I was the one bleeding in the dark, and he looked at me and chose her. —

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For the eighth time at a parent-teacher conference, Vivienne watched her six-year-old son recite his essay , in front of the entire class. The pain in her chest had long since gone numb. The child’s innocent voice cut through the classroom: “My mom, Vivienne Hartley, the most popular porn star, the town’s most notorious homewrecker.” “She used the tricks of a seductress to lure my daddy into abandoning his billion-dollar fortune and his perfectly matched fiancée, running away with her.” “Even though she used her wicked ways to trick Daddy into marrying her, every time I have to look at her, I feel disgusted.” Little Jasper Caldwell’s childlike voice carried unmistakable contempt — each word a curse, each sentence a blade driving straight into Vivienne’s heart. The teacher awkwardly ushered the boy off the stage, but the mocking whispers of the other parents refused to be contained. “God, porn star– even after she cleaned up her act, a woman like that can never wash off the stain. Even her own son thinks she’s filthy!” “Oh, come on — you didn’t hear? No matter what everyone else thinks of her, the Caldwell heir, Sebastian Caldwell, is absolutely mad for her!” “For her sake, he gave up his inheritance and ran away with her.” “Even after she abandoned their newborn on the very day they eloped, took five hundred thousand dollars from the Caldwell family and vanished — even after she left Sebastian wandering like a ghost for five years — the moment he found her again, he dragged her straight to the courthouse and married her on the spot!” Hearing those words, the raw ache in Vivienne’s chest began, ever so slightly, to ease. Even if the entire world misunderstood her, looked down on her — Sebastian loved her without reservation. Again, Jasper declared she was unworthy of knowing anything about him, finished his essay, and had her escorted out of the school. That evening, out of deep concern for the boy, she found herself outside Sebastian’s study, hoping to hear from his assistant what Jasper’s day at school had been like. Just as she reached for the door handle, Vivienne froze. “Mr. Caldwell, as you instructed, this week’s “whore mother” theme essay worked perfectly again. Only…” The assistant’s voice wavered. “…only, is it really good for the young master’s mental health to have him resent the madam this way?” Through the heavy oak door, Sebastian let out a quiet, unhurried laugh — his voice calm as frost. “Has Jasper said a single thing that isn’t true? Besides — Jasper is Diana’s child. You already know that, don’t you?” Standing outside the door, Vivienne felt every drop of blood in her body turn to ice. She could not believe what she was hearing. Diana? The woman Sebastian had married as a political match after Vivienne disappeared — the woman Jasper had called Mom for five years? But hadn’t he told her he only married Diana so Jasper could have a complete family? He had said the very sight of Diana bothered him. And Jasper — the child she had carried for ten months and brought into the world — how had he become Diana’s? Sebastian’s cool, measured voice betrayed no emotion. “When I first brought Vivienne back, I was afraid she couldn’t bear the shock of learning the baby had died. So I passed off the child Diana and I had together as hers. Diana was forced to be separated from Jasper — I owe her that.” The world exploded inside Vivienne’s skull. “Has the video of Jasper reading the essay been sent to Diana?” “Every clip has been forwarded to Miss Diana — recorded in high definition, with a close-up of the madam’s face the moment she heard it.” “Miss Diana was extremely pleased. She said she’d send back your favorite cufflinks as a thank-you gift…” Sebastian’s voice finally warmed with what sounded like genuine amusement. “Diana is still so easy to please. All it takes is humiliating Vivienne, and she cooperates with everything.” “Unlike Vivienne — completely used up by the world, and she still plays the trauma card with me. Won’t even let me turn on a light. Makes me sick.” The assistant, baffled, asked: “Mr. Caldwell, do you feel Vivienne isn’t worthy of being your wife? Then why — after five years of searching — did you divorce Diana on the spot and marry Vivienne the moment you found her? Who is it you actually love?” Sebastian’s amused voice had once reached down into the depths of hell to pull Vivienne back to the living. Now, it pushed her back in — without so much as a second glance. “I love Vivienne. I believe she had her reasons for leaving me. The title of Mrs. Caldwell will always be hers. But… she has been tainted.” “Diana loves me, asks nothing in return, keeps things interesting, and Jasper is closer to her anyway. Having a wife without a title suits me fine — Jasper gets to be with his birth mother, and nothing is disturbed.” Vivienne could not recall how she made it from outside the study back to the bedroom. She only knew that shame and shattering grief were tearing her apart from the inside — her whole body cold as stone — yet she could not shed a single tear. So — on the very night they had planned to elope, Diana had already been carrying Sebastian’s child. Everything Jasper had ever said was true: she was not his mother. She was the third party who had destroyed his parents’ love. Sebastian’s love had been adulterated from the very start. And now, it was nothing but a web of lies. That night, Sebastian held her from behind as usual, murmuring softly that Jasper had had a good day at school. She reached for one last thread of hope, tentatively pressing her hand to his chest. He held her hand still. “Tired tonight.” Vivienne lay awake into the small hours. The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom — and beneath it, the low, muffled sounds of a man’s labored breathing. She had always assumed it was him managing his own needs out of consideration for her trauma. But tonight, when she drew closer, she heard clearly — a woman’s voice coming from his phone. “Even better over the phone, isn’t it? Aren’t you afraid of waking your current wife, Sebastian…” “Please. She’s a block of wood. Even if she hears, she’ll just think I’m thinking of her…” Breathless murmurs flooded the silence. The last strand of hope Vivienne had been holding snapped clean. She swallowed the churning agony in her gut and sent a message to a saved number. “The plan you proposed — the fake death. I accept.”

The reply came quickly: “You can really let go of Sebastian?” Vivienne gave a hollow, bitter twist of her lips. But tears fell in fat drops onto the screen, blurring the message. She typed a single word: “Yes.” His heart had long been divided in two. What was the point of fighting for half of it? The irony was almost funny. Sebastian — the man who swore, over and over, that even if she had truly sold herself, he would never mind. And yet, just like everyone else — he found her dirty. Seven years ago, she and Sebastian had fallen in love, only to face fierce opposition from the Caldwell family. The night she gave birth to their child — unmarried — they made their plan to elope. But the Caldwells sent men to abduct her in secret, sold her overseas, and told Sebastian she had taken their money and abandoned him and the baby. She spent five years in a living hell abroad — but guarded her innocence with her life. Sebastian, though he had married his arranged match, never stopped looking for her. Finally, when Jasper was six, Sebastian followed a thread of evidence to the overseas compound and broke her out. He didn’t need a single word of explanation from her. He divorced Diana on the spot and married Vivienne immediately. But five years apart had left the child distant from her, and photographs taken of her under duress had somehow leaked. Everyone assumed she had sold herself willingly, that she had become a kept woman for money. No matter how thoroughly the world condemned her, Sebastian had never let it change him — not for a moment. He, who always doted on the child, even scolded Jasper sternly on more than one occasion: be good to Mom. But Jasper was never her child at all. Through those five years of torment, the greatest thing keeping her alive had been Sebastian and their baby. Now there was nothing left. Sebastian came out of the bathroom looking thoroughly satisfied, the scent of desire still clinging to him, and settled back into bed. The moment his fingers touched her tear-wet cheek, he pulled her close with an almost instinctive reflex. “What’s wrong, Viv? Another nightmare? It’s okay — I’m here. I’m right here.” He kissed her tears away with tender, careful lips. Those five years had left Vivienne with severe trauma. In the early days after their reunion, she woke screaming from nightmares every single night. No matter how important the next day was, Sebastian sat up with her through every hour of darkness. Just so she’d know, when she opened her eyes, that he was there. To help her heal, he had sought out every renowned therapist he could find, and pushed himself to become something like a therapist himself. But the way his kiss instinctively veered away from her lips — just barely, unconsciously — still betrayed him. Vivienne wept quietly, then suddenly smiled. “Sebastian, there’s a document I need you to sign tomorrow.” She wanted to leave without any ties to Sebastian or his family. Divorce was the necessary first step of her plan. A drowsy Sebastian didn’t question it. “Sure — after we visit the cemetery tomorrow, hand it to me.” The next day was Vivienne’s late mother’s memorial. Sebastian had promised to go with her. He still rose early to make her breakfast, as always. The distinguished man, wrapped in an apron, stood at the stove carefully stirring a pot of porridge — the picture of a devoted husband to any outside eye. But this time, Vivienne noticed: he had made two servings. Just as he finished ladling the second bowl, Jasper appeared in the kitchen doorway and tugged at Sebastian’s sleeve. “Daddy, Mom’s asking where breakfast is! Don’t forget — she gets stomach cramps if she skips!” Sebastian immediately quickened his movements, packed the second breakfast to go, and swept out the door with Jasper’s hand in his, calling back out of habit: “Viv, I’m dropping Jasper off at school — back soon to take you to the cemetery. Let the porridge cool a bit before you drink it, okay? Don’t burn yourself.” The warmth of those words had barely faded before father and son disappeared. Vivienne stood alone in the kitchen until the porridge went completely cold. Then she swallowed it in silence. The housekeeper found her and gasped. “Madam! Why are you drinking it cold? If Mr. Caldwell sees this, he’ll be heartbroken!” Her stomach was already ice. But Vivienne felt nothing — only a dry, self-mocking smile. Would he really be heartbroken? His eyes seemed to have stopped seeing her a long time ago. She waited from breakfast until dinnertime. Sebastian never came. The driver lingered awkwardly. “Mr. Caldwell may have gotten tied up — would you like me to take you to the office to wait?” Vivienne caught a glimpse of Jasper’s social media page. “Daddy and Mommy came to cheer for me at the track meet — Jasper is the luckiest kid in the world!” The photo showed Sebastian and Diana, both leaning in to kiss Jasper’s cheeks. She hadn’t even known there was a track meet today. That picture of their perfect little family made her feel like a shadow — a dark, intrusive thing lurking at the edges of a life she had no right to. Vivienne tucked the signed divorce papers into her bag. “We won’t wait for Sebastian. Take me to see my mother.” One last visit to her mother’s grave — and then she would leave this city forever. But she never expected what awaited her at the cemetery. She had barely passed through the gate when her mother’s headstone cracked apart with a thundering crash and toppled at her feet. And standing before the grave — was Diana.

The carved epitaph shattered into pieces. The black-and-white portrait of her mother was smeared with filth. A crew of workers huddled around it, shovels already raised toward the burial mound. Vivienne’s mind went blank. She lunged forward, staring at Diana in disbelief. “What are you doing?” Diana smiled pleasantly. “Why, Mrs. Caldwell — I’m digging up your mother’s grave.” Vivienne’s whole body shook with fury as she planted herself in front of the excavator. “This is my mother’s resting place. The land belongs to the Caldwells — how dare you?” Diana swept her hair back, contempt glinting in her eyes. “I called you ‘Mrs. Caldwell’ out of pity. You signed a registry — that doesn’t make you Sebastian’s wife. Caldwell land does what I say.” “What are you waiting for — get to work!” At her command, the workers moved toward the excavator controls. In desperation, Vivienne clambered into the driver’s seat and wrenched the steering wheel hard. The machine lurched — straight toward Diana’s head. Diana went white. Only her bodyguard’s swift intervention saved her from taking the blow. Shaking, she stared at Vivienne’s white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “You’re just some woman my husband slept with for years, and you dare raise a hand against me?” The driver lunged in, kicking Vivienne hard in the stomach — once, twice, again and again. She bit down on the pain and refused to let go. “Sebastian would rather put a ring on a kept woman than ever give you a name!” Diana’s eyes flooded with venom. “Throw her under the excavator — grind her into the dirt!” The bodyguards surged forward to drag Vivienne away. But the moment they reached for her, a black Maybach rolled through the cemetery gates. Sebastian was out of the car in three strides. He knocked the bodyguards aside and crushed Vivienne against him. “Diana! How many times have I warned you — don’t touch my wife!” He searched Vivienne carefully, and when he saw the bruises blooming across her stomach, the anguish in his eyes was almost unbearable. “Viv, I’m sorry I came late…” His gaze cut to Diana, cold as a blade. “How many times have I said it — you lost the right to interfere in my life when we divorced. Push me further, and I’ll turn the Harrington name to ash.” Yet Diana, rather than flinching at the threat, only tilted her head with a faint smile. And Vivienne had already noticed — on both Sebastian’s and Diana’s wrists were the matching parent-child bracelets the school had given out. The heat of Sebastian’s body against hers, the fierceness with which he was shielding her — it overlapped with the memory of the man who had broken into that compound to save her. And it moved her not at all. Vivienne stepped out of his arms and addressed Diana coldly. “What exactly do you want?” Diana didn’t answer. She just gave Sebastian a look. Sebastian rushed to explain. “Viv, this land was sold to the Harrington family for a development project. All the remains were relocated — your mother is fine. I had her moved to a better place, and the headstone was remade. Things have been hectic — I forgot to tell you.” The workers uncovered the burial mound. It was empty, just as he said. Vivienne exhaled with relief. And then came the absurdity of it. He had been thinking about accompanying her to visit her mother just this morning — yet he had forgotten to mention that the grave had been moved. She pressed her hand over her bruised stomach and pushed aside his reaching hand. “Take me to see my mother. And after that, I’ll give you that document to sign.” Sebastian walked her toward the car. Diana got there first. “Mr. Caldwell, there are some business matters we still need to discuss.” As she passed Sebastian, her fingers trailed lightly across his arm. Sebastian’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “Viv, wait just a moment — let me speak with Ms. Harrington first…” The two of them slipped into the car. Almost immediately, sounds began to filter through the doors. Sebastian trusted the Maybach’s soundproofing far too much. He had forgotten that Vivienne also had the key to disable it. She pressed the switch on her phone in a kind of self-inflicted cruelty, dropping the noise barrier to its lowest setting. From inside the car came a muffled gasp. “Diana — in the car — Viv is right outside…” Diana’s voice came out soft and breathless. “Isn’t that what makes it exciting? Every time she had one of her episodes and passed out, we were at her bedside. Three hours minimum — and she always thought she’d just had another nightmare.” Vivienne went pale. Every time her trauma surfaced and she lost consciousness, she would wake to terrible, sickening dreams. And Sebastian would always be at her side, tender and steady, swearing he hadn’t left for even a second. She still remembered the journey back from the compound — how he had cried the entire way, his whole body covered in wounds, his voice barely a rasp as he promised: From now on, he would never leave her side. He hadn’t lied about that. He truly hadn’t left. He’d just been at her bedside with Diana while she slept. A wave of nausea surged up Vivienne’s throat. She gripped the back of the car, retching helplessly. Inside the car, the movement suddenly stopped. Diana’s voice came out annoyed. “Vivienne’s bag is poking me.” “Just move it.” Sebastian’s voice cut off abruptly. “The document in her bag — what is it?”

The next instant, the car window rolled down. Diana flung Vivienne’s clutch bag straight out. “It’s just in the way,” Diana drawled. “What could a housewife possibly have that matters?” Sebastian’s voice was light. “You’re probably right.” The sounds from inside the car resumed — each one landing on Vivienne like a fresh cut, draining another shade of color from her face. Trembling, she crouched down and picked up the divorce papers, now soaked through by a puddle. From dusk until dark, Sebastian finally pushed open the car door. A flush lingered on his face — one he himself seemed unaware of. He walked over to take her hand as if nothing had happened. Vivienne glanced at the still-damp upholstery on the seat. “No, thank you. I find it disgusting too.” She climbed into the assistant’s car on her own. Sebastian, assuming she was upset over the earlier confrontation and had gotten dirt on her clothes, frowned and followed her in. His long fingers reached for a wet cloth and gently wiped at her brow. “A little dust, that’s all. Our Viv is never dirty — always the most beautiful girl in the room, no matter what.” He smiled, the softness in his eyes deep enough to drown any woman who looked too long. Vivienne met his gaze directly. She wanted to smile back, the way he did — as if nothing had happened. But the corners of her eyes reddened instead, and two tears fell straight down. “Sebastian. You forgot to sign the document.” She held out the papers, red-eyed. Sebastian, thrown into a panic at the sight of her crying, didn’t even glance at them before scrawling his signature and frantically saying, “Whatever you hand me, I’ll sign. You could sell Caldwell Corp and I’d sign for it.” What if it were divorce papers? Vivienne swallowed the question before it reached her lips. Sebastian spent the entire drive home making promises — he would deal with Diana, and there would be a surprise waiting for her tonight. They arrived at the new cemetery. It was immaculate, just as he said. Sebastian knelt solemnly before the headstone and pressed his forehead to the ground three times. “Ma’am, I’m taking good care of Vivienne. I’ll protect her peace for the rest of my life.” Looking at his tall frame bowing before her mother’s grave, Vivienne felt something shift, just for a moment. When the Caldwell family had stood against them, Sebastian had knelt before the ancestral altar in the clan hall and knocked his head against the ground until his face was raw and bleeding — and he had said only one thing: “Sebastian Caldwell will marry no one but Vivienne Hartley. I beg my ancestors to allow it.” He had never broken that vow. He had married her. It was just that love and a divided heart were not mutually exclusive. Marriage and faithfulness were two entirely different things. Sebastian rose and reached into his coat, producing a photograph. Vivienne’s eyes lit up. It was her family portrait from childhood. After the Hartley family fell from fortune in her early years, the house was auctioned off and everything inside disappeared, including every photograph they’d ever had. “Tracked it down across the globe — found it in the hands of a collector. I knew you’d be happy to have it back.” Sebastian’s eyes were bright with the look of a man presenting a treasure — almost boyish in his excitement. Vivienne accepted the photograph. Something stirred in her deadened heart. But then a sharp, acrid stench struck her without warning. Diana appeared from nowhere, hugging a basin of chicken blood — and hurled it directly at her mother’s headstone. The pristine marble was drenched in filth. Vivienne’s pupils contracted. She stepped forward and shoved Diana aside. “Diana! Come after me if you want — what kind of person desecrates a dead woman’s grave?” The repeated violation of her mother’s resting place ignited something raw and uncontrolled in Vivienne’s chest. But mindful that Diana was still Jasper’s birth mother, she had held back. Diana, however, reacted as though she had been struck by a battering ram — letting out a shriek and crashing dramatically to the ground. Sebastian’s eyes snapped to her in an instant. He crossed the distance in three steps and caught Diana in his arms. “Diana — are you all right? Are you hurt?” “How could you do this to her–” The words that rose instinctively to Sebastian’s lips — instinct born of his panic over Diana — died the moment he looked up and saw Vivienne’s ashen face. The emptiness in her eyes was frightening. And she was staring directly at his arms, wrapped tight around Diana. For one fractured second, Sebastian’s gaze faltered. But then Diana began to cry. And he could no longer spare a thought for anything else. He lifted Diana into his arms and strode away. “Viv, Diana is a critical business partner for Caldwell Corp. She can’t afford to be injured. I’m taking her to the doctor — I’ll come back for you soon.” He carried Diana out at a near-run, urgency overtaking him. He didn’t look back once — not at the headstone soaked in blood, and not at the dead, hollow look in Vivienne’s eyes. She crouched there, using her own clothes to scrub the filth from the stone. The tears that finally came dropped one by one onto her mother’s photograph. Mom — that man who just knelt and swore he’d protect me forever — I don’t believe him anymore. He’s the best liar in the world. Don’t believe him either, okay? The blood and grime smeared into one another. Vivienne’s heart felt like it was being carved open. And then a crew of workers came crashing through, shouting and laughing — and when they spotted Vivienne, a few of them exchanged a look and grinned. “Mr. Caldwell’s orders — everything at the site gets cleared into the ground.” Strong hands grabbed her and threw her into an open grave that had yet to be filled.

She hit the bottom hard, soil raining down into her face, choking her nose and mouth. “What are you doing?! I’m a living person!” The workers only laughed harder. “Not for long.” As more earth poured in, the horror of being buried alive set Vivienne’s skin crawling. Her voice shook. “I’m Sebastian Caldwell’s wife — if you do this, he won’t let you walk away.” The shovels didn’t slow. Laughter echoed through the cemetery. “Give it a rest! The order to bury you came from Mr. Caldwell himself!” “Besides — everyone knows Mr. Caldwell’s wife is Diana Harrington. You’re not fooling anyone.” Vivienne’s voice cut through in desperation. “That’s impossible! Sebastian would never do this to me — you’ve made a mistake!” One of the workers paused. “Fine. If you really are Mrs. Caldwell, I’ll call him and ask who his wife is.” A flicker of hope. The worker dialed. “Mr. Caldwell — we’ve got a live one in the pit. That’s your order, correct?” Sebastian’s voice was perfectly calm. “Yes. She hurt Diana. Teach her a lesson.” Vivienne felt her heart plummet into darkness. The worker held up the phone and looked at her with a mocking grin. “Mr. Caldwell — is Diana Harrington your wife?” “Of course. Why are you asking something everyone already knows? Get it done — Diana is already on my case about this.” Sebastian hung up. The workers looked down at her, roaring with laughter. “Never seen someone delusional enough to claim she’s the boss’s wife!” “Ready to give up now?” Vivienne looked up one last time at her mother’s face on the headstone. Sebastian’s family portrait was still pressed to her chest. She closed her eyes. A boundless desolation filled her. As the earth closed over her, Vivienne’s mind drifted, hazy and dim. She remembered a night after she had first come back to Sebastian — a nightmare so bad she’d stopped breathing. Sebastian, eyes red, tears streaming down onto her face, had performed CPR over and over. When she finally came back, he held her like a child and sobbed without restraint. “For five years, the only thing keeping me alive was the belief that you were still out there.” “No matter how much it hurt — whether you left because you were threatened, or because you genuinely chose the money over me — as long as I knew you existed somewhere in the world, I could bear it.” “But Viv, how could I ever stand by and watch you disappear from this world entirely?” It was his tears, his voice, that had given her the will to fight back to life. And it was that same man who, for Diana’s sake, had ordered her buried alive without a second thought. So be it. At least she didn’t have to make some elaborate plan to disappear. But a frantic voice broke through the dark, pulling her back. Hands tore at the packed earth — and Vivienne opened her eyes. Sebastian was on his knees in the dirt, his always-immaculate hands scooping the earth away bare-handed. “Viv — I’m here. Viv, don’t you dare leave me!” She woke in a hospital bed. Sebastian gripped her hand, his voice raw. “Viv, you scared me to death. I thought I was losing you again.” But Vivienne only looked at him. That vacant stare sent an involuntary tremor through Sebastian’s pulse. “Viv, are you angry with me? I can explain.” He softened his voice in that familiar, coaxing way. “I cleaned up your mother’s grave with my own hands.” When she said nothing, he filled the silence himself. “Diana explained — the new cemetery requires a ritual cleansing before use. It’s superstition, but what can you do. I talked to her about it.” Vivienne looked at him making excuses for Diana, and her chest ached with a bitterness she could no longer name. “Afterward, Diana told me there was a man harassing her at the site, so I told her I’d handle it.” “I didn’t know you were still there. You got caught in the middle — this was all a misunderstanding.” Vivienne said, very quietly, “I heard it myself. A worker asked you — is Diana your wife — and you said yes. Was that a misunderstanding too?” Sebastian’s expression tightened. The careful tenderness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a shadow of impatience. “Viv, you’re aware of the rumors that follow you.” “Introducing Diana as my wife publicly — that was wrong of me. But it was also the situation I was in…” “If the outside world knew the Caldwell heir’s wife was someone like you — it would affect the stock price.” Sebastian loosened his tie with a touch of exhaustion. “Viv, I need you to be reasonable. Think about the bigger picture.” Think about the bigger picture? Vivienne lowered her eyes. She almost wanted to laugh. For the sake of the bigger picture, they’d had no wedding. For the sake of the family name, she never appeared in public. Every time Jasper publicly humiliated her, she had swallowed it without a word. She had been careful, obedient, invisible — and what had she gotten in return? A man who had been spinning her in circles while she played the fool. She thought of the divorce papers he had already signed. “I’ll be reasonable, Sebastian.” She met his eyes and smiled.

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After returning home as the Alpha’s true daughter, I told Mom about it. I was bound by the Blood-Tie — the ancient Moon Goddess covenant. Whatever injury I suffered, my blood kin would suffer too. Alpha Richard let out a low, dismissive scoff. “You’ve been reading too much human fantasy?” To prove it, I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped off a small lock of my hair. Mom’s hair dropped in the exact same spot with a sharp snap. Dad instantly clapped a hand to his own head. Both brothers came thundering down the stairs. “What the hell — why is there a bald patch on my head?!” The four of them stood in the great hall, exchanging bewildered looks, their inner wolves restless and confused. Once they confirmed it was real, Mom and Dad issued an absolute order — no one was to lay a single finger on me. Enforcers watched over me around the clock. When Seraphina, the fake daughter, came home, she was furious enough to draw blood. On my first day at Lycan Academy, she had my guards pulled away and cornered me in the restroom. A group of her followers surrounded me. Seraphina crossed her arms and smiled coldly. “Silver needles ready? I want a thousand holes in her.” “…” “As long as the wounds are small, she’ll have no proof to report us.” I was backed into a corner. I watched them advance on me, needles raised, step by step. My eyes stung. I lowered my voice in warning. “Are you… sure you want to do this?” The next second. A silver needle drove into my arm. From down the hall came a sudden, sharp howl of pain. “Who the hell just stabbed me?!” It was my second brother Jaxon’s voice, bellowing from his classroom. Seraphina flinched instinctively at the sound. I pressed my hand over the wound, gritting my teeth against the burn of silver. “Seraphina, you touched me today. Mom and Dad won’t let this go.” Seraphina squeezed the remaining needles in her fist. She recovered herself and gave me a cold smile. “You’re nothing but a stray wolf Mom and Dad dragged out of some forgotten human territory.” The girls around her burst out laughing. “Exactly. The Silver Moon Pack took you in to guard the gates. Since when do strays think they’re the Alpha’s heir?” Seraphina toyed with the needles between her fingers, smiling with satisfaction. “You think carrying Silver Moon blood makes you better than me?” “Mom and Dad only have guards on you because they’re afraid a wild girl like you can’t handle Pack life without causing trouble.” She tilted her head, her laugh low and unbothered. “I’ve been raised as the Alpha’s daughter for eighteen years. Every wolf in the Northern Packs knows my name.” “And you think you can shake my place just because you’re their real child?” I heard all of it and felt nothing but tired. I stood and turned to go back to class. Seraphina stepped in front of me. “Want to leave? Then get yourself out of the Silver Moon Pack first.” I pressed my hand over the needle wound, frowning. “Seraphina, what is wrong with you?” “I didn’t take your room. I didn’t ask Mom and Dad to send you away.” “What gives a fake like you the right to drive me out?” Seraphina’s expression darkened at that word. She shot a look at the two girls beside her. “Hold her down. That last round was too light.” Just as the needles were about to come down again — My phone rang. Seraphina’s hand froze. She reached over and snatched it from my pocket. When she saw the screen, she held it up in front of my face with a cold laugh. “Impressive. You’ve been gone barely an hour and Mom, Dad, and both brothers are flooding your phone.” Seraphina bit her lip, and something dark crept into her eyes. “So what would happen if you actually disappeared for good?” My phone kept lighting up, call after call, over and over. Every single one, she declined. I looked up at her, voice steady. “Seraphina, you really can’t hurt me. If I’m hurt, Mom, Dad, and the brothers feel it too.” “They’ll tear you apart for this.” Seraphina lifted one brow, utterly unconcerned. The needles were rising again when her own phone went off. The caller ID said Jaxon. Her eyes lit up. “My brother still cares about me most.” She answered. His voice came through. “Seraphina. Elara is missing.” The hand squeezing the needles went white. Her expression locked in place. He wasn’t asking about her. Only me. “Someone said she was pulled into the restroom.” “I’m already on my way.” Seraphina’s head snapped up. The next second, the restroom door shook with frantic, thundering blows. “Open up!” “Everyone out — now!” Every last drop of color drained from her face.

I opened my mouth to call out — the word brother died before it left my lips. The two girls holding me reacted instantly, clamping their hands over my mouth. Seraphina’s eyes swept the room. She pulled a silver dagger from her jacket and pressed it against my throat. She dropped her voice to a lethal whisper, every word deliberate. “Hold the blade on her. She makes a sound, you draw blood.” The pounding outside became a full crash against the door. Seraphina shoved me into one of the stall compartments. Left two girls watching me. The silver blade never left my neck. She leaned close to my ear. “Make a sound and I’ll end you right here.” I clenched my fists and forced myself to nod. The look on her face — she meant it. If something happened to me, Mom and Dad would— No. Absolutely not. I’d been a lone wolf for eighteen years. I would not lose the family I’d only just found. The door was seconds away from giving. Seraphina called out toward it, her voice easy. “Jaxon… Elara’s not in here. I had stomach cramps, that’s why I didn’t answer.” She pushed the door open, one hand pressed to her stomach. Jaxon didn’t say a word. He shoved past her and stepped inside. “Elara, are you in here? Did someone hurt you?” Seraphina grabbed his arm. “Jaxon, this is the girls’ room. What do you think you’re doing?” “She probably wandered off to explore. It’s the Academy — there’s plenty to see.” She tried to push him back out. He brushed her off. The space went quiet for a few seconds. The phone of the girl standing beside me lit up. A text from Seraphina. The girl’s eyes turned hard as she looked at me. She shifted the dagger to my collarbone and pressed down, voice barely a breath. “Don’t you dare.” She dragged the blade across my collarbone in a thin, sharp line. I bit down on my lip, sweat breaking cold across my forehead. Outside, Jaxon let out a sudden cry and grabbed at his own collarbone where the mirrored wound had opened. “Elara wouldn’t just wander off. Something’s wrong.” “Seraphina, come with me. We need to find Elara.” He answered his phone mid-step and strode out. Seraphina waited until his footsteps faded, then shut the door. The way she looked at me completely changed. Like something that wanted to feed. “Elara. I didn’t expect it — Jaxon actually cares about you that much.” Her eyes went cold. “I can’t let you go home.” The girls taped my mouth shut. Then pressed a mask over the tape. “We move her to the abandoned silver mine outside Pack territory.” “The walls there are thick. No sound gets out.” “I want her to understand what it costs to cross me.” One girl hooked her arm through mine. The other hid the blade under my academy jacket, point pressed to my ribs. I didn’t make a sound the entire walk out. We were almost through the front gates when Jaxon came running from the other direction. He grabbed the girl with the blade by the shoulder. His voice was urgent. “Chloe — you’re in Elara’s class. Have you seen her?” “No.” Chloe yanked me forward, trying to pull us away. I lifted my eyes slowly and looked straight at Jaxon. His gaze caught mine. He frowned. There was no time for him to think it through. Chloe dug the blade point harder into my ribs. Jaxon’s hand flew to his side. We both looked away at the same moment. “I have to move faster.” He turned toward the car waiting at the gates. I was being dragged forward, but I looked too. It was my eldest brother, Silas. Blood was seeping through his shirt at the collarbone. He walked toward the car, knuckles cracking. “Whoever dared lay a hand on my sister — you’d better enjoy breathing while you can.” The two girls holding me went rigid. Silas raised his eyes and looked straight toward me. At the same moment, Chloe shoved the blade in harder. She pressed her mouth to my ear. “Move. Now. Or I’ll finish you here.”

Silas and Jaxon cried out at the same instant. Both of them dropped to their knees, doubled over. They locked eyes, and their expressions turned to ice. “Elara’s in danger.” “If we waste any more time, we lose everyone.” Silas’s face went dark. By then, my mouth was sealed with tape. I couldn’t make a sound. The blade was still in their hands. No matter how fast my brothers moved, they couldn’t outrun steel. I lowered my head and looked away. And I didn’t want my family hurt because of me. By the time they shoved me into the abandoned silver mine, the sky had gone completely black. I didn’t know how long had passed before Seraphina arrived. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring down at me. “Elara.” “You really are something.” “One day back, and you’ve already got the entire Silver Moon Pack losing their minds over you.” She laughed, low and cold. “Over a hundred pack members are out searching for you right now.” “Side branches, elders — everyone’s been called in.” She gritted her teeth. “Even Elder Vance, who never leaves his territory, came rushing back.” I knew the Pack House must be in complete chaos. I struggled against my restraints, muffled sounds forcing their way past the tape. I wanted to tell her about the Blood-Tie. She didn’t care. She thought I was just thrashing. She drove her boot into my stomach. The pain exploded outward, white and blinding. I curled on the ground. Tears fell before I could stop them. It was exactly like being small again — back in the human orphanage where the other children would corner me. Seraphina crouched down. Ripped the tape from my mouth. Gripped my jaw. “Talk.” “What exactly makes you so different?” “Your face?” “Or your bloodline?” I forced the words out. They came in broken pieces. “It’s not… that…” “It’s the… Blood-Tie…” “When I’m hurt…” “They’re hurt too…” The girls paused for a moment. Then erupted in laughter. Seraphina looked at me like I’d just told the worst joke she’d ever heard. “A blood covenant?” “What is this, a low-budget werewolf drama?” I bit down hard. A deeper pain was gathering low in my body — my cycle, from the cold and the stress. I pushed everything I had left into a single sentence, barely above a whisper. “If I die —” “Every soul in the Silver Moon Pack dies with me.” A beat of silence. Then Seraphina laughed — and kept laughing, louder and louder. “If that’s true, then perfect.” She leaned down, her eyes vicious. “If they all die, I’m the only one left.” “Then everything the Silver Moon Pack owns — it’s all mine.” She paused, letting the smile settle. “But it’s not true. So it doesn’t matter.” Across the territory, inside the Silver Moon Pack House — The great hall was full of bodies on the floor. Every blood relative of the Pack, writhing, clutching their stomachs, unable to stand. Elder Vance, old and already frail, passed out cold from the pain. Luna Helen’s face had gone the color of ash. “Find her. Now.” “Whoever took Elara wants her dead.” “Every minute we wait, we lose more of our own.” The hall was crowded — Alphas, high-ranking warriors, Elder Council members. Everyone across every rank of the Pack. And every single one of them had one purpose. Find Elara. That night, every enforcers’ signal lit up across the Silver Moon territory. Pack communication channels screamed with emergency alerts from one end to the other. Outside the mine, distant howls of patrol wolves carried toward us. Seraphina heard them. The hatred in her eyes sharpened. “I was always the Alpha’s daughter.” “Eighteen years I stood by this family.” “You come back for one day and everything changes?” Her eyes had gone red. Tears slid down her face. “I only meant to teach you a lesson. But now —” Her voice dropped below freezing. “I’ve changed my mind.” One of the girls came running back in from outside. Seraphina waved her over. The girl nodded and immediately looped a rope over an iron hook bolted to the ceiling. Beneath it, the floor had been soaked with alcohol-drenched wolfsbane cloth. Seraphina smiled, dismissed the others, and lit a candle. The flame caught the rope and began to eat slowly downward. She pressed the tape back over my mouth, then stepped to the doorway. “By the time I walk back into the Pack House, this place will be going up.” She smiled lightly. “And when it does, the Silver Moon Pack will only have one daughter left.” “They’ll have no choice but to love me.” Right then, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and answered. Silas’s voice came through. “Seraphina. Enforcers tracked Elara’s phone signal.”

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After my foster sister died, my Alpha brother became the person who hated me most. He hated me so much that he sent me to the werewolf black market to be auctioned off for entertainment. What I went through there was beyond words. On my knees, I begged him for mercy, but all I saw in his eyes was hatred. If it weren’t for you, Lydia wouldn’t have died on that operating table! You killed her, now spend the rest of your life paying for it. But when a Rogue attack came, he didn’t hesitate to pull me into his arms, shielding me from every lethal blow. Blood was coughed against my ear, warm and thick. If there’s a next life, I’d rather never have you as my sister. Lydia is all I need. I lunged at the Rogues, dragging them down with me—only to wake up five years in the past. This time, my brother, I’ll give you what you want. You’ll only have one sister. I made my decision. Delilah! You burned Lydia’s hand in boiling water just for a piece of candy She saved your life! How did I end up with such an ungrateful sister The familiar voice rang in my ears. I opened my eyes slowly, stunned by the scene in front of me. This was five years ago—the day I scalded my foster sister Lydia Alvarez’s hand. I really went back in time. And there he was. My brother. No blood on his lips, no wounds on his body. He was healthy. My nose stung. I forced down the wave of emotions and rasped, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have burned Lydia’s hand. He froze. I looked at him and smiled bitterly. That candy, it was the one he’d shoved into my palm years ago, eyes red, trying to calm me down after our parents died in that car crash. Delilah, don’t cry. I’m here. I’ll take care of you. He was just a kid then, but he had to step up as an Alpha and raise me. It made sense he’d forgotten about that candy. I shouldn’t hold it against him. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lowered my head to Lydia, who was lying in the hospital bed. I’m sorry. I won’t fight you for his attention anymore. Lydia blinked, then her eyes welled up. She looked ready to cry again. Sis, I didn’t mean to step on your candy, I… Without a word, I turned, grabbed the freshly boiled water from the bedside table, and poured it over my own right arm. A searing pain exploded through me. Cold sweat soaked my back instantly. I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. Does that make us even They both stared, completely thrown by my sudden shift. My brother was the first to snap out of it. He grabbed my wrist, shouting, Delilah, are you insane Before I could answer, he snapped at the guards by the door. What are you waiting for Get a doctor! A warmth bloomed in my chest. I watched him, comforted. Back then, he still cared. His eyes weren’t cold yet. Weren’t full of hate. That felt good. Even though I knew this love was never really mine, I still clung to the warmth of his grip. But before I could speak, Lydia sniffled and tugged at his sleeve. I know she just wants you all to herself… but she doesn’t have to play the martyr. Then she turned to me, tears streaming. Please don’t hurt yourself. You’re his real sister. I’m just adopted. That did it. His expression cooled. I pressed my lips together, ready to defend myself, then stopped. Sure enough, his voice came out cold. And here I was, stupid enough to hope. You really are something else. Are you even my real sister After everything I’d been through, this was nothing. I lowered my head. Whatever you say. You— He choked, pointing at me, lost for words. Finally, he turned to a Beta. Take her to get that arm treated. Keep her away from Lydia. I nodded and quietly walked out. But I didn’t go get treated. Because from the moment I woke up in the past, a familiar sharp pain had been spreading from my heart to every nerve in my body. I could barely stand. Right. Last time around, today was the day I was diagnosed with Lycan Heart-Core Failure. Without a transplant, I had less than two weeks.

I’d always been a sickly child. The pack’s witch had foretold that I would never shift—never have a wolf of my own. Unlike other werewolves, I had no ability to heal. I was, for all intents and purposes, human. A simple flu, a bad fall, a broken bone, any of it could kill me. Worst part I had a clotting disorder. Almost bled out once during surgery. My body couldn’t handle the strength of the werewolf bloodline. No one in the pack could save me. My brother completely lost control. Searched everywhere until he found the one Omega who could donate—Lydia. Her blood saved my life. That was how she went from being the lowest Omega in the pack to the adopted daughter of our father, Noah, Alpha of Silverclaw. But after that, my brother changed. He stopped caring about me. Lydia became his whole world. If we both got hurt He wouldn’t even look my way. He’d leave me there and rush her to the hospital, even if her injuries were minor. It made me jealous. Made me hate her. So I lashed out. A sweet, innocent foster sister versus a bitter, crazy real one You do the math. I was so naive. I thought he still loved me most. That he only doted on her because she saved my life. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Last time around, they found out I had Lycan Heart-Core Failure—my heart was slowly shutting down. And Lydia died on the operating table, donating blood to save me. I lived. Miraculously. But from that day on, my brother hated me with everything he had. He hurled the cruelest words at me, like we weren’t even siblings. Like we were enemies with blood between us. This time I didn’t want that. I’d rather be the one who didn’t make it. Winter was brutal. Freezing wind and snow whipped at my face like razor blades. The ache in my soul mixed with the burn on my arm until even breathing hurt. I hunched over, pulled my coat tighter, and kept walking. Guess I got greedy earlier. I came back to give my brother what he wanted, a life with only one sister. I should just leave. That thought was still fresh when a car honked beside me. The window rolled down. There he was, stone-faced. Get in. Before I could say no, his men pulled me inside. The heat was cranked, but I still felt cold. I pressed myself against the window, staring at the blur of streetlights flying past. You didn’t even get your arm treated. What are you trying to pull this time His voice cut through the silence like ice. Hurting yourself for attention wasn’t enough Now you’re running away I was quiet for a second. Then I turned and met his eyes. I mean it. You won’t have to deal with me anymore. I’ll move out. Stay far away. He laughed, bitter, mocking. Move out You With your weak body You leave home, you’re useless. How long do you think you’d last Not long anyway. I dropped my gaze. That’s not your concern. I know I used to fight for your attention. Scream. Throw fits. But I get it now. Some things just aren’t mine. Lydia saved me. You should love her. I… I shouldn’t get in the way. His eyes narrowed, searching my face for lies. For some scheme. All he found was ash. Whatever fire had burned there—jealousy, longing, even love—was gone. Dead. That stillness unsettled him more than anything. You think this act will make me soften Make me proud Delilah, I’m sick of your games. I’m not playing games. My voice came out soft, tired. I’m just… done. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to go meet Mom and Dad with you hating me. I thought.

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In the Silverblade Pack, everyone knew my husband, Orion Vale, and I were a pair of mated enemies. Because he was the mate I had forced into the bond. Throughout our eight-year marriage, we spent every day wishing the other dead. He poisoned my meals, while I slipped needles into his shoes. I hated that years of love had failed to move him, because his heart had always belonged to another woman. He hated that I used a debt of gratitude to bind him to me. In his eyes, I was the one who drove the woman he loved to her death. However, when Rogues attacked the Silverblade Pack and we were on the verge of capture, he gave me the only path to survival. Then he used himself as bait to draw the enemy away. “Victoria, run.” His body was covered in wounds as he turned back to look at me. “I’m going to see Margaret. I hope we never meet again in another life. I only ever loved her.” When I arrived with the warriors of the Silverblade Pack, all that remained was his shattered, mangled body. Later, I went alone into the Rogue camp and slaughtered every last one of them. When my strength was finally spent, I fell into an eternal sleep, never to wake again. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to a time before we were ever marked. I found my father, Alpha William, and voluntarily refused the moonlit bonding with Orion. “This time, I will take the undercover mission,” I said. “You want to take Margaret’s place and go undercover beside the Wasteland Lord, and give up becoming Orion’s mate?” Dad stared at me for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. After all, everyone in the Silverblade Pack knew that I had never gotten along with my stepsister, Margaret Ashford. I had even beaten her up more than once. I had also publicly declared that Orion Vale was the only mate I would ever have, warning off any her wolves who dared covet him. No one believed I would give up the mating bond and volunteer to infiltrate the Rogues in Margaret’s stead. “Your moonlit bonding with Orion is only ten days away,” Dad said. “Have you really thought this through?” I paused briefly before answering in an even tone. “You’ve always said that Margaret lost her father and that I should yield to her, right?” A flicker of conflicted emotion crossed my father’s face. Ever since he remarried, he kept telling me to rein in my temper. He wanted me to take extra care of Margaret, afraid she might feel unwelcome in our home. In my previous life, if I hadn’t reminded him that Mom died saving him, he would probably have changed the drawing result to my name without hesitation. In the end, he canceled my moonlit bonding and wrote my name on the Rogue undercover list instead. When I walked out of the Pack House, I ran straight into Orion. In my previous life, he had rushed into the Pack House just like this, covered in mud, dropped to one knee in the office, and begged Dad to revoke Margaret’s undercover assignment. Back then, I had tied Orion up without hesitation and dragged him away. After that, I had forced him to sign the mate bond with me. This time, I merely rubbed my shoulder where he had bumped into me and stepped aside to leave. Orion reached out and stopped me, a flash of anger and confusion crossing his eyes. I brushed his hand away and got straight to the point. “The selection of the undercover agent by drawing lots is a rule of the Silverblade Pack.” His voice turned cold. “Give me a little more time, and I will find the Rogues’ weakness. Using a woman to infiltrate the Wasteland Lord and steal intelligence isn’t the only option.” I smiled faintly. The situation was urgent. There was no time to spare. If this dragged on, more Pack members would be dragged into the conflict. Right now, choosing either Margaret or me to infiltrate the Wasteland Lord and secure critical intelligence was the path with the least sacrifice and the highest chance of success. “Either Margaret or I will have to go undercover,” I said coolly. “No matter how long you beg, that fact won’t change.” He clenched his fist and swept me with his gaze. “As long as you don’t stir up trouble in front of Alpha William, there might be another way.” Watching him defend Margaret so resolutely, I suddenly lost all interest. I swallowed every word that had risen to my throat. “Suit yourself. The application has already been submitted. You’ll be satisfied when the time comes.” With that, I strode away, leaving a stunned Orion behind. I had originally planned to lay everything out in the open, but now I didn’t feel like it anymore. In my previous life, he wished for my death anyway. A little more hatred or a little less made no real difference. On his wedding day, when he sees I’m not the one standing there, I suppose he’ll be glad. In my previous life, he gave me the only path to survival, shoved me out of the encirclement, and bore every attack alone until he vomited blood and died. Thinking of that still made my throat tighten. I had always believed that as long as I kept him by my side, things would eventually get better. But he had chosen to leave me the chance to live and die alongside Margaret instead. Since Orion saved my life in my previous life, I would consider this my repayment.

The first thing I did after returning home was study how to win this war. The Rogues had a powerful leader known as the Wasteland Lord. He was the one who united all the Rogues. In order to seize resources, he began attacking the surrounding packs. In my previous life, Margaret had been sent to infiltrate his side. She was exposed in less than three months and tortured to death in every imaginable way. We never obtained any intelligence. Worse still, our location was directly exposed. The war reignited as a result, with devastating casualties. Later, Orion died under a hail of enemy gunfire while protecting me. If everything truly returned to the beginning, maybe this time I could prepare in advance. I sat at my desk and thought the whole night through, never once falling asleep. The next morning, I changed into casual clothes and prepared to head out. The moment I opened the door, a cold gun barrel pressed against my head. “Why do you insist on making things hard for Margaret?!” Orion said. I froze for a split second, then raised my hand to knock the gun away. But Orion twisted my arm and pinned it behind me. His grip was so strong that I couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath. “Orion, let go,” I snapped. I lifted my leg and kicked backward hard, but he only forced me down more brutally. “Victoria, do you really want to become my mate that badly?” Orion said. “So badly that you’re willing to let Margaret die? You’re so selfish and cold-blooded. What right do you have to be loved?” I went rigid. Scenes from our previous life, when we hurled vicious words at each other, suddenly flashed before my eyes, perfectly overlapping with what he was saying now. I snapped back to reality, drove my foot into his lower abdomen, grabbed the gun he dropped in pain, and turned to aim it at his forehead. “Orion, are you planning to shoot me inside the territory?” I said. The pain sobered him instantly. He looked up at my swollen hand, still trembling, and the fury in his eyes turned into regret. His tone softened unconsciously. “I’m sorry. I acted on impulse.” I ignored him and tossed the gun at his feet. “Someone has to be sent on this mission. You don’t need to take it out on me. Maybe the final outcome will be exactly what you want. Why don’t you go back and focus on preparing for your moonlit bonding?” Orion did not catch the bitterness in my voice. He bent down, picked up the gun dejectedly, and let out a self-mocking laugh. “Not everyone is as cold-blooded as you. How can I be thinking about the moonlit bonding at a time like this…” I took a deep breath and walked away, face expressionless. I clenched my teeth so hard they nearly bled, forcing myself not to look back. This time, Orion would get exactly what he wanted. When I returned that evening, Orion had someone leave a plate of my favorite nut pancake on my desk. There were no pancake shops within the territory. I figured he must have gone out of his way to buy it from the grand hotel outside. I did not take a single bite. I knew he did this only to repay my mom for taking him in back then and raising him after bringing him home. He had always treated me as his younger sister. It was I who had stubbornly clung on, unwilling to accept a relationship that was nothing more than deep friendship.

Approval for the undercover mission came through quickly. The cancellation of my mate binding application with Orion, however, was kept strictly confidential. I specifically instructed Dad to tell only Margaret, in private, that I would be taking her place for the undercover assignment. All she needed to do was resubmit her mate binding application with Orion. I asked that everyone else be informed only on the day of her and Orion’s moonlit bonding. After reviewing all materials and intelligence related to this mission, I burned them up. I considered it a surprise that I was preparing for Orion. But Orion knew nothing about it. He seemed listless every day. Whenever he had the chance, he went to the leadership, trying to get the undercover candidate replaced. That afternoon, just after I walked out of the cafeteria, I happened to see Orion and Margaret sitting together in the garden. Having learned that she could be with the man she loved, Margaret was smiling more brightly than ever. “Orion, what are you weaving?” Margaret asked. “I’ve never seen that before.” Orion was holding several bundles of wild grass. His fingers bent and looped with practiced ease, and soon the grass took shape as a straw-woven grasshopper. “Just some useless little trinket,” he said with a brief smile. I found it painfully ironic. My mom taught him that straw-weaving skill. When she was still alive, she used to weave things like that to amuse me. After she sacrificed herself to protect the territory, the one who comforted me became Orion. Then Margaret appeared, and even the little joy I had left was taken from me bit by bit. I resented Margaret and my stepmother for stealing the affection that once belonged to me. I had even forced Orion not to accompany Margaret or play with her. Orion, in turn, accused me of being unreasonable and making trouble out of nothing. “What do you want?” Orion asked gently. Margaret glanced at me, a playful smile tugging at her lips, her expression innocent. “How about making a rabbit?” Orion froze. I turned and walked away. A straw-woven rabbit was the last thing Mom ever made for me. Our former home had been attacked by Rogues and burned to ashes. The only thing Mom was able to leave me was that final straw-woven rabbit. Margaret had never cared about things like that. She only wanted to provoke me. I did not leave calmly, nor did I dodge or hide. When I turned my head, Orion was looking over, but I ignored him. That night, a small box appeared outside my bedroom door. When I opened it, there was a straw-woven rabbit inside. The craftsmanship was distinctive. I knew at once that Orion had made it. “How childish,” I muttered. I turned around and went back into my room, leaving the rabbit outside. When I opened the door the next morning, the rabbit was still there. I stared at it for a long moment, then finally picked it up and took it with me.

Dad held a simple farewell gathering within the territory. When I came out of the training grounds, I saw Margaret sitting right at the center of the crowd, looking reluctant to leave. “I never expected the draw to pick you,” someone said. “As Alpha William’s biological daughter, Victoria should have stepped up to protect the territory, instead of using her status to force Orion into a mate bond. Margaret, I’m so sorry for you.” “Exactly. Victoria didn’t even show her face to thank you. You’re the real hero here. You’re going undercover, one wrong move and you could die. And she doesn’t even bother to attend,” another chimed in. I saw a flash of smugness flicker through the tears in Margaret’s eyes. The moment she met my gaze, she froze. She probably never expected me to show up. After all, we had never gotten along, and this gathering was held for her. No one thought I would attend. Watching the panic on her face, I gave a faint, amused smile and took a seat. The people beside me noticed and their expressions changed at once. “Why is she here? To show off?” “What’s with that attitude? Margaret is clearly better than her! Unlike Victoria, her own sister is about to take on a deadly mission, and she doesn’t even react. How could Alpha William have such a heartless daughter?” someone said. I did not argue with them. They were comrades who had fought side by side. In my previous life, most of them had ended up dead or severely injured. Being able to stand here now, full of energy and gossiping, was already a blessing. I watched them joke around for a while, then felt bored and stood up to leave. Margaret followed behind me and called out, “Wait, Victoria.” I turned and stopped. She walked over and linked her arm through mine in an intimate gesture. “Dad already told me,” she said softly. “You were the one who withdrew the mate bond request with Orion. He’s always liked me anyway, so it doesn’t count as me stealing him, right?” She paused, then added, “The draw picked me, yes—but I’m basically giving you this huge chance to earn merit. Surely chatting a little with our comrades isn’t too much?” I laughed outright and narrowed my eyes at her. “Merit? You think you could earn any if you went instead?” She froze. “Margaret, your training results are terrible, and your real combat experience is basically zero,” I said coldly. “Do you really think the battlefield is a child’s game? If Dad hadn’t shielded you, you wouldn’t even qualify for the guard unit.” I let out a short laugh. “You should be thanking me for taking your place. I didn’t expect you to be stupid enough to think you were actually capable.” Her face went ashen. Then her eyes shifted, and a strange smile curved on her lips. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand and slapped herself across the face. “Victoria, why would you…?” She cried out. I was just about to say, Who are you even putting on this pathetic act for— The next moment, a familiar figure rushed in front of me and shoved me without hesitation. My lower back slammed into the rockery behind me. A dull pain exploded through my body. Orion’s face was dark as he pulled Margaret behind him. He stared at me with naked resentment. “Victoria, when did you become this aggressive?” he said. “She’s about to carry out an undercover mission in a few days. If she gets hurt, are you willing to take her place?” I covered my face, disbelief flooding in. “You hit me? Did you even look clearly? Just now it was obvious—” “That’s enough.” Orion cut me off. His face was grim, his voice cold enough to freeze. “You’ve been arrogant and domineering since childhood. I thought you were just straightforward, but I never imagined you’d even go after your own sister.” “You were raised in the same household. Margaret carries the Silverblade Pack in her heart, while you’re vicious and jealous. I don’t even know who taught you to be like this. If you ask me, Mrs. Ashford was driven to her death by you!” he added. “Orion, enough,” I cried. A sharp slap rang out. My palm landed squarely on his face. I was breathing hard, my eyes red as I glared at him. Orion turned his head aside and said nothing. In the eight years of marriage in my previous life, we had exchanged cruel words like this every day. But this was the first time he crossed my bottom line. “You’re the last person who has any right to talk about my mother!” I snapped. I turned away, clutching my already bruised lower back, and limped forward. Orion seemed to realize I was injured. He caught up in a few strides and scooped me up in his arms. Behind us, Margaret was still sobbing softly. “Orion, I—” But Orion did not even let her finish. He carried me away at a fast pace.

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