“If the Moon Goddess grants us another life, I will never take you as my mate again.” These were Silas’s final words to me at the end of his life. It seemed the Moon Goddess answered our prayers, sending me back to the exact night Alpha Silas saved my life. When I opened my eyes, the thick stench of ash and blood filled my lungs. I crawled out from the hidden bunker beneath the burning ruins of our packhouse. Silas stood before me, his heavy combat boots planted firmly on the scorched grass. He had just shifted back into his human form, and the silver blade in his hand was still dripping with the blood of rogues He asked, “Are there any other survivors from your family?” In my past life, I had no idea that my sister, Serena, had hidden in the abandoned Moon Shrine to escape the massacre. I had shaken my head and denied it. Because of my ignorance, she was captured by the savage rogues. Later, Silas took me as his mate, but only to repay a life debt he owed my late parents. It was a completely loveless bond. Everything fell apart the day he returned from a border patrol mission, bringing my sister Serena back with him. She was five months pregnant and completely shattered. Seeing her like that, the usually cold and collected Alpha entirely lost his mind. Silas believed I had intentionally hidden the truth about her out of jealousy. He hated me for the rest of his life. He hated me for letting the female he truly loved fall into the hands of rogues and suffer unspeakable horrors. He loathed himself for being bound to me, unable to spend his life with Serena. Right up until his final breath, he never once looked at me with an ounce of tenderness. Suddenly, a low, rumbling growl from Silas’s inner wolf pulled me back to reality. I looked up at him, my voice perfectly steady. “My sister… Serena is still alive. She is hiding in the abandoned Moon Shrine.” As soon as the words left my mouth, a frail figure stumbled out of the dark woods, sprinting toward us. Serena grabbed my hands tightly, tears streaming down her soot-covered cheeks. “Aria, are you hurt? I thought I would never see you again.” Her hands were incredibly warm. I stared at her blankly and murmured, “I am fine.” Silas took a step forward. His tall, imposing figure cast a long, dark shadow over us. He took off his heavy tactical jacket and draped it gently over Serena’s shivering shoulders. His voice was impossibly gentle. “The night air is freezing. Do not catch a chill.” In that moment, everything finally made sense. I understood why, in this life, Silas had arrived at our packhouse fifteen minutes later than he did in the past life. Serena collected herself and wiped away her tears. She looked at me and explained, “Aria, this is the Chief Enforcer of the Lycan Council, Alpha Silas Thorne. He visited our pack when we were just pups. If he had not fought off those rogues at the shrine, I would have…” Her face turned pale with horror, unable to finish the sentence. Silas gripped her hand tightly, his knuckles turning white. His lips were pressed into a grim line. His inner wolf was clearly terrified of losing the female standing in front of him. He cut her off softly. “This is not a safe place to talk. I am taking you back to my pack.” Silas guided Serena toward his armored SUV, pulling open the passenger door and carefully helping her inside. Not once did his gaze fall on me. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was fulfilling the dying vow he made in our past life. Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief. My life was my own again. After a three-day drive, we arrived at the territory of the Bloodwood Pack. Serena and I were settled into the East Wing of the packhouse. In my past life, this area had been strictly forbidden. It was the one place Silas had entirely banned me from entering. Now, basking in the light of Serena’s privilege, I finally got to see what was inside. White roses bloomed beautifully in the private garden. The interior design of the rooms was almost a replica of Serena’s old bedroom in our destroyed packhouse. Even the diffusers were filled with the exact vanilla and jasmine scent she always used. The only thing missing was a certain portrait. In my past life, I had sneaked into this wing only once. I found Silas standing in front of an oil painting of a female. His eyes held a profound, tender love that I had never seen before. Before I could clearly see the face of the woman in the painting, his wolf sensed my presence. The tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by his usual cold, ruthless demeanor. His eyes filled with absolute disgust, and his voice was like ice. “Who gave you permission to enter?” “I told you, without my direct order, you are never to set foot in here.” At the time, I did not understand the bitter regret in his eyes. It was not until much later that I realized the woman in that painting must have been Serena. Silas was a man with a heart of stone. During the harshest winter of my past life, he had the heating in my quarters cut off for three days straight. The bitter cold seeped into my bones, making my knees ache as if thousands of needles were piercing my joints. To survive the freezing nights, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and beg him to stay in my bed a little longer, just to share his body heat. Silas would laugh coldly, gripping my chin tightly. “The Vance bloodline is supposed to be noble and pure. How did your parents raise such a shameless Omega? You are nothing like…” He would cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say. A flash of vicious hatred would cross his eyes. “Since you brought this upon yourself, do not regret it.” That night, he had claimed me with unbearable roughness. The pain was so agonizing that I nearly blacked out. “Do you need anything else for your room? I can have the omegas fetch it for you.” A warm, polite voice pulled me back to the present. Serena smiled shyly. “You are too kind, Alpha. I have everything I need.” Then, she turned to look at me. “What about you, Aria?” As soon as she spoke, a heavy, unfathomable gaze fell upon me.

His overwhelming Alpha aura was suffocating. A phantom ache flared in my knees, a lingering memory from my past life. I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you, Alpha Silas. I don’t need anything.” A faint, scoffing laugh broke the silence. Even without looking up, I knew exactly who it was. It was the sound I had heard the most in my past life. Cold and laced with heavy mockery. My previous life was filled with unbearable suffering. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him anymore, neither as a pack member nor as a mate. But avoiding him was impossible. Because of Serena, Silas visited our wing frequently. Sometimes he brought imported pastries from the eastern market, other times rare perfumes and romance novels to make her smile. It was obvious that Serena was falling for him， too. It was perfect. Without me standing in their way, they were destined to be the perfect mates. “Aria, is this pretty?” Serena’s soft voice sounded next to my ear. It was a hand-stitched leather amulet pouch, finely embossed with two intertwined wolves. I nodded. “It is beautiful. Your stitching has always been the best among the females in our pack. He will absolutely love it.” She smiled bashfully, looking down. “You always know what to say.” Then, a hint of melancholy crossed her face. “There are so many high-ranking noble she-wolves in the Bloodwood Pack. I don’t know if the Alpha will actually like something so simple.” I gave her an encouraging nod. “He will.” It was exactly like my past life. Back then, shortly after Serena was brought back to the pack, my relationship with Silas had hit rock bottom. An older Luna I befriended gave me some advice. She told me to stitch an amulet pouch for him, claiming that male Lycans could never resist a mate’s soft, devoted gesture. But my hands were clumsy. The intertwined wolves I stitched looked like stray dogs. I pricked my fingers until they bled, and some of the blood even stained the leather. Then, a few days later, I saw Silas walking out of Serena’s room with a rare, genuine smile on his face. Hanging from his tactical belt was a leather amulet pouch. I knew immediately it was Serena’s handiwork. That older Luna was right. Male Lycans could not resist such gestures. But she left out one crucial detail. It only worked if the gesture came from the female they truly loved. For the next few days, Silas was surprisingly decent to me. He even bought me my favorite pastries from the market after finishing his Council duties. I ended up never giving him my ugly pouch. Later, it disappeared from my room entirely. One of the omegas probably saw it, thought it was trash, and threw it away. Serena was called out of the room by one of the pack’s omegas. I stared blankly at the beautiful amulet pouch left on the table. If my stitching were this perfect, would someone treat me with that kind of love, too? A tall shadow fell over me. Thinking Serena had returned, I picked up the pouch and held it out to hand it back. I looked up, only to crash straight into a pair of pitch-black, predatory eyes. Silas’s gaze dropped to the pouch in my hand. A cruel, mocking smirk formed on his lips. “Aria Vance, what kind of pathetic trick are you trying to pull now?” I didn’t miss the absolute disgust swirling in his eyes. “Are you really that desperate? Trying to shamelessly crawl into my bed again?” “I told you before. I will never claim you as my mate. You’d better kill that delusion right now.” A long-forgotten terror gripped my heart. His aggressive pheromones carried the chilling bite of that past winter, making me shiver violently. I trembled, taking a long moment to find my voice. “Alpha, this is Serena’s handiwork. She made it for you.” Silas froze. The vicious expression on his face twisted for a fraction of a second, shifting into a scrutinizing glare. “Alpha Silas, you are here.” Serena’s gentle voice drifted from the doorway. Silas immediately stepped back, putting distance between us. His cold features softened into warmth as he looked at her, his tone slightly probing. “Aria just showed me something. She said it belongs to you.” Serena understood instantly. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, though she met his gaze earnestly. “You have taken care of us for so long, and I have nothing valuable to offer in return. Fortunately, my stitching is passable.” Even though I wasn’t the smartest, I knew how to read a room. I quickly shoved the pouch into Serena’s hands and practically ran out the door. My legs were still shaking. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. The spring air in the Bloodwood Pack was surprisingly freezing.

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Eight years since I was cast out of Olympus, and Ares finally found me — here, at the wind-scoured edge of the mortal realm. He found me looking wrecked, surrounded by eight children. “Thena…” His voice cracked. His eyes went red at the rims. “Weren’t you the one who despised children? The one who swore she’d stand at Father’s right hand and counsel the gods?” I was chewing dried bark. Without a word, I reached into the mud and hauled two filthy children out by the backs of their tunics, then turned and called the rest of them home. Aphrodite stepped into my path, tears catching the light, voice breaking. “Sister. It was Ares himself who convinced Father and Mother to drug you. Apollo switched the bridal chariot — Aphrodite rode away in yours, saffron-veiled and unrecognized, while you were sent in hers.” Apollo stood at her side, her hand loosely held in his, expression unreadable. He was waiting, perfectly still, for me to erupt in fury. Ares’s tone turned cold. “The mortal was rough, yes — but he looked after Aphrodite when she had nowhere to go. He was decent enough. You endured some hardship. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself.” Eight years ago, Aphrodite had returned to Zeus’s halls on Olympus to reclaim her birthright as the true daughter. She told everyone I — the false daughter — had barred her from the gates. These eight years were the lesson they decided I needed to learn. “Sister.” Aphrodite’s smile was patient, almost gentle. “The man is dead now. We’ve come to bring you home. But these children are low-born — you cannot take them with you. They’ve caused you nothing but suffering. So let’s simply kill them.” I looked up, startled. Kill them. All of them. I glanced around. The girl swinging from the branch overhead was the only daughter of Poseidon, Lord of the Deep. The one glaring at Aphrodite like she wanted to draw blood was Harmonia, daughter of Hephaestus, the great Forge-God. The two boys wrestling each other over a cricket cage were Castor and Pollux, the twins blessed by God. “You must be so relieved to finally be rid of them.” Aphrodite saw me react and smiled wider, dabbing prettily at her eyes. Behind her, Apollo’s guards closed their circle around me and the eight children. Swords came up. I pulled the farthest child into my arms and let out a slow breath. This one, above all, could not be harmed. Poseidon had carried his bloodline through five generations without a daughter. This girl was the miracle his entire household had prayed for across lifetimes. Every member of Poseidon’s domain was a gloriously unstoppable force — not one of them safe to cross. “What — you’d rather they live?” Apollo’s eyes were arctic, the cold radiating off him like a drawn blade. “Thena. Do you truly intend to drag eight strays back to Olympus with you?” I moved fast and pressed my hand over Harmonia’s mouth before she could open it. That girl’s tongue could flay stone. “Is Sister ashamed?” Aphrodite tilted her head, eyes soft with performed sympathy. “Apollo holds no grudge about your history. Once you come home with us, he’s willing to receive you into his sanctuary.” The tone was charity. She delivered it like a gift from the Fates themselves. “I’m not going back.” All of them stared. Ares’s face went hard. His voice dropped to a cutting snarl. “You pull faces at Aphrodite the moment you see her. Have you forgotten every lesson Father’s house ever taught you?” I had forgotten more than lessons. I had forgotten the night the snow fell thick and white, and Ares walked away through it with Aphrodite sheltered against his side, never once looking back. I had forgotten how Aphrodite crushed my betrothal token under her heel while Apollo watched — and felt nothing. Eight years was more than enough to set all of it down. “Go ahead, then.” Apollo smiled, slow and cruel. “Thena. Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of playing the grieving widow. Addicted to suffering among mortals?” He looked at the children the way a god looks at something fouling his path. “None of them are mine,” I said flatly. “You cannot touch them. And you would be wise not to try.” God of Light or not — had he not noticed that not one of these children was the slightest bit afraid of him? They were simply ignoring him, wrapped up in their own games and quarrels. “You won’t even claim them, yet you’d die to protect them?” Apollo let out a cold laugh and drew his silver bow in one motion, levelling it at the smallest child. “I cannot try?” Something lurched in my chest. I lunged to block — and Ares’s hand cracked across my face, hard enough that my ears rang and sparks burst behind my eyes. “I thought you’d been forced into this life. Now I see you chose it willingly. You disgrace everything Father’s house stands for.” The sound of the slap rang out sharp and clear. Every child went still. The ringing in my ears settled into a low hum. I drew a slow breath. Something deep and heavy sank inside me. “Apollo.” My voice came out steady. “Look at this child. Does he not seem familiar? He is your royal kinsman’s son — blood of Olympus.” Oktos had moved fast — but not fast enough. The arrow had grazed his arm. A long, clean cut opened along the skin. Blood welled and dripped. He ran into my arms crying, his face drained white. I pulled the divine seal-token from his waist and held it high. “Look carefully.” The mark of Olympian blood. Aphrodite’s eyes went wide with something that looked almost like fear. Apollo raised his bow again. “My kinsman has no children.” “You can’t even recognize your own cousin, and they made you Zeus’s heir?” Harmonia’s face scrunched with withering contempt. She thrust out the Forge-Seal — the divine sigil her father Hephaestus had crafted. “My father is the Forge-God of Olympus. If you want to kill someone — come for me.” This time, Aphrodite didn’t bother with words. She slapped the Forge-Seal out of Harmonia’s hand. “Are all of these ‘proofs’ something Sister prepared in advance? A little theater for our benefit?”

I tore a strip from my robe and pressed it hard against Oktos’s wound, jaw tight. “Aphrodite. Wounding Olympian blood is a capital offence — even for you.” Ares waved a lazy hand. “Olympian blood. Thena, your performance is embarrassingly thin.” Aphrodite lifted her chin like a goddess who has just rendered a great service and took Apollo’s arm with both hands, leaning into him with practiced ease. From across the space between us, I held Apollo’s gaze. Steady. Unblinking. After a long moment, he spoke, face empty of expression. “Thena. You’ve learned to lie.” He had almost believed me. Aphrodite pressed her lips together and arranged her face into something wounded and uncertain. “Sister is having children impersonate Olympian blood. If word of this reaches Father Zeus, it will bring ruin down on all of us. She still hates me.” Both Apollo and Ares frowned. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” Apollo pulled her close and pressed his lips to her brow. Ares, however, let his fury burn through what little reason he had left. “Eight years and you still haven’t learned your place! What exactly do you want, Thena? Aphrodite is the true daughter — you are the counterfeit! What right do you have to compete with her? What right do you have to resent her?” Each word landed like a blade finding a gap in armor. Then something warm closed around my cold fingers. “You used to have it very hard,” Harmonia said quietly. I pulled a smile from somewhere and gave it to her, then turned back and gathered myself. “Wait one quarter-hour. Then you’ll know whether I was lying.” One quarter-hour — the time every day when the children’s guardians came to collect them. The time when, on ordinary days, I would dust myself off and walk home unencumbered. “You’ve stalled long enough!” Ares’s fury was at its peak. Aphrodite stepped forward quickly, playing peacemaker. “Father’s house can certainly afford eight children. If Sister truly insists on sparing their lives… then let them live.” Apollo’s expression flickered, faintly displeased, but he gave a reluctant nod, his eyes already softening again as they found Aphrodite. “Whatever Aphrodite wants, I’ll go along with it.” Ares relented as well. My arms tightened around Oktos until my fingertips went white. “To the outside world, they can be called lost strays,” Aphrodite said pleasantly. “But Sister is returning to Olympus. She cannot remain entangled with these children — not even by a thread.” She drifted closer, eyes full of something that wasn’t quite a smile. “To make sure Sister remembers clearly — for every life we spare, we mark it on Sister’s body. One cut per child.” The moment the words left her mouth, all eight children surged around me. “How dare you — all three of you!” “Athena is brilliant — even my royal father has praised her wisdom before all of Olympus! How dare you treat her this way! I’ll tell him at once and bring her home with me. She won’t suffer another moment of your cruelty!” “My mother is waiting for Thena to teach her to play the lyre. You are not allowed to hurt her!” “If you have any courage at all, wait your quarter-hour! Using us as threats against her — you’re cowards! When Poseidon arrives, I’d like to see who among you dares lay a hand on her!” Within moments, all of them were seized — gagged, bound, forced to their knees in the dirt. But the quarter-hour was up. “Lady Athena!” Diomedes wrenched his horse to a halt, vaulted from the saddle, and put himself between us with wide, furious eyes. “Stand down! Who are you people?” I looked past him. No one else. My heart dropped into my stomach. “You came alone?” Diomedes’s jaw was tight, voice rough and low. “A wave of chaos spirits surged at the eastern border — origin unknown. Lord Poseidon led the others to drive them back. They haven’t returned.” Border unrest. The escort the twin realms sent for Castor and Pollux would be blocked as well. “Stop playing games.” Apollo’s expression was complicated, something shifting beneath the surface of it. When he spoke again, his voice had roughened almost imperceptibly. “Thena. Are these children truly worth this much to you? Worth your life? You’d go to every length to save them?”

The smile froze on Aphrodite’s face. She gripped Apollo’s hand tight beneath the folds of her golden robe. He didn’t react. She cut a sharp glance at me, then turned to Diomedes with a gasp, one hand flying to her mouth. “Diomedes — aren’t you dead? No wonder Sister refuses to leave with us!” Apollo’s gaze went dark and unreadable. Cold in a way that made the air feel thinner. “Don’t stay here,” I said to Diomedes. “Find Poseidon. Or Heracles. Bring them back.” Both figures were legendary — bearers of divine honors directly given by Zeus, never to be set aside. Apollo would know them on sight. Diomedes startled, then immediately moved to remount. Apollo moved without warning. Before anyone could react, he was across the ground, silver arrows loosed, knocking Diomedes off his horse — the shafts aimed at his heart. “Apollo, stop — he is a guardian of the mortal realm!” The words tore out of me. The god didn’t listen. Diomedes twisted, dodging the killing shots — but he was one against many. Apollo’s guards drove their blades in. One. Then another. Blood hit my face. I stood there with my mouth open, mind blank. “Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t deserve this!” No one listened. They pulled their blades free. Diomedes knelt on one knee in the dirt, bleeding from a dozen wounds, still trying to hold himself upright. Aphrodite’s guard stepped on the back of his neck and drove his forehead into the ground. Apollo stepped back with an expression of pure distaste. “Sister, that was no guardian. He drew arms against Zeus’s chosen heir. He’s an assassin.” Aphrodite’s smile grew brighter by the moment. Beside me, a blade rose, pale and cold in the light. “Sister should think carefully. These eight children — are you saving them or not?” “I’m saving them.” Eight cuts won’t kill me. These eight years, their families had looked after me in ways that had no name for it. Four cuts came down. The iron smell of blood thickened in the air until it was hard to breathe through. Ares grabbed the blade from the nearest guard, the vein at his temple pulsing. “Thena! You would still save them?!” Somewhere behind me, a child was crying, small and broken. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. Each breath came in pieces. “I’ll save them. And I’m not going back to Father Zeus’s house.” Fury cracked through Ares like a thunderbolt. He drove four more cuts across my body, voice like hammered iron. “Whether you go back is not your decision. What you owe Aphrodite — what you owe this family — you haven’t finished paying it.” I swallowed the sound that tried to come out. Both hands found the ground. I pressed myself up, slowly, until my back was straight. Aphrodite watched my desperate, ragged breathing and looked genuinely pleased. “Ares, look — Sister is bleeding so much below. Is she… is she with child? We shouldn’t force her back to Olympus in this condition, I shouldn’t have pushed her—” I looked down, dazed. It was Oktos’s blood. Apollo turned sharply, jaw set. Two words, barely audible through his clenched teeth. “Get rid of it.” The guards obeyed immediately. They seized my arms and wrenched them back. Forced my abdomen bare. Fists came in. I could only make sounds I didn’t choose to make, feeling like everything inside me had been displaced. I couldn’t form a single word. “Nonsense — Lady Athena is pure. There is no child!” Diomedes’s mouth was full of blood. He held on, and he held his ground. Aphrodite laid one hand across the throat of the nearest child, fingers curling slowly. “Nonsense?” She glanced at Diomedes’s sudden tension. “If they aren’t Sister’s children, why do you care so much what happens to them?”

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“Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my mom slip a sedative into Nora’s champagne.” Dominic’s voice came from the hallway outside my room. I froze with my hand on the door. Tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding day. I had loved Dominic Thorne, my childhood sweetheart, for eight years. But now, the man I was supposed to marry was planning how he planned to give me to another man. “After we pick up the bride tomorrow, drive straight to the Astor estate.” “The Astor estate?” his friend asked, confused. Dominic’s voice dropped. “Clair’s family went bankrupt. They owe the Astors hundreds of millions. Her parents are trying to sell her off to the old Astor to settle the debt.” “I can’t just stand by and watch her life get destroyed. Nora will have to take her place.” His friend sounded shocked. “You can’t bear to ruin Clair’s life, so you’ll ruin Nora’s instead?” “The old man is ninety and dying. The family demands a marriage to secure the inheritance. They need a young bride for this.” “When he’s dead, I won’t mind that Nora’s a widow. I’ll still marry her.” “But do you really think Nora will just go along with marrying some old man?” Dominic paused. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll have my mom slip a sedative into Nora’s champagne. By the time she wakes up, she’ll already be in the old man’s bed.” “Once the deed is done, she won’t have a choice.” I stood there listening to every word. I didn’t scream or cry. I just walked back to my room and waited for tomorrow’s wedding. The next morning, Dominic arrived with his groomsmen to pick me up. Clair Kensington showed up with them. The moment she saw me in my wedding dress, she burst into tears. “Nora, I’m so jealous. You get to marry the man you love. You’re so lucky.” “Not like me. My parents want to sell me off to some ninety-year-old man to pay off their debts.” Then she wiped her tears and glanced pointedly at Dominic. “But thank God, someone already took me to register our marriage yesterday. That old man can’t have me now, even if he wants to.” Hearing the smug triumph in her voice, I froze. I thought being forced into a substitute marriage was the worst betrayal. I never imagined Dominic had already registered his marriage with her. My best friend Gemma, oblivious to the truth, whispered angrily in my ear. “Why is she even here? Today is supposed to be your wedding day with Dominic.” “She’s crying on purpose. Is she trying to bring bad luck?” “It’s fine.” I patted Gemma’s hand gently. Today was never my wedding day with Dominic anyway. This whole charade of picking up the bride was just a trap to get me in the car—a carefully planned bait-and-switch. Dominic and his groosmen rushed into the room. “We’re running out of time. Just find the wedding shoes.” His groomsmen searched the room and quickly found my heels. But Dominic didn’t bring them to me. He walked straight to Clair. “Nora, Clair twisted her ankle on the way here and broke her heel.” He knelt down in front of Clair and smoothly helped her change out of her damaged shoe. “Clair has delicate skin. She can’t wear rough, uncomfortable shoes. Let her wear your wedding heels.” Then he pulled a cheap pair of flats from the shoe rack and tossed them at my feet. “They’re just shoes.” He looked at me with that same gentle smile. “You won’t make a fuss over something so small, will you?” “Dominic, those are her wedding shoes!” Gemma couldn’t take it anymore. “So what if they are?” Dominic frowned slightly. “They’re just shoes. What difference does it make?” “It’s not just about the shoes—” “Forget it, Gemma.” I stopped her. “Let her have them.” Clair was the boss’s daughter at Dominic’s company. For the past two years, Dominic had been making me bend over backwards for her with the excuse that “the boss’s daughter can’t be offended.” I’d given her my work projects. I’d given her my pet. I’d given her my clothes and jewelry. And now, I was about to hand over my husband too. Eight years with Dominic Thorne, and this was what I got—a carefully orchestrated betrayal.

Clair slipped on my wedding heels, her face glowing with satisfaction. “Dominic, these fit me perfectly. It’s like they were custom-made for me.” She smiled with that fake sweetness. “Where did you get them?” These shoes were made by Dominic. When he was twenty, he spent six months flying to Paris, working with a top designer to create a pair of custom diamond-encrusted heels just for me. Back then, he’d said, “Nora. When we get married, you’ll wear these shoes. I want to give you a pair of wedding heels that are one of a kind in the entire world.” He’d said, “Nora, I want to give you the best of everything.” Back then, Dominic really was good to me. He couldn’t bear to see me suffer even a little. He wanted to give me everything good in the world. But after Clair appeared, everything changed. Lost in thought, I barely noticed Dominic kneeling down to slip the cheap flats onto my feet. The rough fabric scraped painfully against my skin. The bridesmaids, oblivious to the tension between us, started chanting, “Kiss! Kiss!” Dominic couldn’t resist the cheering and leaned in to kiss me. But at that exact moment, Clair stumbled and fell straight into his arms. Dominic caught her instinctively, and their lips collided perfectly. The room went dead silent. Gemma exploded. “Clair, you did that on purpose!” “I’m sorry, I just lost my balance…” “You lost your balance? And out of everywhere you could fall, you fell right into the groom’s arms?” “Enough. Stop it.” Dominic helped Clair to her feet, his expression displeased. “Clair twisted her ankle earlier. It’s normal that she lost her balance.” He turned to Gemma, his tone cold. “It’s such a small thing. Is it really worth getting this angry over?” “This isn’t a small thing—” Gemma was about to lose it, but I stopped her. Over the past two years, Dominic had called too many things “small.” Last year, when Clair plagiarized the marketing campaign I’d worked on for three months, he said it was a small thing. Six months ago, when Clair crashed our anniversary dinner as a third wheel, he said it was a small thing. Even when Clair accidentally killed my cat, I had raised for six years, he also said it was a small thing. Every single time, Dominic told me not to make a fuss over Clair. This time, there really was no point in making a fuss anymore. While we were at a standoff, Dominic’s mother walked in carrying a champagne flute. “Nora, I’ve been waiting so long for you to grow up and get married.” She lifted the glass to my lips. “Here, drink this quickly while it’s fresh. It’ll calm your nerves. Your future will be bright and beautiful.” Staring at the champagne in front of me, my mind went blank for a moment. My parents died when I was young. For over a decade, the Thorne family took me in and raised me as their own. But now these two people I trusted most were working together to push me into hell. I knew exactly what swallowing this drink meant. But I opened my mouth and drank it anyway. Someone shouted, “It’s time! We need to go to the wedding!” Dominic scooped me up in his arms and carried me downstairs, step by step.

When I was little, Dominic used to carry me like this too. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car accident. The trauma sent me into shock, and I hid myself away for three days without food or water. Dominic was the one who found me. He carried my half-dead body back home. Back then, he held my frail hand and said firmly, “Nora, from now on, my home is your home. My parents are your parents.” “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll always protect you.” His shoulders were just as warm and solid as they used to be. Except now, they didn’t belong to me anymore. When we reached the lobby, Dominic set me down. “Nora.” He adjusted my veil, his eyes soft and smiling. “I’ll walk you to the car.” But the moment we stepped outside, he stopped at the entrance and gestured toward the limousine waiting at the curb. “Actually, you should go ahead. I need to handle something with the groomsmen first.” Gemma was furious. “What? The groom isn’t even escorting his bride to the car? What kind of wedding is this?” “It’s just a short walk, Gemma. Don’t make a scene.” “Dominic, what’s wrong with you today?” Gemma was shaking with anger. “You’ve been acting strange from the moment you walked in. Did someone brainwash you?” “Gemma.” I grabbed her hand and patted it reassuringly. “It’s fine. I can walk by myself.” Dominic was never my groom to begin with. What right did he have to escort me anywhere? The wedding car was parked just steps away. Once I got in that car, my past with him would be completely over. After I climbed into the back seat, Dominic stood at the door without moving. “Nora.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t read. Finally, he just said, “Take care of yourself.” Gemma’s tone was sharp. “What are you still standing there for? Get in!” Dominic smiled and pointed to the car behind us. “I’ll ride in the other one. I’ll follow behind and make sure you get there safely.” With that, he slammed the door shut. Gemma frowned, her confusion deepening. “What’s gotten into Dominic today? Why is he acting so weird?” “Nothing’s wrong.” My voice was quiet. “He just wants me to be a substitute bride for Clair.” “Substitute bride?” Before I could answer, Gemma suddenly realized something was off. “Wait—driver, stop!” “You’re going the wrong way! Why are you heading in that direction? Turn around!” “Gemma.” I cut her off. “The driver isn’t going the wrong way. I’m being sent to marry into the Astor family.” “The Astor family?” I told Gemma everything—the whole story from beginning to end. When she finished listening, she was trembling with rage. “That bastard! How could Dominic do this to you? Did a dog eat his conscience?” But I felt calm. “The Thorne family raised me for over a decade. Consider this as repaying that debt.” “They raised you, sure, but you saved Dominic’s life! You’ve already paid them back!” “And these past two years, whenever Dominic’s back pain flared up and he was lying in bed useless like a cripple, you were the one taking care of him every single day!” “You’ve given him so much. What gives him the right to treat you like this?” Gemma was right. If we’re talking about debts, I’d already repaid mine a long time ago. But it didn’t matter anymore. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Clair. [Nora, today is such a wonderful day. Dominic just gave me a wedding gift. Isn’t it beautiful?] I stared at the antique emerald necklace in the photo, and my blood ran cold. This necklace was the only thing my mother left me before she died. It had been passed down from my great-grandmother’s generation. Back then, I was too young, so Dominic’s mother kept it safe for me. They’d promised to return it when I got married. How could he give it to Clair without my permission? “Stop the car!”

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Jerome had gone out of his way to throw a banquet at the summit of the snow mountain, forcing me to crawl a hundred kilometers up the slope to atone and beg for forgiveness. All because, three years ago, an avalanche had occurred, and Jerome was convinced I’d been the one to cut the lifeline—the reason his first love, Zenobia, lost the use of both her legs. “Just one more kilometer to go. Strip off your parka and lay it under Zenobia’s feet, then kneel down and lick the slush off her shoes clean. Do that, and I’ll forgive you.” A roar of laughter rose from the surrounding heirs and heiresses at Jerome’s words. Bank cards came flying out as bets were placed. “I’ll put ten million on it—she’d strip down to her underwear for a single word of forgiveness from Jerome!” Jerome looked down at me, his voice cold as ice. “You hear that? Just take it off, and out of consideration that this is your ninety-ninth time begging me, I’ll show you mercy and grant you a proper place at my side.” Everyone assumed I’d grovel and obey, just like all the times before. Instead, I rose unsteadily to my feet and hurled the bracelet Jerome had once given me off the cliff. “Jerome, I’m not asking for your forgiveness anymore.” Because last night, my little brother—the one who’d sold his blood and contracted an infection just to scrape together the compensation money—had died. I had nothing left to live for. … “Oh? New angle this time? Throwing things now?” Laughter erupted again. “Jerome, I’ll raise five million. I bet she’s on her knees within ten minutes, begging you to fetch that bracelet back. After all, you gave it to her with your own hands. She’s bound to regret it.” “I’ll raise five million too. I bet she still ends up kneeling. This is her ninety-ninth time begging, after all.” The bets came flying, one after another. I stood at the edge of the cliff, both knees crusted over with scabs of dried blood. For three years, in the name of so-called “atonement,” whenever Jerome and Zenobia wanted a show, I had to throw away every shred of pride and dignity, anywhere, anytime, and crawl on the ground. By now, I had crawled a total of nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine kilometers. Dignity had long since become a luxury. I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to walk like a normal person. Zenobia sat in her wheelchair, tucking the cashmere blanket tighter over her knees, and spoke to me gently. “Leona, don’t push yourself. The wind’s so strong—if you actually freeze to death up here, what a damper that’d put on Jerome’s mood.” She paused, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “After all, you haven’t finished paying for your sins yet.” The bitter wind hurled snow against my face. The blood-soaked legs of my pants had long since frozen stiff. Jerome stared at me. “Leona, after you climb the last kilometer, it’ll be over.” “I’ll take you home and give you a proper title.” I pulled my hand back into my sleeve. “No need.” The red string my brother had braided around my wrist had snapped, leaving only a tiny stub of red thread. Jerome tucked the blanket closer around Zenobia. “Zenobia, are you cold? Maybe we should head back to the tent first?” Zenobia caught his cuff. “I’m not cold—I’m just worried about Leona.” “Her brother’s still waiting for her down at the foot of the mountain. Don’t be too hard on her.” My fist clenched tight inside my pocket. “He died last night.” The laughter cut off for a beat. Then someone snickered. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was her foster mother dying. Time before that, the orphanage running out of food.” “Now she’s gone and made up her brother’s death too.” “Jerome, her acting really is getting better and better.” Jerome frowned. “Don’t joke about family. That’s not like you.” I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my inside pocket and held it out. One corner of the death certificate had been softened by melted snow. Jerome glanced at it once, then flicked it back into my arms with a sneer. “Leona, you’re really getting good at lying.” “Wasn’t it just yesterday that Zenobia’s legs were hurting again? I held off on transferring you that money on purpose, just to make her feel a little better. One day. You expect me to believe he died in one day?” I looked at him, my throat clogged like it was stuffed with bloody cotton. Yes. Just one day. But in that one day, my brother Duncan had bled from every part of him, curled up on his hospital bed in agony, too weak even to cry out. To scrape together the medical bills, I’d knelt sobbing all over that hospital. I’d thrown away every last shred of pride. But Duncan had seen me. That little brother who’d treated me like the whole world ever since we were children, who could never bear to see me bow my head—he couldn’t stand watching his sister beg on her knees. While the nurse was changing his dressings, he dragged his bleeding body to the rooftop of the hospital and threw himself off. And now, Jerome was looking at me as if granting me alms. “Enough. Your punishment ends here.” “Once we’re off this mountain, I’ll arrange treatment for your brother abroad.” Suddenly, I laughed. “No need. There’s no point anymore.” Jerome’s face darkened. “Leona, stop this nonsense.” “It’s freezing up here, and Zenobia didn’t bring enough layers. Take that parka off and put it under her feet.” I lowered my eyes to the parka I was wearing. It was the birthday present Duncan had saved for three months to buy me. He’d told me the wind on the mountains was harsh, and as long as his sister had this on, she wouldn’t be cold. But now, he was gone. This jacket couldn’t protect me. It hadn’t protected him. Better to trade it for an ending than to let it lie filthy beside me here. I crouched down and unzipped the parka. The crowd erupted again. “Here it comes! Here it comes! I want in on the bet!” Cold air rushed in against my skin. I walked up to the wheelchair, folded the jacket neatly, and laid it down at Zenobia’s feet. “My brother bought this. Don’t get it dirty.” Few people knew that when Zenobia first arrived in the New York scene, I had been the one to bring her into Jerome’s circle. When people sneered at her background, I was the one who’d stood in front of her, time and time again. Later, she became everyone’s precious darling, cradled in their hands. And I became the sinner she named—the one who’d crippled her. Zenobia’s fingers curled beneath the blanket. Jerome’s gaze was cold and fixed on me. I took a step back, and a small slip of paper fell from the pocket of the parka. It landed on the snow and flipped over, revealing the writing inside. 【Leona, the wind on the mountain bites. Bundle up. Stop saying you’re not cold. —Duncan】 I bent down to pick it up. But Zenobia suddenly jerked her feet back, as if I’d startled her. Jerome instinctively threw himself between us, seizing my wrist in his grip. “Leona, what do you think you’re doing?” “You’ve already hurt Zenobia once. Now you’re going to do it again, right in front of me?” I looked down at where his fingers were biting into my wrist. “Let go. What I’m picking up is the last thing Duncan left me.” Jerome paused, then unconsciously released his grip. I plucked the slip of paper out of the slush. A flurry of hurried footsteps came from the entrance. The mountain caretaker was running toward us, an old, battered cloth bundle slung over his shoulder. “Excuse me—who’s Leona?” “The funeral home down at the base asked me to deliver this. Said it’s the deceased’s belongings.” Every gaze in the crowd snapped to that worn-out bundle. I reached out to take it. The instant my fingertips brushed the wrapping, a length of coarse rope poked out through the opening.

Jerome moved first, snatching the old length of knotted rope out of the bundle. The rope was worn, its fibers fraying loose, and the inner core was stained a deep, unwashable red. Three years ago, when Jerome, Zenobia, and I had gone climbing in the Alps, we’d been caught in an avalanche and swept down the ridge. When I came to, Zenobia’s legs were ruined. Everyone said I’d cut the lifeline to save myself—that was how she’d ended up crippled. Zenobia spoke, her voice trembling. “Leona, why do you still have this?” Someone nearby let out a cold laugh. “What did I tell you? Only the guilty hold on to the evidence!” A few others chimed in. I ignored the jeering, my eyes locked on the rope. Back then, I’d been unconscious. It was Duncan who’d gone to the rescue station and collected everything that belonged to me. Everyone had been so eager to brand me guilty—everyone except Duncan. He’d kept this knotted length of rope all that time, saying he hoped that one day it would clear my name. “Give it back to me. That belongs to Duncan.” Jerome’s fingers paused for a heartbeat over the dark red staining the rope. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly—then he sneered again. “Don’t keep using your brother as an excuse to lie. This is evidence. There’s no way I’m handing it over to you.” My eyes burned. “Didn’t you say you’d already gotten to the bottom of this three years ago?” He shot me a glance. “Just because the matter’s settled doesn’t mean you have the right to touch it.” I lunged for it. Jerome hadn’t expected it. He stepped back and caught my cracked, frozen wrist in a reverse grip, the pressure light. “Stop it. The wound will split.” “That was left to me by my brother.” Jerome let go and tucked the knotted rope into the inner pocket of his coat. “It was left to make you face what you did, not so you could keep weaseling out of it.” My hand fell to my side, the joints too stiff to bend. During the avalanche, a secondary rope had wound around Zenobia’s left leg, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. What I’d cut was that secondary rope. But when she woke up, she’d cried and said it was my fault. All Jerome had said was, “Zenobia would never lie about her own legs.” Then he turned and walked over to her. The wind sent ash from the bonfire drifting onto my arm. I went back to the bundle, crouched down, and started looking through my brother’s belongings. A few worn pieces of clothing. A pair of sneakers with the soles worn smooth. A notebook with the words “Account Book” written across the cover. And a photograph. Duncan, standing in front of a blood donation van, giving a thumbs-up to the camera, grinning wide enough to flash his canines. He was thin to the point of being gaunt, his cheeks hollowed, his chin sharp enough to hurt to look at—but the smile was the same as ever. I pressed the photo to my chest, my nails biting deep into my palm. Don’t cry. My tears would only become their next punchline. I bound the bundle back up, gathered it against my chest, and stood. “Leona.” Zenobia called after me. She glanced down at her own legs, then suddenly smiled. “Leona, do you know what I’ve hated most these past three years?” She lifted her head to look at me. There was no fragility in her eyes now—only a satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide. “What I hated most was that you crippled me, and yet you still get to walk on those legs of yours, all the way over to Jerome.” She lifted her chin, gesturing at the slush-soaked ground beneath her feet. “So today—you’re going to kneel. Get down on the ground at my feet.” “You owe me a pair of legs from three years ago. You’re going to pay it back with your dignity.” The bonfire lit up her innocent face. Jerome stood right behind her, and said nothing in protest.

A thin sheet of ice covered the gravel road, crunching beneath every step. I pushed Zenobia along it. Each time my knees bent, the old, broken-open wounds seeped fresh blood. For three years now, the injuries they’d inflicted on me had split open, scabbed over, and split again. My skin had long since lost its normal elasticity. Jerome followed two paces behind. He had someone bring me a pair of knee pads. “Don’t push yourself. I didn’t tell you to push her on your knees.” Someone hooted from behind. “Jerome’s gone soft. If it were me, I’d have made her crawl while she pushed.” Jerome shot him a glance and replied, his tone neither sharp nor mild. “This is punishment, not torture. The point is to make her remember what she did wrong.” Remember what I did wrong. I’d been hearing those words for three years. The wind picked up at the bend, and I lowered my head, putting more weight into pushing the chair. Zenobia didn’t turn around. She lowered her voice. “That parka of yours—the fabric’s pretty thick. How many times did your brother have to sell his blood to afford it?” My step faltered for a beat. Her tone stayed casual. “Enough to cover a pair of my shoes?” I stopped. It wasn’t anger. My fingers were spasming. I couldn’t keep a grip on the handles. Jerome came up beside me. “Why’d you stop?” Zenobia’s eyes reddened, her voice fragile. “Jerome, it’s my fault. I was just trying to comfort Leona, and I said it wrong, and now I’ve upset her…” Jerome looked between us and said evenly, “Leona, apologize to Zenobia.” Apologize to her? For what? The words caught in my throat. I didn’t say them. Not because I didn’t want to. Because saying them wouldn’t matter. For three years, Zenobia would always strike first, then play the wounded victim in front of Jerome, and the ending was always the same. The one apologizing was always me. “And if I don’t?” Jerome was silent for a few seconds, as if seriously weighing some fair solution. “Then I’ll have to reconsider next month’s winter supplies for the orphanage.” His tone carried a reprimand. Winter on the plateau dropped to thirty below. The orphanage had twenty-seven children. The youngest was only four. The blankets weren’t thick enough. There weren’t enough medicines. The coal they used for heating wouldn’t last till spring. Over the years, in the name of atonement, Jerome had taken control of every resource connected to me. When he chose to loosen his grip depended entirely on his mood. I lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Zenobia tilted her head. “Leona, you’re too quiet. The wind’s loud—I didn’t catch that.” “I’m. So. Sorry!” I said it again, louder. Zenobia smiled, satisfied, as if she’d finally gotten me to bow my head. When she’d first arrived in New York, she hadn’t even owned a decent coat. I was the one who’d given her my clothes, my contacts, every resource I had. But now—what she loved most was watching me kneel and apologize to her. She tucked the blanket closer and said softly, “Leona, if you’d only been this obedient from the start, wouldn’t life have been easier?” Jerome’s friends behind us were murmuring that I clearly still loved him, otherwise I wouldn’t be this compliant. I pushed the chair forward another two steps. “Jerome.” He gave a noncommittal hum. “All these years, all those apologies—did you ever, even once, actually hear them?” The wind howled. He didn’t answer. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” I turned my head and kept pushing. By four in the afternoon, the light was already fading fast. The moment the high-altitude sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature plunged toward forty below. I wheeled Zenobia back to her tent. Just as she was about to go inside, she turned and looked at me, about to say something—but Jerome got there first. He stood at the tent’s entrance, his tone as imperious as ever. “Leona.” His gaze swept over my hands, blue with cold, and my scab-covered knees, as if doling out the last of his patience. “Stop throwing tantrums. If you behave, I’ll let the matter with Zenobia drop, and you won’t have to worry about your brother’s medical bills anymore.” My fingertips clenched tight at my sides. But he took it for hesitation, and his voice softened. “I’ll send people to handle the hospital end of things. The best doctors, the best medication—we can even discuss treatment options abroad.” “But only if you stop upsetting Zenobia.” Snow blew into my throat, and I almost tasted blood. He said it so easily. He didn’t know. Duncan didn’t need doctors anymore. He didn’t need medication. Zenobia, in her wheelchair, gave Jerome’s sleeve a small tug. “Jerome, I’m a little cold. Let’s go inside.” The tent flap fell shut. I stood where I was, the snow pouring into my throat, like a dull blade slowly slicing open my chest. The phone in my pocket buzzed. The number for the funeral home at the foot of the mountain. “Hello, ma’am. Please come to collect your brother Duncan’s ashes on time.” I clutched the phone, my knuckles white. “He left instructions before he passed—that the ashes be handed to you personally. He said he still owed you a trip home.” The line went dead. I looked out into the storm and whispered to myself: Duncan, wait for me. I’m coming to bring you home.

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My first surgery back in the country was on a girl with a perineal laceration. She signed her consent form with one hand and complained into her phone with the other. “It’s just a minor surgery. Was it really worth dropping a hundred-million-dollar deal to fly back?” “And stop buying me bags and jewelry — my closet is overflowing.” She pushed the form across the desk. My eyes drifted to the emergency contact field. Ethan. I smiled and said: what a coincidence — my boyfriend’s name is Ethan too. The girl grabbed my hand, eyes bright and dancing. “Doctor, are all guys named Ethan such hopeless romantics?” “I’m pretty sure this condition is basically his fault — he’s all over me every day, seven times in one night.” She laughed and shook her head. “And somehow he still found out about the surgery and flew straight back from overseas.” I opened my mouth to say: my Ethan isn’t like that. My Ethan was sharp, driven, serious about his career. The kind of man I always felt I had to earn. Then she shoved her phone in my face to show me her clingy, lovesick boyfriend. My heart dropped into my stomach. The man on that screen — smiling so warmly, so full of affection, completely at ease… …was Ethan. The same Ethan I had been dating for three years. …… My Ethan didn’t cling. Didn’t obsess. In that department, he was always restrained — distant, almost indifferent. The girl — Chloe — kept talking. Every complaint she made dripped with happiness. “Oh, right — Doctor, the form’s already signed. Is there anything else I need to bring?” I held my professional smile in place. “We’ll need your pre-op allergy history on file before we can confirm a surgery date.” She smacked her forehead. “I left that at home from my pre-marriage medical check. Looks like we’ll have to push it back again.” I looked up slowly, fighting the sting behind my eyes. “You’re married? You’re only twenty.” She beamed at me like a child showing off a prize. “Yep! We signed the marriage license last November 20th — my birthday, actually.” “You don’t know how scared he was of losing me. I hadn’t even graduated yet and he was already dragging me to City Hall, like he was afraid I’d run.” She laughed. “He even bought an apartment next to my campus just to stay close. So clingy.” She shook her wrist dramatically, feigning annoyance. Under the desk, my hands wouldn’t stop trembling. November 20th. The day my mother died. I remember every second of it. I called Ethan over and over that day. I wanted to tell him how broken I was. I just needed him to come — a hug, anything at all. What I got was one cold text: “Elena, I’m so sorry. The company is in chaos right now — I can’t get away. Don’t worry, once things settle down I’ll make time to pay my respects.” He wasn’t caught up with the company. He was at City Hall, signing a marriage license with another woman. “Doctor? Doctor?” Chloe’s voice pulled me back. She stood up, a little sheepish, smiling at me. “Should I go home and grab the file?” I was on my feet before I’d made any conscious decision. “I’ll come with you.” She blinked, confused. “Isn’t that too much trouble?” “Not at all. The sooner we operate, the better for your recovery.” We walked downstairs together and got into her car. A custom-fitted Mercedes, the interior immaculate — every detail chosen with obvious care. Even the small things had been thought through. Someone had loved doing this. On the drive over, she told me story after story about her life with Ethan. Island getaways. Trendy restaurants. The nerves and excitement of their first time together. Her smile was so sweet. It was blinding. I stared out the window as fragments of every promise Ethan had ever made me cycled through my head on repeat. The car stopped in front of a gated villa estate. The most prestigious development in the city. The same place Ethan and I had once agreed to buy our future home. We had made that promise together. I never imagined someone else would move in first. Chloe pushed the front door open — and I went still. Every wall, every fixture, every deliberate detail — it was identical to what Ethan and I had mapped out together, late at night, dreaming out loud. I swallowed the bitterness and asked: “Did you design this yourself? It’s beautiful.” Chloe smiled and handed me a glass of water. “No — Ethan did all of it. Surprisingly, it matched my style perfectly.” She pointed toward the bathroom. “He even put a little shelf next to the toilet for my phone — practically custom-made for me.” I stood completely still. My nails pressed into my palm. That shelf was my idea. I’d told him once that I loved having my phone within reach while I soaked in the bath. One winter, the two of us were living in a basement apartment, eating day-old bread. We lay there scrolling through our phones, talking about every small thing we wanted in our future home. I thought that promise was ours. Turns out I was just laying the groundwork for someone else’s life.

Chloe gave me the full tour. I walked through the vision I had built — room by room, for someone else entirely — and every corner felt like a bruise. We reached the second floor. A door flew open and a white poodle came bounding out. “My baby!” Chloe scooped it up. “You always lose your mind when Mommy comes home, don’t you?” Then the dog twisted out of her arms and launched itself straight at me, tail going wild, front paws scrabbling at my legs. I went rigid. It was only then, up close, that I finally saw him clearly. Chloe laughed. “Wow — he seems to really like you. It’s almost like he already knows you?” My throat tightened. “What’s his name?” “Biscuit. He’s five.” She scratched behind his ears, offhand. “I’ve only had him two years, though. Ethan adopted him from a relative — he said he was worried I’d get lonely at home, so he wanted to find me a gentle dog for company.” I laughed. A hollow, quiet sound. Of course he knows me. Biscuit was the last gift my grandmother left me before she died. I raised him for three years. One day he simply vanished. I thought I’d lost him. I cried for days. And Ethan held me. “Stop crying, Elena. I’ll always be here.” Biscuit hadn’t gone missing at all. Ethan had taken him and given him to Chloe. “Look at me, going on and on — I almost forgot why we came.” Chloe pushed open the bedroom door and started hunting for the file. I lingered in the doorway. My attention caught on something stuck to the wall — a handwritten chore chart. Ethan’s handwriting. Neat, precise, unmistakable. Monday through Sunday, every day filled in — laundry, sweeping, tidying up. “What’s this?” My voice came out unsteady. Chloe glanced up, her expression completely casual. “His weekly task list. I have a thing about cleanliness, but I didn’t want to hire a housekeeper — so he handles all of it.” She rested her chin in her hand, fond and a little amused. “Honestly, he’s pretty thorough about it.” I stood there feeling cold from head to toe. When we lived together, we had a housekeeper. But I felt guilty — he worked so hard — so I quietly took over the housework myself. Back then, I was willing to do anything for him. I did it gladly. Every bit of it felt like a joke now. “Found it!” Chloe’s voice snapped me back. “Take a look — does everything seem okay?” I flipped through it mechanically. Every signature line on every page. Ethan. His handwriting — I know it better than my own name. I held the pain down and kept my voice steady. “Everything looks fine. I’ll be in touch about the surgery date.” I turned to go. Chloe caught my arm. “Don’t rush! It’s about to rain, and it’s almost dinnertime.” She grinned. “Stay and eat with us — I’ll have Ethan cook. He’s incredible in the kitchen.” He cooks? In all our years together, I didn’t know he could do that. Before I could say no, she’d already pulled me onto the sofa and was dialing. “Ethan, where are you? I missed you — get home and make dinner.” His voice came through the speaker — familiar, and yet almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t the clipped, guarded tone I knew. This was warm, easy, indulgent. “Sweetheart, I showed up at the hospital with 999 roses to pick you up and you were already gone. You didn’t even tell me. I was worried about you.” 999 roses. In five years together, the most he ever sent me was eleven roses. On my birthday. Ordered by his secretary — after I reminded him. Chloe clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry! I’ll give you a full report next time. Come home — we have a guest. Time to show off, Chef Ethan.” A bright, easy laugh came through the phone. “Yes, ma’am! On my way. Don’t start without me.” I sat on the sofa, completely numb. My nails pressed into my palm until I couldn’t feel it anymore. 999 roses, rushing to the hospital, calling her sweetheart — that open, easy laugh was nothing like the man I thought I knew. None of it had ever been mine. I couldn’t even picture him in an apron. That man with the perfectly pressed suit and the carefully controlled expression, standing in a kitchen and laughing like that. It simply didn’t add up.

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At the Marking Rights Auction, Sloane, my fiancé’s pack-sister, outbid everyone for the first right to mark him. “Silas, we grew up in the same pack together. Your first mark has to be mine.” I let out a cold laugh and slid the bond-ring off my finger, letting it hit Silas’s face. “The Bonding Ceremony is in a week. You represent both packs’ honor. Either step forward and deny this or watch the Thorne pack collapse.” Silas stood there, jaw tight, fist clenched. Sloane cut her eyes at me, sharp with hostility. “The bond isn’t even sealed yet, and she’s already setting rules for you. Imagine how she’ll control you once it is.” He nodded slowly, looking at me like I was a minor inconvenience. “This isn’t the old days, a wolf doesn’t need to be unmarked to mate. Besides, Sloane spent her silver on that bid. Can’t let it go to waste.” I watched that pair of reckless wolves disappear into a private room together, and made my call. “Since he treats the bond like a game, the Thorne pack no longer needs to exist.” — Silas returned to the VIP lounge with his shirt disheveled, finding me just ending a call, watching him without expression. The scent-marks along his throat were impossible to miss under the chandelier light. He dropped into his seat, barely glancing at the gift I’d bid for on his behalf, voice flat. “Elara, Sloane had nothing to do with this. She just didn’t want someone else claiming what’s mine.” “Just?” I scoffed. “Have you forgotten what rank you are now?” Silas ground his teeth and smashed the gift I’d won for him against the table. “Stop using the bond to leash me. It’s not even sealed yet. Sloane only didn’t want someone else’s scent on me—” He stopped mid-sentence. Sloane walked in. She was wearing the jacket I had given Silas — my gift, draped over her shoulders like a trophy. “Elara, don’t misread this. I was only protecting Silas. Maybe if you’d been faster with the bid, things would’ve gone differently.” As she spoke, she deliberately parted her collar, exposing the claiming scratches on her chest. “I’m simply honoring the auction rules. I won the bid — taking what I paid for is perfectly fair, isn’t it?” “That’s enough, Sloane. Head back.” Silas’s gaze swept over me with thinly veiled contempt. “This was always just an alliance bond. I was only… gaining experience, so you’d have an easier time later.” Sloane’s laughter rang out through the lounge, her eyes bright with scorn. She shrugged, utterly unbothered, and said nothing more. I studied Silas’s face and felt a strange distance — like looking at someone I had never known. Three years ago, he had come to me with nothing, kneeling at my feet. “Elara, I’ll do anything. Just help me.” My family was pushing for a bond-match at the time, so he became my answer to their pressure. Then, somehow, we fell into something that felt real. I spent those years building him up so he’d never feel lesser beside me. I personally broke a prior match agreement for him. My family warned me he was no proper fit for an Alpha. I dismissed them. In three years, I raised him from a near-bankrupt Omega to the most talked-about name in the city’s shifter circles. I owed him nothing. And this was how he repaid me? “Elara, I said the bond isn’t sealed. My body, my choice — what business is it of yours?” Silas stood before me, posture arrogant, tone clipped. I gave a soft, indifferent sound and didn’t even look up. “Every Alpha in the city will have eyes on the Bonding Ceremony next week.” “If it falls apart, you’re finished. You really want it to look like this?” “Look like what?” I let my gaze settle on the scent-marks on his throat. “The way it looked when you let Sloane claim what wasn’t hers?” “She’s not blood-related, so it’s not—” “Enough. There’s nothing left to say.” I waved him off, voice cold. “My mate doesn’t let another wolf mark them in a back room.” The resentment rising in his eyes was cut short by a voice at the door — my best friend, Lyra. Lyra spotted the marks on Silas’s throat and shot me a smirk. “Spent a small fortune bidding on your man tonight, and this is what happens?” “What does any of this have to do with her?” Sloane looked at me with contempt, then stepped to Silas’s side and wrapped an arm possessively around his waist. “Silas and I grew up in the same pack together. Elara? Please.” The smile vanished from Lyra’s face. Silas waved at her coolly. “You, out. We’re—” Before he finished, Sloane kissed him, then looked at Lyra with a honeyed smile. “She’s Elara’s friend, isn’t she? No wonder she couldn’t read the room. Couldn’t even scent what was between us.” Her voice climbed, triumphant. “You’d cut ties with someone like that. While I was in there claiming Silas, your precious best friend was standing outside this room, completely shut out. Pathetic.” Crack. Lyra’s palm connected with Sloane’s cheek. Silas lunged forward, eyes bloodshot. “You hit her? Do you have a death wish?” I looked at both of them with cold disgust and turned to Lyra. “Leave it. Don’t dirty your hands.” “Elara, stop here.” Silas grabbed my arm. “You think you can just leave after she strikes someone? Not how this works.” Sloane pressed a hand to her face, seething. “By pack hierarchy, she should be calling me elder. Touch me again and I’ll make sure your Bonding Ceremony never happens.” “You’ll regret this.” She snatched her coat from the couch and slammed the door behind her.

The door hadn’t even swung shut before Silas’s hand cracked across my face. “Elara, what is wrong with you? Over something this small — you think I owe you that much?” “If anything happens to Sloane, you’ll answer for it.” I stared at the unbridled accusation in his eyes and felt my throat tighten. Three years of everything I had given — worth less to him than Sloane’s one moment of temper. I watched him walk away and picked up my phone. “Cut every alliance contract with the Thorne pack. Effective immediately.” I hadn’t been home long when I found Silas and his father waiting in the front hall. “Elara,” his father started, “I heard the alliances were cancelled—” I set the bond-seal on the table between us, face blank. “Not just the alliances. Since you’re both here, just consider this bond dissolved as well.” Silas’s father went pale and nearly lost his footing. “This— the Ceremony is days away. Don’t act out of anger—” I glanced at Silas and laughed quietly. “You already kept a she-wolf at your side like a future mate. Why did you ever need my pack’s alliance?” His father stiffened and looked at Silas. “What is she talking about?” Silas said nothing. I smiled. “Nothing to say? Then let me.” “Your son has been running a forbidden bond with his own pack-sister. Since they’ve been den-mates since pups, she’d make a fine mate. Still family, after all.” Silas’s expression remained flat, unbothered. “Elara, who are you to me now? Since when is any of this your concern?” Three years ago, he knelt before me over his mother’s relic, a piece of her he couldn’t bear to lose, and begged. The always-proud Silas, bowing for the first time. “Elara, just help me please. I’ll stay by your side.” His eyes were stubborn then. There was no warmth in them when he looked at me. Once I gave him what he needed, he kept his distance, voice stiff. “Elara. This is a transaction. Not a bond or feelings.” I was the fool who believed that enough warmth could change that. In three years, Silas used my connections to rebuild his pack from the edge of ruin into one of the city’s rising powers. I understand now — loyalty is like the markets. One-sided investment yields nothing. I gave everything. He kept nothing for me. “I failed as a father.” “After everything the Thorne pack has done in your service — can’t you find it in yourself to give him one more chance—” His father moved to kneel. “Dad. I’ll handle it.” Silas steered him out. When he returned, the look he gave me could have curdled blood. “Elara, it was nothing. Did you really have to use the alliances to threaten my father?” “Threaten?” I laughed. He had a gift for twisting the truth. “I’ve let too much slide. Have you forgotten what it means to betray me?” He stumbled back a step. His phone rang. “Sloane, where are you?” Whatever she said made him look at me with pure hatred. “I swear I’m not marrying her. Just calm down—” He hung up, pulled the bond-seal token from his coat, and threw it on the floor. “Elara — Sloane just drove to the cliffside. She’s threatening to go over the edge because of this bond business. If you have any conscience left, stop pushing us.”

I looked at the naked threat in his eyes and felt something close to amusement. This was the wolf I had protected and cared about for three years — and for a vicious, born-trouble pack-sister, he would say this. The last of my illusions cracked clean. He was exactly what he had always been. “So?” I looked at the bond-seal he’d thrown down. “As you wish. The bond is dissolved. — Escort them out.” Silas trembled with rage. “You’ll pay for this, Elara.” Perhaps stung by the loss, he made his next move by morning. I stepped outside to find my car, my limited-run, one-of-a-kind coupe, reduced to a wreck of twisted metal at my gate. The key fob was gone from the hook inside. Sloane had taken it. My chest went cold. A car, no matter its worth, was replaceable. But hanging from the mirror had been my grandmother’s moonstone amulet, the only relic she left me. Silas called before I could move. “A little gift, Elara. Like it? That’s what happens when you provoke Sloane.” I stared at the wreckage, voice low. “Where is the amulet?” His tone dripped with disdain. “Want it back? Come get it yourself.” “Silas. Touch that amulet and I promise you that you will not survive what comes next.” He scoffed. “Drop the act. You’re just a pampered Alpha playing house. The Thorne pack runs this city now. Come at us.” I had my driver take me to the Thorne estate, jaw set. My phone rang again. I nearly declined — then saw the name and drew a slow breath before answering. Killian’s voice came through, carrying its usual stillness. “Elara. The bond ceremony — are you certain it’s not a reaction?” I pressed two fingers to my temple. “Do I seem like the type to gamble a pack alliance on a reaction?” “No,” he said, and there was a quiet smile in it. “But you seem like the type who let a man cloud your instincts.” “That’s why I came to a clear-headed ally.” “Your pack wants the European territory. My channels are the fastest route. We both gain.” Killian was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want a cold alliance built on broken bonds.” “From today, that’s not what this is.” I told the driver to move faster and added, almost as an afterthought, “See you at the Bonding Ceremony.” I’d barely ended the call when a horn screamed from somewhere close. A truck — moving like something had cut its brakes — came directly at the rear of my car, headlights blinding. Impact. The frame buckled. Heat bloomed down the side of my face. The pain swallowed my vision. Through the shattered window, I saw Sloane stumble out of the truck’s cab — and in her hand, something glowed with a soft, familiar light. My grandmother’s moonstone amulet. “This looks expensive,” she said. I tried to drag myself out. My ribs wouldn’t allow it — every movement sent white fire through my body. “Put it down—” “Put it down?” She kicked my crumpled door. “You clung to Silas for three years. When are you going to let us go?” She raised her arm and brought the amulet down against the asphalt. The crack of it split through me. “Sloane!” Blood rose in my throat. “That belonged to my grandmother—” “Doesn’t matter who it belonged to.” She grabbed my blood-soaked collar and hauled me toward the open air. She jabbed at the marks on her own throat. “These are Silas’s marks. He said no one else gets to touch him — ever.” “Did you really think he loved you? You were a funding source. That’s all.” Her voice grew louder, sharper, high with excitement. “You know what you are? A stepping stone. The ladder Silas and I used to climb. Crook his finger and you’d hand over your life.” She looked down at me and began to laugh — wild, unhinged. “Elara. You love him so much — why don’t you die for him today?” Then she grabbed a fistful of my hair and drove my head into the ground.

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I signed the surgical consent forms myself. Didn’t tell Mom and Dad. I thought I could just die quietly under anesthesia. No more suffering from this disease. But the moment that mask came down over my face, I heard Jason’s voice: “Last time. Once Emma finishes the principal dancer audition, we won’t need to give Ruby the injections anymore.” Mom was crying her heart out. “But Ruby is only eighteen. What about the rest of her life!” “Mrs. Carter, it won’t ruin her whole life.” Jason’s voice was low, guilty and stubborn. “Just one year. After Emma gets into that ballet company, I’ll help Ruby train for next year.” “I’ll coach her through everything she missed. Whatever company she wants, I’ll go with her. It’s just one year. She can catch up.” Dad’s voice was shaking. “So… do we give her the shot today?” “Yes.” Jason was silent for a few seconds. “Let her sleep another month. She’ll miss this audition, and once Emma gets her contract, I’ll make it up to Ruby. I’ll give her back her life.” So I never had a muscle-wasting illness. It was that “vitamin shot” that made my muscles deteriorate. That “supplement” kept me drowsy. He said he’d make it up to me in a year. He didn’t know that before entering the operating room, I’d already swallowed an entire bottle of paraquat. … The operating room lights were bright. Glaring white, hurting my eyes. I lay on the operating table, covered with a green sheet. Cold. So cold. The anesthesiologist walked over, holding a transparent mask. “Don’t be nervous, Ruby. Just a few breaths and you’ll fall asleep.” I nodded. I clutched a small bottle in my palm. The bottle was already empty. Half an hour earlier, in the changing room, I drank all of that paraquat. No one noticed. Mom and Dad were waiting in the corridor. Jason was there too. He was my boyfriend and my childhood best friend. We’d known each other for eighteen years. He told me, Ruby, don’t be scared, after this surgery, your illness will be cured. He told me, Ruby, when you get better, I’ll take you to the ocean. He told me, Ruby, I’ll always be with you. But now he was saying in a low voice, “Last time. Once Emma finishes the audition, we won’t need to give Ruby the injections anymore.” I always thought Jason was the best person in the world to me. We grew up together. When we were kids, he protected me, chased away the boys who bullied me. When we got older, he took care of me. Brought me my bag on rainy days, helped me with technique before performances. Until a year ago, when I started having frequent back pain. I went to the hospital for tests. The doctor said it might be a muscle disorder and needed further diagnosis. During that time, Jason was especially concerned about me. He came to see me every day after rehearsal, brought me snacks, and chatted with me. “Ruby, don’t worry. Whatever this is, I’ll be with you.” Later, Jason said he knew a specialist who treated neurological disorders, and told me to try seeing him. Mom and Dad were happy and took me right away. That specialist did all kinds of tests at the hospital, then looked at the results with a serious expression. “Muscle degeneration. Already at the stage where you need intervention.” Mom and Dad cried on the spot. I cried too. Jason stood beside me, holding my hand. “Ruby, don’t be scared. I’m here.” Looking back now, his hand was warm. But his heart was cold.

After that, the long “treatment” began. One “vitamin shot” every week. One “supplement” every day. One “therapy session” every month. Those “treatments” made me weaker and weaker. After each shot, my legs would go soft. I couldn’t walk steady. After drinking the supplement, I’d sleep drowsily for an entire day. A year passed. I didn’t get better. I got worse. I used to be able to dance a full variation. Now I could barely sit up in bed. I used to be top of the academy. Now I couldn’t even read—the words swam in front of my eyes, I couldn’t focus no matter what. I asked Jason, “Why am I getting worse with treatment?” He said, “It’s a normal reaction. Means the medicine is working. Just bear with it, you’ll get better.” I asked my parents, “Mom, when will I get better?” Mom’s eyes turned red. She didn’t speak. Dad turned around, pretending to look out the window. I dropped out. Spent all day lying in bed, like a useless person. Mom and Dad took turns taking care of me—feeding me, washing me, changing my clothes. Mom’s hair went half white. Dad’s back bent. Once, when Mom was washing me, she suddenly cried. “Ruby, Mom is sorry. Mom didn’t take good care of you.” I reached out to wipe her tears. “Mom, it’s not your fault. My body just isn’t good.” Mom cried harder. I held her in my arms, gently patting her back. What I didn’t know was that Mom was crying not because of my illness. It was because she knew I wasn’t sick. I thought they felt bad for me. Now I know—they couldn’t bear to look at me.

The night before the surgery, I made a decision. I took all my savings and put them in an envelope. On the envelope, I wrote: Mom, this is the money I saved over the years. It’s not much, but you can use it. I organized all my choreography journals, checking them page by page. Those journals were from freshman to senior year of high school, four years of work. Every technique, every combination, key points marked in red, difficult parts marked in blue. I put them in a box. On the box, I wrote: Dad, please donate these journals to the academy, maybe someone can use them. Then I wrote a letter. Very short. Just a few lines. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I’m too tired. Take care of yourselves. Don’t blame me.” I put the letter under my pillow. Then I took out that small bottle. Jason had left it at my house the last time he came. He said it was a “booster” for the vitamin shots and told me to keep it. On the bottle was one word: Paraquat. I didn’t know what it was at the time. Later, I looked it up. Paraquat. Lethal pesticide. No antidote. After drinking it, your lungs slowly turn to scar tissue. You suffocate to death. The whole process lasts from several hours to several days. You’re conscious, but can’t breathe. I held that bottle in my hand all night. I didn’t hate my parents. I knew they’d had it hard. When they were young, they were too poor to raise two kids, so they could only give one away. All these years, they’d been living with guilt. Especially toward my sister. They always felt they owed her. Always felt they’d failed her. Always wanted to find a chance to make it up to her. Now the chance had come. Jason gave them a solution. No money needed. No effort needed. Just let me “rest for a year.” The morning of the surgery, Mom and Dad came to the hospital. Mom’s eyes were red and swollen. Clearly, she’d cried all night. Dad’s lips were trembling, but he forced out a smile. “Ruby, don’t be scared. After this surgery, you’ll be fine.” “Okay,” I said. Jason came too. “Ruby, hang in there. After the surgery, I’ll take you to see the ocean.” “Okay,” I said. I lay on the gurney, wheeled into the operating room corridor. The corridor was long, the lights bright. Mom followed behind, walking until she reached the “Family Stop Here” sign. “Ruby! Mom will wait for you outside!” I turned my head and looked at her. “Mom.” “Yes?” “I love you.” Mom froze for a moment. Tears fell. “I love you too.” I turned my head and was wheeled into the operating room.

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Cameron and I started dating in college. Eight years together. With the wedding weeks away, he finally said what he’d been holding back. He wanted his first love, Jade Sullivan, to move in with us. He wanted a wife and a mistress under the same roof. I kept my voice steady through the rage. “So you want Jade to be your mistress?” Cameron shook his head. “She’s not the mistress, Vicky. You are.” I stared at him, unable to process what I’d just heard. Had he lost his mind? Did he seriously think he could make the only heiress of the Ashford Group the other woman? — Seeing my silence, Cameron mistook it for hesitation. His voice softened into something coaxing. “Jade’s gentle. She doesn’t have family money or connections — if she’s not my wife, she’ll suffer for it.” “So your solution is to make me suffer instead?” The fury hammered at my temples, but my voice came out ice-cold. Cameron frowned, visibly annoyed by the pushback. “Vicky, this isn’t what I want either. But Jade has no one. I have to look out for her.” “You’ll both be mine — I’ll treat you equally. Jade is sweet. She won’t make your life difficult, I promise.” When he was pursuing me, he swore I was the only woman he’d ever want. Now, with the wedding right around the corner, he wanted to play house with two of us? So ridiculous. A mistress was just a secret kept in the dark — so what exactly did that make me? I stepped back and looked at him like something I’d scraped off my shoe. “Mr. Holt, I think you should leave. If your heart belongs somewhere else, there’s no wedding to plan.” Cameron let out a long-suffering sigh, watching me the way you watch a child throwing a tantrum. “Victoria. Both families have sent out invitations. The venue is booked. If you back out now, what does that do to your reputation? Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I was shaking with fury. Jade had been circling him for years, and she’d timed this perfectly — right before the wedding, when she calculated I’d be too trapped to walk away. “So by your logic,” I said, “should I actually be grateful? That you didn’t just show up on our wedding day and surprise me with her at the church?” Cameron’s expression darkened. “It’s just a title. You’re an Ashford — no one would dare disrespect you. Why does it matter so much?” “Besides, what successful man settles for one woman? I know how big your heart is. Don’t act like those bitter, jealous girls. That’s beneath you.” I closed my eyes. Counted to three. Didn’t make it. I slapped him across the face — full force. His cheek went red and swollen instantly. Cameron grabbed his face, staring at me like I’d detonated something. “Victoria! Have you lost your mind!” “Every guest in Chicago knows you’re about to marry me. If you walk away from this engagement, no one will touch you — ever.” “You hear me? This wedding is happening whether you like it or not.” “And if you want any future in this family, you’ll go home and tell your parents you voluntarily stepped aside.” I studied him for a long moment, expression frozen. So that’s why he came today. My parents were away on a business trip to Europe. He’d timed it. He wanted me cornered. Wanted to walk away clean while I took the fall. Then it hit me, and I almost laughed. “What’s my full name?” I asked. Cameron blinked. “Victoria Ashford? Have you completely lost it?” I raised my hand. The security team that had been waiting at a distance came jogging over immediately. “When we were dating, I didn’t mind you calling me Vicky.” The memory of his nerve made something between fury and laughter rise in my chest. “But from this moment on — you address me as Miss Ashford.” “Throw him out.” Two of my guards hooked him under the arms and started dragging him toward the door. Cameron twisted around, face disbelieving. “You dare? I’m going to be her husband!” I let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “Why wouldn’t we dare? If I wanted to, I could line up every eligible man in Chicago from here to the airport. Cameron Holt — who exactly do you think you are?” “Let me show you exactly why I run this city.” I looked at my guards and said it again, slower. “Throw him out.”

Cameron stormed back to his family home and walked straight into his mother, Eleanor, who’d heard the news and come rushing in. Eleanor took one look at his expression and opened her mouth, but Cameron cut her off, barely containing his anger. “This is all your fault. You’re the one who pushed me to bring Jade in. Now look what happened — I went over there and got humiliated.” Eleanor listened to the whole story, her opinion of me souring by the minute. She made a private note to put me in my place once I was officially her daughter-in-law. For now, she kept her voice gentle. “Vicky’s just spoiled. Nothing like sweet Jade. Everyone in Chicago knows she has a temper. She should be grateful to marry into this family.” “She’s young. She doesn’t know better. Give it a few days.” “I’ll personally send her an invitation to come over and have a proper conversation about why having Jade here benefits her.” “Once she understands, she’ll come back and apologize on her own.” The moment I kicked Cameron out, I had my assistant put through an international call to my parents, who were still in Europe scouting projects. Then I got in the car and drove up to my grandfather’s estate on the hill to vent. I assumed that would be the end of it — the Holts and I, done for good. Then, a few days later, I received an invitation to their cocktail party. My secretary and assistant both begged me not to go. I refused. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I hide?” I’d barely stepped out of the car at the Holt estate when a woman in a white dress materialized in front of me — soft features, practiced fragility. Jade Sullivan. She tilted her head, brows delicately furrowed, voice honeyed and barbed at once. “Miss Ashford, everyone here tonight is someone important in Chicago. Did you really come dressed like that?” “Even if you’re upset with me, you shouldn’t embarrass Cameron and the Holts in front of their guests.” I gave her one cold look and kept walking. In this city, I wear what I want. No one tells me otherwise — not unless they share my last name. I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Mr. Walsh? Tonight’s Holt cocktail party — they’re using the ballroom at one of our Ashford properties, correct?” “Clear the venue. Now. Bill any damages to my account.” Jade went white. Cameron came rushing out from inside, catching the tail end of the call. He looked at Jade, eyes soft with pity as she trembled on the verge of tears, then turned on me. “Victoria! Jade came out here to welcome you, and this is how you treat her?” I looked at the crowd already forming around us. “Welcome me?” I said, voice carrying cleanly. “In what capacity, exactly? As the future lady of the Holt house? Because from the outside, it looks like she’s already moved in.” The murmurs started instantly. “Isn’t that the woman who’s always at Mr. Holt’s side? When did she become official?” “Even a girlfriend doesn’t get to receive guests on the family’s behalf. The etiquette here is…” “His actual fiancée is standing right there. And she’s already playing hostess?” Cameron’s face shifted. He stepped toward me and reached for my hand. I moved away. “Enough,” he said under his breath. “Do you have to push this far? Do you want to ruin Jade’s reputation?” Eleanor materialized from inside, swooping in with her damage-control smile. “Goodness, can’t this be settled inside? Why are we making a scene at the front door?” She turned and gave Jade a performative scolding. “And you — Vicky can wear whatever she likes. Who asked for your opinion?” Jade’s eyes flickered with something raw, but her face smoothed back into gracious contrition. She dipped her head toward me. “I overstepped, Miss Ashford. Please don’t hold it against Cameron.” The display made Cameron’s heart ache with sympathy for Jade and harden further against me. He was already deciding: after the wedding, he’d make me feel it. Eleanor tried to reframe the entire confrontation as a lovers’ quarrel, nothing more. A few guests began to play along, murmuring for peace. “Miss Ashford, let’s call it even — do me a favor, let it go.” Someone else lifted their chin in quiet judgment. “A little grace goes a long way, Miss Ashford. No need to be so unforgiving.”

I laughed and let my gaze move slowly across the crowd before settling on Eleanor and Cameron. “Perfect. I’d like everyone here to be my witnesses.” “Mrs. Holt. Cameron. Last week, you came to my home and asked me to step down as his wife.” “You wanted a three-way arrangement — and you wanted me to be the one at the bottom. Did that happen or not?” I didn’t come to any cocktail party. I came here to burn it down. Eleanor’s face drained. She shot a vicious glance at Jade, suddenly understanding someone had been running their mouth. “That’s absolutely not true,” she rushed out. “The Ashford-Holt union is a partnership between two great families. There was never any—” I watched Cameron and Jade’s eyes slide to the floor, and smiled without warmth. “Oh? So even the Holts know how outrageous this is?” “I was starting to think you’d decided the Ashford name was something you could step on.” All three of them went pale. Cameron’s voice lost its edge. “Vicky, you misunderstood. The Holts never intended—” “Didn’t they?” I raised an eyebrow. “So the request for me to become the other woman — that came from nowhere?” “It was a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding—” Eleanor began to insist. I pressed forward. “And Jade receiving guests at the door as though she owns this house — that was a misunderstanding too?” Silence. Cameron grabbed my wrist, grip tight enough to hurt. “Victoria, you’ve made your point. After the wedding you’ll be a Holt — if this family looks bad, you look bad. Know when to stop.” Jade’s eyes glistened on cue, her expression the very portrait of wounded endurance. I felt nothing. I had known from the start that Cameron carried a torch for someone else. For years, I’d felt sorry for Jade’s situation — every holiday, I sent her designer bags, high-end perfume, the kind of gifts that required real thought. Even when Cameron gave her more of his time and tenderness than he ever gave me, I never said a word. I told myself he felt sorry for her. Turns out, they’d been at it behind my back for years. And I’d been playing the fool. Then Eleanor did what she always did when losing: she cried. “This is all my fault. Blame me.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Jade has been on her own since she was a girl — no parents, no safety net.” “She’s getting older, and I couldn’t bear to see her with no future.” “So I asked Cameron to bring it up with you. A place in this home, after you were married. That was all I wanted for her.” She turned and gave Cameron a theatrical glare, blaming him for the framing, then continued. “I assumed Vicky was generous enough that she wouldn’t refuse.” “I let Jade begin learning how things run here, so she could be useful to you, so no one in this house would look down on her.” “I wanted to give a good girl some dignity, not cause her suffering.” “If Vicky isn’t comfortable with it, we drop it entirely. I only worry for Jade. She may spend her whole life alone.” The crowd shifted. Sympathetic eyes drifted toward Jade. The looks aimed at me turned cold.

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Years ago, a nurse swapped the name tags on incubators at the hospital. So several babies were switched at birth. And it turned out my fiancé’s sister was my biological sister. I thought it was fate bringing us closer, but Sterling had other plans. The night before our wedding, he said, “She’s been pampered her whole life. Going back to your family has been hell for her.” “I need to marry her first. Give her the title of wife to protect her. That way, the real Astor daughter we just brought home won’t make a fuss.” I stood frozen as he continued. “You’re different. You’ve been through worse. You’re strong and you can handle anything.” “Give me two years. Once she’s settled, we’ll have our wedding ceremony.” He expected me to scream and cry. To cave like I always did. Instead, I cut him off. “Got it. I’ll be sure to congratulate you and my sister tomorrow.” Those words made him freeze. All his rehearsed speeches, all his moral blackmail stuck in his throat. “You’re serious? If you’re not okay with this, just say so. Don’t be passive-aggressive. That makes me more worried.” I didn’t understand what he had to worry about. Hadn’t I always given in before? Every time, he’d push forward one step, I’d step back one step. Until I had nowhere left to go, and I’d nod and say “fine.” I lowered my hand from my stomach where it had unconsciously drifted. “Yes. I’m serious.” “Tomorrow’s ceremony goes ahead as planned. Just swap out the bride. No need to change the program.” He was suspicious, but he didn’t want to dig deeper now. Because he was afraid I’d change my mind. He reached out and patted my head. “I knew you’d understand.” “Blair was my sister before. Now she’s yours. We’re all family.” “It’s just that wild girl we brought back from your family who doesn’t know her place. Always crying that Blair stole twenty years of her life. Demanding we throw her out.” “We’ll still go to City Hall as planned, okay?” “As for the wedding ceremony…” “Once Blair’s settled, we’ll throw you a proper celebration.” “Got it,” I interrupted. “Go home. You’re the groom tomorrow. Get some rest.” I turned and tossed the crumpled invitation mockup into the trash beside me. He stared at me for two seconds. Satisfied I showed no anger or hurt, he finally left. The moment the door closed, I opened my phone. [Your marriage registration appointment has been successfully canceled.] Then I pulled up an email from across the Atlantic. Read it eight more times. And I typed back: [I accept.]

At three in the morning, noise from the living room woke me up. I cracked my door open and saw Blair curled up on the couch in nothing but a white button-down shirt, her bare legs tucked under her, sipping milk. Sterling crouched in front of her, massaging her feet. “My sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you not to walk barefoot on these tiles?” “You call me at this ungodly hour saying your feet hurt, so I rush over here like a madman. Don’t you know I have important business tomorrow?” Blair giggled and whined, “Well, tomorrow you will be my husband instead of my brother. I’m nervous.” He flicked her forehead. “I can be whoever you want. Just go to sleep. I need to get ready.” She tilted her head, batting her eyes at him. “You came all this way. Aren’t you going to see Harper?” “She spent forever throwing up in the bathroom today. She’s obviously still upset about all this.” Sterling paused mid-step. “She’s fine.” His tone was flat. “She’s not as delicate as you. She’ll be fine once she gets it out of her system.” “Besides, I need her help tomorrow. She planned the entire ceremony. She knows every detail. Let her sleep.” He reached out and tapped her nose. “You worry too much. You’re the bride tomorrow. Get some rest.” Blair giggled and swatted his hand. “Okay, okay. Go back and get ready.” I stood behind the door, caught between pathetic and absurd. Six months ago, my parents demanded Sterling give them fifty thousand dollars upfront for “family expenses.” They weren’t satisfied with the amount we’d agreed on and kept calling, threatening to cause a scene at his office. I refused to ask him for more money and got into a screaming match with my father. He grabbed his belt and beat me until I couldn’t stand up anymore. That night was late too and I couldn’t take the pain anymore and called Sterling. All he said was, “That’s just how your parents are. I’ll give them whatever they want. Don’t fight them on it. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” That night, I was in agony. But he never came. Because the person who could make him rush over at three in the morning was never me. I was about to turn back to bed when Blair brought up something else, laughing. “By the way, I really have to thank my sister for planning this whole ceremony for us.” I froze. “She originally chose champagne gold as the color scheme, but you fought for pink instead. This is literally my dream wedding.” Sterling’s voice was indulgent. “As long as you’re happy.” My heart, which I thought had gone numb, twisted sharply. For this wedding, I spent three months visiting every event planner in the city. In the end, just because he said “pink suits a wedding better,” I stayed up all night redoing the entire plan. Back then, I thought he had a romantic side and wanted to make him happy. Turns out, even the wedding was someone else’s stage. I wasn’t the bride. I wasn’t even a guest. Just a tool. A tool who would show up tomorrow to greet guests, oversee the program, and make sure everything ran smoothly. I walked back to bed in a daze. Blair’s laughter filtered through the door, muffled and grating. It echoed in my head like a curse.

At dawn, the bridal car arrived downstairs. As the discarded bride, I had already been forgotten. Sterling carried Blair out of her room in his arms. Several groomsmen followed behind them, muttering as they walked. They weren’t far. Every word reached my ears. “I thought I was drunk last night and heard wrong. Can’t believe they actually swapped the bride.” “You guys didn’t know? They had the invitations printed in duplicate from the start. One set with Harper’s name, one with Blair’s. They planned for this all along.” “Man, I thought Harper would throw a fit. A girl from her background, finally landing a guy like this, and she just hands him over to her sister? She’ll never get another shot at this family now.” “She’s really generous. No wonder she’s stuck with Sterling all these years.” “She probably knows throwing a tantrum won’t change anything.” They all laughed. Sterling carried Blair to the car. When he heard that last comment, he stopped walking. He gently set Blair in the backseat, then turned to face the groomsmen. “What are you all running your mouths about?” The groomsmen shut up, looking sheepish. “Harper is strong. Blair’s been spoiled her whole life. She can’t handle hardship.” “If I don’t protect her, how is she supposed to survive?” One of Sterling’s closer friends spoke up with a grin. “Alright, alright. She’s your real wife.” “We all know this ceremony is just for show. You and Harper are going to make it legal the day after tomorrow, right?” He winked. “That’s the real commitment. Once you sign those papers, she’s not going anywhere.” Only then did Sterling nod with satisfaction and duck into the car. I stood in the shadows, watching him close the door. The bridal car started up. All I could hear in my head was that phrase: “She can’t handle hardship.” Blair grew up in the Astor household, pampered and spoiled. Of course she couldn’t handle hardship. But why should I? Growing up, my parents grabbed me by the hair and called me a worthless bitch. If it weren’t for mandatory public education, I wouldn’t have even had the chance to go to school. Later, I worked my ass off to get into the best high school in the city, but they refused to give me living expenses. I survived on bread for every meal. Sterling knew all of this. When I got into college out of state, I never planned on coming back. Aside from sending money home every month, I cut off all contact. Never visited. Never called. Those years were the most peaceful of my life. Nobody hit me. Nobody screamed at me. Nobody barged into my room in the middle of the night demanding cash. I thought I had escaped. Until two years ago, when Sterling took me home to meet his parents for the first time. His mother made herself clear right away. “The Astors are a respected family. Our daughter-in-law’s family needs to present well. We can’t have people gossiping.” Sterling pulled me aside and begged, “Harper, just move back in with your parents for now. Do it for us. Just bear with it until my mother agrees to the marriage.” To avoid making things difficult for him, I moved back in with my parents and played the part of a harmonious family. For the past two years, to keep the peace, whenever my mother demanded money, I gave it. When my father lost at the tables, I covered his debts. When the neighbors praised me, saying “your daughter’s done so well for herself,” my mother beamed and said, “Of course. My girl’s marrying into the Astor family.” She forgot all the times she called me a worthless bitch. But I didn’t. I thought all of this had an endpoint. Once we were married, Sterling and I would build our own family, far away from them. If they caused trouble then, they’d be dealing with the Astors’ in-laws. Sterling would shield me. But now the wedding cars drove off, and I was left behind in this house.

At three in the afternoon, the whole family got ready to attend the wedding ceremony. My brother Tyler fumbled with his tie, grinning like an idiot. “Blair’s got it made. Grew up over there, now she’s marrying back in.” “Damn, wish I was the one they swapped at birth. Could’ve been a rich kid too.” “Shut your mouth.” My mother shot him a look. “Polish your shoes.” I sat quietly on the couch, saying nothing. Blair was different from the other babies. The other babies were passively switched. Only she was actively abandoned. The day my mother gave birth to her, she didn’t even pay the hospital bill, left the baby on the bed and snuck out. She never imagined that the daughter she discarded would be switched into the Astor family and raised as their precious princess for all these years. When Blair first came back, she cried every single day. When no one else was around, I told her the truth. “Biology doesn’t trump upbringing. They never wanted you in the first place. These bloodsucking parasites aren’t worth keeping as family.” “You’ve had an elite education at the Astors’ for years. You can stand on your own two feet.” Her eyes were red, so I thought she understood. Until Sterling showed up at my door, his face dark. “Blair says you told her to move out. That you think she’s a burden. That you look down on her.” “Harper, I let it slide when you targeted her before, but now you share the same blood. Are you really going to push her out like this?” I stood there stunned. What he said had nothing to do with what I meant. But I wasn’t surprised. This had happened too many times before. Back when Blair was still “Blair Astor,” she pulled the same tricks. The first time I met his parents, she spent the whole dinner piling food onto my plate with a smile. My plate filled up with foods I was allergic to. I didn’t want to embarrass her, so I forced down a few bites but still left half the plate untouched. Afterward, I rushed to explain to her that I was allergic to those foods. She smiled and said she understood. Then turned around and cried to Sterling. Told him I looked down on the food she picked for me. Another time, the three of us went out to eat. She leaned against Sterling, acting coy, making him cut steak and feed her. When the server brought our dishes, she smiled and said, “Your girlfriend and you make such a sweet couple.” I set down my knife and corrected her. “They’re siblings.” The next day, Sterling showed up again, his tone weary. “She cried for hours last night. Why were you so quick to clarify our relationship? Do you not like her?” After enough incidents like that, I stopped explaining. I just tried to show him through my actions that I didn’t have the ulterior motives his sensitive little sister claimed I did. Now they weren’t biologically related anymore and his accusations came flooding back. I wanted to explain. But when I saw that look in his eyes—that “here we go again” expression—I suddenly didn’t want to say anything at all. Did he really not know what kind of people my parents were? Did he really not understand why I told Blair to move out and support herself? He knew but he just didn’t care what I thought. Over the past two years, I’d seen Blair curled up in bed with Sterling in nothing but a thin nightgown, reading together. I’d seen him hold her in his arms and wipe away her tears. Every single time, I wanted to scream. But every single time, I told myself to wait. Just wait until they each got married to other people. Then, the night before the wedding, he sat me down and seriously discussed marrying her instead, and I finally understood— Even after marriage, nothing would change. My hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach. This was the only thing in the world that was truly, completely mine. Growing up, I got beaten, screamed at, starved. I had no choice in that. But this child was different. I couldn’t let it grow up being weighed, measured, and always at risk of being discarded. When it was just me, I could endure any suffering. Bloodsucking family. A boyfriend with no boundaries. A future sister-in-law who targeted me at every turn. But now that I had this baby, I couldn’t do it anymore. My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a reminder about tonight’s flight. I stood up, ready to leave. My mother’s face changed. “Where do you think you’re going? Didn’t we already say you don’t need to attend the wedding ceremony?” Before I could answer, she started in on me. “You’re pathetic. Couldn’t keep your man, and now you want to crash your sister’s wedding and cause a scene?” “Give it up. They’ve been inseparable since childhood. Now they’ve found out they’re not related by blood. What makes you think you ever had a chance?” “I’m not going.” I cut her off. She froze, clearly not believing me. After staring at me for a long moment, something strange crossed her face. “Sterling was right about you after all.”

She clicked her tongue twice. “He called us this morning specifically to warn us. Said you’re stubborn and we need to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” She grabbed my wrist and yanked. “Come on. You’re coming with us.” I stumbled. “I already told you I’m not going.” “Not going?” My mother let out a harsh laugh. “And leave you alone here? You think I trust you to behave?” “The second we leave, you’ll run over there and make a scene. Where does that leave us? You’re coming. I’m watching you.” She shoved me toward the door. … The wedding was held at a luxury hotel owned by the Astor Corporation. My parents flanked me on either side. Onstage, Blair held onto the groom’s arm, her eyes crinkling with her smile. Sterling reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. The crowd below started chanting, “Kiss her! Kiss her!” He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. My mother leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Look how perfect they are together. Stop holding onto something that was never yours.” I didn’t respond. When she first found out the great Sterling Astor was my boyfriend, she said the exact same thing. The officiant launched into a sentimental speech about childhood sweethearts and destiny, about obstacles overcome by true love. I lowered my head and pulled my lips into something resembling a smile. This officiant was one I had personally selected from the top ten in the city. He certainly knew how to work a crowd. Childhood sweethearts that was them. I was the obstacle in their love story. I looked around the ballroom. The crystal chandeliers were the exact color temperature I had chosen. The centerpieces were arrangements I had selected. The background music was from a playlist I had built. Every single party favor had been carefully curated by me. A wedding I planned with my own hands, only to watch him marry someone else. Suddenly, I thought maybe this is for the best. I got to close this chapter myself. My phone buzzed in my bag. The screen lit up. 9:45 PM flight to… I stared at the notification and felt relief. My hand brushed lightly over my stomach. Soon, I would have family tied to me by blood and a career worth building. My heart finally felt like it had somewhere to land. I turned off the screen and stood up to leave.

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My late mother’s hairband appeared as a prize at the pack’s ice hockey tournament. My mate，Westridge pack’s next Alpha, had promised to win first place and bring it back for me. But he broke his word. He deliberately lost to the alpha’s son of the Northern Border pack, just to claim the second-place prize — a flowing celestial gown. It was something my omega-blooded half-sister had been coveting for a long time. My mate said with a helpless, indulgent smile, “Lily’s wolf awakening ceremony is coming up. It’s the only thing she wants, and I promised to give it to her.” My half-sister slipped into the gown, smug and coy as she turned to me. “Elder sister, isn’t it bad luck to keep things that belonged to a dead woman?” My mate tried to soothe me. “When I come to propose, I’ll have a custom piece made for you at the Silver Moon Jewelers — even more beautiful than your mother’s.” It was too late. Because before she died, my mother had said: whoever presented the hairband as a betrothal gift would have my hand in marriage. Three days later, I would be the wife of the Northern Border alpha’s son. ……….. “Second place in the ice hockey tournament — Nathaniel Voss, alpha’s son of the Westridge pack. His prize: one flowing celestial gown.” I stood on the viewing platform, watching a servant present the gown to Nathaniel, and felt as though I had been plunged into ice. He had finally broken his word. The scene I had witnessed before the match was still vivid in my mind. It was my half-sister, Lily Harmon, who had intercepted Nathaniel near the locker room, pulling at his sleeve with a pitiful expression. “Nate, my wolf awakening ceremony is in three days. Could you please give me that gown as a gift?” “My elder sister is the alpha’s daughter, born of the luna. Her awakening ceremony will be grand and celebrated. I’m only omega-blooded — I can’t compare to her. But I want beautiful things too.” “My mother is a mistress. People look down on us. If I could wear the prize gown gifted by the lycan king’s daughter herself to my ceremony, people would finally see my mother differently.” “I’m asking for just this one thing. Will you do it, Nate?” “I have nothing. Just this once, I want to win something.” Her eyes glistened with tears, and one fell — landing directly on Nathaniel’s outstretched hand as he moved to wipe it away, burning him with something he mistook for tenderness. “Don’t cry. I’ll do it.” “It’s just — I already promised your elder sister I’d win back that hairband for her. She said it was her late mother’s keepsake.” Lily quickly dabbed her eyes and smiled. “It’s fine. All the men in the tournament know Nate. Once one of them wins the hairband, which man really wants a piece of jewelry? We can buy it back for my sister with moonstone afterward.” “I’ll give every moonstone I’ve saved to buy it back for her.” Her careful, timid manner stirred Nathaniel’s pity beyond reason. “All right. I’ll win that gown and give it to you.” I closed my eyes and pressed my fists together. I heard their exchange before the match started but had no time to intervene before it began. I still held on to a thread of hope. After all, Nathaniel and I had been promised to each other since childhood — our two families had a verbal agreement. Three days from now was when the Voss family was due to arrive with a formal proposal. I thought that, at the very least, as my intended mate, he would honor this one wish of mine. I was wrong. He deliberately lost to Ethan Calloway, the Northern Border alpha’s son, just to win that gown for Lily Harmon. “Oh dear, sister — Nate lost! He let someone else take the hairband.” “Isn’t that your mother’s keepsake? What will you do? The Northern Border alpha’s son and Nate have always been rivals. Do you think he’d ever sell it back to Nate?” So she already knew. That’s why she had suggested buying it back — she had already calculated that Ethan would never agree. I looked at her steadily. “Sister, with a heart like a viper, does your precious Nate even know what you truly are?” Her expression shifted, but before she could speak, Nathaniel arrived with a crowd of people bearing the gown. Lily flung herself at him. “Thank you, Nate!”

The alpha daughters around them surged forward with envious sighs: “That gown was made by the most renowned seamstress in the pack — it took her three full months. And Nathaniel won it just for you, Lily!” “Nathaniel cares so much about you.” “I heard the Harmon and Voss families go way back. They were going to arrange a match between their children.” “So the Voss family had their eye on Lily all along? How enviable.” Lily accepted the gown with a triumphant smile and disappeared to the back to try it on. Nathaniel watched her go with that familiar indulgent expression, then turned to me. “Evelyn, I know I broke my word to you. But Lily said it was the only thing she wanted for her awakening ceremony, and I couldn’t refuse her.” “As for the hairband — I don’t know why the Northern Border alpha’s son won’t part with it. But it doesn’t matter. When I come to propose, I’ll have one custom-made at Silver Moon Jewelers — even more beautiful than the one your mother left you.” I blinked back tears, my eyes burning. “I only fear there may never be another chance.” Nathaniel looked regretful but stood there, unable to find the words. My half-sister emerged in the gown, tugging at Nathaniel’s sleeve with a bright laugh. “Thank you, Nate. This is the best awakening ceremony gift I’ve ever received.” Then she tilted her head at me, her voice dripping with mock comfort. “Sister, some things are over — why hold on? That hairband is beautiful, yes, but it’s a dead woman’s possession. Isn’t it bad luck to cling to it?” “Would you really have Nate commission an exact replica of a dead woman’s token as a proposal gift? Wouldn’t that be terribly unlucky?” Nathaniel stepped in to smooth things over. “All right, it’s my fault entirely — it’s just a hairband. I’ll have several made. When I come to propose, I’ll bring them all as an apology to Evelyn.” On the way back, when I stayed silent, Nathaniel finally lost patience. His expression hardened. “How long are you going to sulk over an object? The dead are gone. Aren’t the living more important?” “Is your mother’s old hairband worth more than Lily’s awakening ceremony? She is your sister.” “This behavior today — this pettiness — it’s unworthy of an alpha’s daughter. Think about that.” “If you keep acting like this, I’ll have to reconsider whether you’re fit to be the luna of the Voss pack. This match — I may need to think it over.” And with that, he mounted his horse and rode away. Three days later came Lily Harmon’s wolf awakening ceremony. Her mother, the mistress Gloria Harmon, had been preparing for months. After my mother died, my father had showered his mistress and her daughter with favor, moving Gloria into my mother’s quarters. Lily had always been treated as if she were an alpha’s daughter by birth. If not for the influence of my maternal grandfather, my father would likely have made Gloria his new luna long ago. So for Lily’s awakening ceremony, invitations went out to every luna and alpha daughter in the pack. And this same day was when the Voss family had agreed to arrive with their formal proposal. The hall was full of guests. Someone joked about when they could expect to toast both unions. Nathaniel caught my eye, looking slightly uncomfortable, then smiled. “Our families’ match was always meant to be settled — I was thinking three months from now for the wedding date. Evelyn, does that suit you?” One of the lunas who knew both families spoke up. “Wasn’t the original date set for one month from now?” Nathaniel lowered his gaze, his voice quieter. “Evelyn, we discussed this. Because your maternal grandfather won’t allow Lily’s mother to be formally recognized, Lily is still considered omega-blooded — it makes it harder for her to find a match.” “Her situation is difficult. I truly feel for her.” “I spoke with your father. He agreed that Lily should enter the Voss household first, one month from now, and then I would welcome you three months later.” A hush fell over the entire room. Someone drew a sharp breath. “He’s asking the omega-blooded daughter to take the luna’s place — and sending the alpha’s daughter in afterward?” I held Nathaniel’s gaze and asked clearly, “Is this the decision of both the Voss family and my father? That Lily Harmon should be the Westridge alpha’s son’s luna?”

Nathaniel waved his hands quickly. “It’s not a matter of luna or mistress. Lily said herself — even if she enters the household first as my mate, she will defer to you in all things once you arrive. She won’t compete with you.” He stepped toward me, urgent. “Evelyn, you are the lycan council elder’s alpha daughter, and the granddaughter of a great general. Your standing in the pack is unquestionable. No one would dare look down on you, no matter what.” “But Lily is different. She was born omega-blooded. Every step of her life has been a struggle. I only want to make things a little easier for her.” “You’ll only be two months behind, and Lily has already said — when you arrive, she won’t ask you to take suppressants. She’ll allow you to conceive and bear your own children. They can even be registered under her name and raised as alpha-born.” He spoke with such feeling, seeming genuinely moved by Lily’s so-called generosity. The expressions on the guests’ faces said everything: “Has the Voss pack lost their minds?” “What is Elder Harmon thinking — sending his alpha daughter in as a second wife?” “If the General hears about this, he’ll ride back from the Northern Garrison and tear this place apart.” Nathaniel’s face cycled between pale and red. Lily drifted over in her celestial gown, voice soft as silk. “Sister, please say yes.” “Nate has such a kind heart. He pities my circumstances — that’s why he thought of this.” I let out a cold laugh. “You call your circumstances pitiful? Your mother moved into my mother’s quarters three days after her death. My mother’s jewelry was claimed by her. And you took over my rooms — the most comfortable in the house — claiming you preferred them.” “Your food, your clothing, your jewels — you always had the first pick of everything, and better than what I had as the alpha’s daughter. Tell me, sister — where exactly is the hardship you speak of?” The guests looked her over. The celestial gown she wore was the very prize Nathaniel had won for her at the tournament. Its value needed no explanation. On her head sat a jeweled crown from Silver Moon Jewelers — their signature piece, worth a hundred moonstones. Her embroidered slippers were adorned with Eastern pearls, impossibly opulent. By contrast, I stood in clean, simple attire — and somehow appeared more plainly dressed than she did. “That outfit costs a fortune. Even the most celebrated alpha daughters in the pack don’t dress like that. She has the nerve to call herself an unloved, omega-blooded girl?” “Just that crown alone is worth a hundred moonstones.” “Even her mother’s cloud-silk robe is worth thousands. Those two dress grander than most lunas.” “The actual alpha’s daughter here looks positively understated by comparison.” Lily retreated a step, tears clinging to her lashes, looking at Nathaniel. “That’s not true, Nate. Father only asked me to dress this way today, for the ceremony, so as not to lose face in front of guests. These clothes aren’t really mine.” “This crown and the jewelry — Father said they were meant for my sister.” I smiled softly. “Father said they were meant for me? Pearl — make a note. After the ceremony, please go to the second young miss’s room and collect all the crown jewels and accessories for return to my quarters.” My maid Pearl pressed her lips into a smile. “Yes, Miss Evelyn.” Nathaniel snapped, “Enough, Evelyn — it’s just a crown. Why must you back your own sister into a corner? All this petty bickering — it’s completely beneath an alpha’s daughter.” “I had my doubts about whether you were treating Lily poorly. Now I’m starting to wonder just how much you’ve been bullying her when I wasn’t around.” He stepped in front of Lily, clasping her hand tightly. “She will be the future luna of this house. She doesn’t stoop to counting jewelry.” “Besides, when Lily is formally wed, your father has agreed to send her off with a hundred-box dowry. She couldn’t care less about a few pieces of jewelry.”

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