u/NanniatheNeko

The sixth time photographs of his affair surfaced, Everett Whitmore tore the knife from my hand and slashed it across his own skin.

Stroke by stroke, he carved the name Sloane Bennett into his thigh.

“Satisfied? Will you leave Serena alone now?”

I stood frozen, staring at him as though he had become a stranger.

Everett had cheated for ten years, and we had spent every one of them tormenting each other.

Each time he crossed the line, I carved my name somewhere on his body.

I had cut my wrists, staged abductions, and even threatened Serena by suspending her from a helicopter. Every mark on him carried a history of violence.

But I had never felt this calm.

Confusion must have shown on my face, because a trace of tenderness crossed his hate-filled eyes.

“Serena is pregnant. Promise you won’t confront her again, and you can cut your name into me as many times as you want.”

“That makes ninety-nine marks. It’s a good number, so let’s stop fighting and live peacefully from now on.”

My throat suddenly tightened. “Live peacefully? Did you honestly mean that?”

He looked at me with pain and mockery.

“Honestly?”

“You already own my body. Stop trying to take the part of me that belongs to Serena.”

As he closed his eyes with numb resignation, I finally understood.

Ninety-nine did not represent his hope that our marriage would last.

It meant he had finally surrendered.

He was willing to sacrifice his entire life to protect another woman and the child she carried.

Grief poured through me, cold enough to chill every bone.

A lifetime suddenly felt too long to waste on him.

***

Everett did not care when I remained silent.

In his mind, I had already gotten what I wanted.

After a moment, he ripped open his shirt and continued cutting letters across the old and new scars covering his chest.

“Serena needs someone to care for her during the pregnancy. I’m paying in advance for the time, starting with today.”

A second version of my name appeared across his chest.

“She has a prenatal appointment tomorrow, and I need to go with her.”

The third name appeared along his stomach.

“She’s taking maternity photographs the day after that. I’m the father, so I have to be there.”

Then came the fourth name, followed by the fifth.

Ten names left his upper body torn and covered in blood.

Everett seemed unable to feel any of it as he mechanically planned each day of his future with Serena.

Beside him, the woman who had spent ten years marking him as hers looked like a cruel joke.

I snatched the knife away, my voice shaking beyond recognition.

“Everett, do you remember what today was?”

Irritation flashed through his eyes.

“What is it this time? Your birthday? Our anniversary?”

“Do you always have to use sentimental excuses to ruin the little time Serena and I have together?”

“I already carved your name into myself. What else do you want?”

I finally broke and screamed, “Today was the anniversary of Jamie’s death!”

Everett’s body went rigid, and he fell silent.

Jamie was the first baby I had lost before birth.

Thirteen years earlier, Serena drove drunk, struck my car, and caused catastrophic bleeding. Everett retaliated without mercy.

He sued until she lost everything and everyone abandoned her, leaving her to spend day after day outside my hospital room begging forgiveness.

Three years later, on the anniversary of Jamie’s death, Everett slept with her.

He shielded Serena from me and told me to stop being vindictive.

He said, “I grieved our baby too, but you’ve punished Serena enough. She has nothing left.”

“The past should stay in the past. Only the living still have a future.”

Somewhere in those three years of constant punishment, his heart had crossed a line.

My baby and I had become the price of their love.

Something inside my mind snapped, and I slapped both of them.

Everett accepted my blow without resistance, but when I struck Serena, he shoved me down the stairs.

Blood spread beneath me, and my second baby died by his father’s hand.

After that, I lost myself completely.

Whenever I caught him meeting Serena, he insisted they had done nothing inappropriate.

I still carved my name into his skin, desperately trying to cover the betrayal buried beneath it.

Ten years later, he had forgotten the death anniversaries of both our children.

Even the marks meant for me had become currency he used to purchase time for his affairs.

When he saw my anguish, Everett suddenly laughed.

The sound was filled with contempt.

“So what?”

He lifted his head, and his pitying gaze stabbed directly into mine.

“Was I supposed to drown in guilt forever and let Serena’s baby die without a father’s protection too?”

“Jamie died, and you weren’t the only person who suffered.”

“Ten years passed, yet you’re the only one who refused to move forward.”

“Sloane, you’re pathetic.”

At the yacht party, everyone was playing Truth or Dare.

If you got called out for bluffing, you had to take a penalty shot.

When it was my turn, I looked at my boyfriend of eight years, Carter Shaw, and smiled. "I'm getting married this year."

The words weren't even all the way out before my best friend Lena Price threw her hand up. "Bullshit. There's no way you're getting married this year."

All eyes swung to Carter.

He lazily picked up a shot and slid it toward me. "You lost. Drink up."

I didn't hesitate. I downed it in one go. The liquor burned all the way down, and my heart twisted right along with it.

Then it was Lena's turn. She laughed and said, "I'm getting married this year too."

I called her out.

She arched an eyebrow, fished a marriage license out of her bag, and passed it around. The bride was her. The groom was Carter.

Everybody turned to me, grinning. "Luna loses again. We all knew, so this time you're taking a double penalty."

Carter gave this helpless smile. "We got married because we lost a dare last time. Come on, you lose, you take the drink."

In that moment, my blood ran ice-cold.

Lena hadn't just won the game. She'd won the man.

But they all forgot one thing—I always keep my word. I'll still get married. Just not to him.

***

Carter pushed a second shot toward me. "Okay, don't be like that. Lena and I only got married because we lost a dare. It doesn't mean anything. Give it a year, we'll get divorced."

He said it so casually, like he was sure I'd wait another year.

Lena's eyes went red. "Everybody was egging us on. I never thought it would blow up like this. Please don't hate me. Our friendship's been through way too much to let this ruin it, right?"

Someone next to her jumped in immediately. "Exactly. It was all a joke. That's why we didn't tell you."

Listening to them, I just went numb inside.

They all knew. And none of them thought it was a big deal. I was the only one being played for a fool.

I stood up.

Carter frowned. "Where are you going?"

"To get some air."

He lowered his voice, irritation bleeding through. "Enough already. Stop making a scene."

I looked at him and almost let out a laugh. So that was it. I'd been shut out by everyone.

I made my way to the far end of the deck alone. The wind was brutal. The ocean spread out black and endless.

I took out my phone and dialed my mother. She answered, sounding surprised. "Luna, why are you calling so late?"

I gripped the phone, my fingers freezing. "That arranged marriage you guys brought up before. I'll do it."

A beat of silence.

A few seconds later, my father took the phone. "Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

I stared at the distant, swaying lights, my voice steadier than I actually felt. "I'm done waiting for Carter."

My mother's voice went sharp with worry. "Did he hurt you? Where are you? We're coming to get you."

"No need. I'll explain when I get home."

I was switched at birth and didn't return to the Quinn family until my teens. My biological parents always wanted me to come home, but I always felt this distance between us.

Then I met Carter, and I convinced myself that as long as I had him, it didn't matter if I ever truly went back.

Looking back now, I realize how little I valued myself and how much weight I gave him.

My mother asked softly, "Do you want to meet the match first?"

"No. Just set it up."

After I hung up, I stood there alone for a long time.

Music kept pulsing from the yacht. The laughter hadn't stopped.

They were all going to keep having fun tonight. My humiliation? It was just entertainment to them.

A message from Carter came through. [Stop being so dramatic. Come back.]

I stared at the screen, remembering a winter back in college. His first startup had just tanked, and he was crouched on the curb, chain-smoking.

When I found him, his eyes were red, and he asked me, "Luna, am I just a total screw-up?"

I told him it was okay, that I'd always have his back.

I gave him my whole heart, and he threw it to the wolves.

I deleted the message and shut my phone off.

That night, I finally decided I was done with him.

I couldn't contain my excitement as I twirled in front of Sofia's full-length mirror. Even in my lounge pants and oversized t-shirt, I felt beautiful. Tomorrow I'd be in my wedding gown, walking toward William, starting our life together.

"Tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. William Moretti," I said, my voice high with excitement. My heart pounded against my ribs. After five years together, I was finally joining the Silver Moon Pack by marrying one of their future Deltas. The thought made me almost dizzy with happiness.

Sofia stood in the doorway, wine glass in hand, her short black curls messy around her face. Her dark-rimmed eyes watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"You should get some sleep, Rebecca," she said, taking a sip. "Big day tomorrow."

"I'm too excited to sleep," I said, feeling the happiness bubble up inside me. "And it's so stupid that I can't see William tonight. Who actually follows that tradition anymore?" I felt a flash of irritation mingled with longing. I just wanted to be with him.

Sofia made a dismissive sound. "You're marrying into the Silver Moon. They follow traditions that make zero sense to humans like us."

I touched the custom-made wedding dress and felt the smoothness of the silk with my fingertips. William had given me access to a world I'd never imagined I could reach. Even Sofia's place, where I was only staying for tonight, was in a neighborhood I couldn't have afforded on my old teaching assistant salary.

"I still can't believe this is happening," I said quietly, gratitude washing over me. "Five years ago I was drowning in student debt, living in that terrible studio apartment..."

"And now you're marrying up," Sofia finished. There was something sharp in her tone that made my happiness waver for just a moment.

I turned to face her, noticing the frown lines between her eyebrows. "You don't like him, do you?" My stomach tightened with anxiety.

Sofia sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's not that I don't like him. It's just... he's a werewolf, and you're human. The Silver Moon Pack isn't exactly friendly to outsiders."

"I'm his destined mate," I said defensively, sitting beside her. I felt protective of our relationship, of the future we'd planned. "And they respect the mate bond—it's sacred to them." I needed her to understand how special this was.

Sofia's expression softened. "I know. It's just their hierarchy... the Alphas, Betas, Deltas... it's all so rigid. I don't want you to get hurt." Genuine concern filled her eyes.

"William would never hurt me," I said with absolute conviction. "And this marriage means I can help my dad with his medical bills." My voice cracked slightly. "No more choosing between treatments and food."

Sofia nodded slowly, raising her glass. "Then here's to you becoming the most beautiful bride tomorrow."

She touched my cheek gently. I smiled to her, then focusing on my wedding checklist instead of the unease her concern had stirred.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, dumping the contents of my overnight bag onto the bed for the third time. My pearl necklace wasn't there. My stomach dropped as I checked my wedding checklist app—I'd left it at our apartment after picking it up from the final sizing.

I checked William's social media. He'd posted a gym selfie thirty minutes ago with the caption "Last workout as a free man." The green dot next to his profile picture showed he was still online. He was definitely still at the gym.

Perfect timing. I could slip back to our apartment, grab the necklace, and return before Sofia even noticed I was gone. William had insisted I stay with Sofia tonight—some werewolf tradition about building anticipation—but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

I left a quick note for Sofia, who had fallen asleep after her third glass of wine, and called a rideshare. Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of our luxury high-rise, feeling the warm summer night air on my skin.

The doorman nodded as I entered. This was my life now—access cards, private elevators, people who recognized me. Five years ago, I'd been teaching summer school just to pay rent. Now I was about to move into this luxurious building. Sometimes I still couldn't believe it.

The apartment was quiet when I entered. William's obsessive neatness meant everything was exactly where it should be—spotless countertops, perfectly arranged throw pillows on our leather sofa. I went straight to our bedroom to check my vanity, where I'd last seen the ring box.

It wasn't there. My heart beat faster as I searched the closet, checked drawers, even looked under the bed. Nothing. Where else could it be?

Maybe William's study? I hesitated at the door. William didn't like me going in there without permission. It was his "sanctuary," he always said, where he handled business calls and Pack meetings.

But this was an emergency. I pushed open the door and turned on the light.

The study looked exactly as it always did—leather-bound books he never read, expensive walnut desk, high-backed executive chair that cost more than my first car. I started searching the cabinets where we sometimes kept important items.

As I moved past his desk, I accidentally bumped it. His laptop screen lit up—he hadn't shut it down completely. I was about to turn away when a message caught my eye.

[My darling...]

I froze. William had never called me "darling" in his life. He called me "babe" or sometimes "sweetheart" when he wanted something, but never "darling." I knew I shouldn't look. This was private. But my eyes were already reading the message.

It was an encrypted messaging app I'd never seen before. The contact was just labeled "O." The messages were clearly intimate. The most recent one, sent an hour ago: [Meet me at our usual place after the gym. Can't wait to kiss you.]

My stomach twisted painfully. My hands shaking, I scrolled up through more messages. Each one felt like a slap.

[Don't worry about James's private school tuition. It's been taken care of. Everything continues as normal after the wedding. She'll never know.]

My knees buckled. I scrolled, each message a knife to my chest.James? My mind reeled. Who was James? All I know was that my bridesmaid Olivia had a nephew named James. "O", Olivia. That's it. But Why was William paying for her nephew's tuition?

With trembling hands, I opened the desk drawer. A folder marked “Personal” held dozens of photos—William, Olivia, and a boy who looked too much like them both, James, living a life I'd never known. Smiling on beaches, laughing at ski resorts, cozy in matching pajamas on Christmas morning. Each image was a shard of glass in my heart, slicing through the future I'd built in my mind.

At the bottom, a single report card, crisp and official, bore the boy's name. Tears blurred my eyes, and I pronounced the name in a trembling voice, "James Moretti..."

Right before clocking out on Thanksgiving Day, my sister Savannah Brooks dropped a moving announcement in the family group chat.

I followed the address she sent. Five buses later, I stepped off into the middle of nowhere. Nothing but abandoned woods stretched in every direction.

Savannah’s voice sparkled with triumph over the phone. “Gotcha! Prank successful. The last bus just left—what are you gonna do now?”

I stood there frozen while my parents burst out laughing in the background. “She actually bought that. Jesus, I have no idea which side of the family she gets that dumbass streak from.”

“We’re having Thanksgiving dinner. You can walk back yourself.”

Then they started arguing over whose genes were to blame, pushing the insult back and forth like a hot potato.

Desperate, I used my last bar of battery to call my boyfriend Derek Sullivan. He picked up, and I heard that same familiar noise behind him. His laugh drifted through the speaker, light and mocking.

“Natalie, your parents already said it—get yourself home.”

“It’s not like this is your first prank. Come on. Don’t be such a baby about it.

The line went dead.

In the past, I would’ve called back crying, begging someone to come get me. But this time, staring at the distant glow of lights in far-off houses, I just felt tired.

My sister loved prank games, and my whole family loved playing along.

Two years ago, she ground up a peach pit and dumped it in my water. Sent me into a full-blown asthma attack. Last year? She swapped my shampoo with hair removal cream. I walked into my job interview with bald patches.

This year? They know I can’t stand the dark, so they teamed up to dump me in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

Back at the house, they were probably gathered around the dinner table, betting on exactly how many minutes it would take for me to break.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I turned my back on home and walked straight into the dark. This game? I was done.

***

It was so dark, I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face.

On my phone’s security camera feed, my family sat circled around the dinner table. Four phones were placed in the center. They were betting on how many minutes before I called, begging.

Savannah spoke with absolute certainty. “One minute.”

When I was ten, on Thanksgiving, Savannah poisoned my puppy. I ran crying into my parents’ room, screaming for them to take him to the vet. They watched me sob my heart out and didn’t blink.

“Savannah’s just playing a prank with you. If the dog dies, we’ll get another one.”

My puppy died in my arms. From convulsions to his last breath. Exactly one minute.

After that, no one ever mentioned the replacement they’d promised.

When it was my parents’ turn, they answered together. “Five minutes.”

The one and only time I got to sit at the table for a holiday meal, Savannah swapped my soda with bleach. I was on the floor clutching my stomach, writhing in pain. It took five full minutes before I finally broke and begged for help.

I spent that night getting my stomach pumped. They went downtown to check out the Thanksgiving lights.

After that, terrified of Savannah’s pranks, I never spent another Thanksgiving with my family.

Derek used to feel sorry for me. Even with his demanding job, he always took time off to stay by my side. And now.

He’d been silent the whole time. Then, like he’d just remembered something, he shot up from his chair and grabbed his coat.

My fingers tightened around my phone. I was just about to send him my location when he stopped dead at the front door.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall and spoke with absolute confidence. “I bet Natalie won’t call tonight to beg.”

“Because... my company owns that cell tower. I just had my guys schedule a maintenance shutdown. After midnight? Natalie’s phone is gonna be a brick.”

My heart dropped.

Savannah shrieked with delight and threw her arms around Derek. “No wonder you pushed so hard for the middle of nowhere!”

“Derek, you are an absolute prank master!”

He used to forbid me from going anywhere near that area. He told me it was undeveloped, crawling with homeless encampments and wild dogs. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of me in danger.

Now, just to play along with Savannah’s game, he was perfectly fine leaving me out there overnight.

The whole family cheered, celebrating their newest star player in this long-running game. They all hugged each other, a perfect team. That was the moment the last flicker of hope inside me died for good.

I had one minute of signal left on my phone. I opened the email and confirmed my acceptance of the job transfer to Milan, scheduled to depart in three days.

I’d been hesitating because the distance meant I couldn’t have family reunions. But this wasn’t the kind of reunion I wanted. I didn’t want this family anymore.

When the clock hit midnight, my phone turned into a useless brick. I picked up a sturdy stick and forced myself to keep moving.

Somewhere along the way, the fear started to fade. Turns out, when you have absolutely no one left to lean on, you learn how to be brave on your own.

My fiancé left me at the altar in front of four hundred guests.

That wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the video.

I was standing under an arch of ten thousand white roses, six weeks pregnant, holding a bouquet with my hands shaking from happiness—when the giant LED screen behind the altar flickered on.

It was supposed to play our love montage. Three years of photos. Paris. The lake house. Him on one knee.

Instead, it played my fiancé, Julian Whitmore, in a hotel bed.

With my sister.

「Turn it off,」 I whispered. Then screamed. 「TURN IT OFF!」

Nobody moved. Four hundred phones rose into the air like a field of black flowers, all of them pointed at me.

On screen, Sienna laughed—that soft, breathy laugh she'd practiced since we were kids—and pulled the sheet up over her chest. 「What about Aria?」 she asked him.

Julian's voice filled the cathedral. Warm. Amused. The same voice that told me I do in every dream I'd had for three years.

「Aria?」 He kissed my sister's shoulder. 「Aria was never the plan, baby. She was the paperwork.」

The bouquet slipped out of my hands.

White peonies scattered across the marble like something dying.

I stood there in a custom gown that took eight months to make, in a cathedral my family had rented for a fortune, carrying a baby I'd planned to announce tonight as my wedding gift to him—and I listened to four hundred people watch me become a joke.

Then the screen changed.

A live feed.

City Hall. Julian in a gray suit. My sister in a short white dress—white—a ring flashing on her finger.

He looked directly into the camera. Directly at me.

「Aria. Don't take it personally.」 He smiled the smile I'd fallen in love with. 「Sienna and I got married an hour ago. The venue's paid for. Enjoy the party.」

The feed cut.

Silence. Then the whispers started, spreading through the pews like fire through dry grass. Poor thing. Did you record it? Oh my God, her FACE.

I turned to my mother in the front row. My mother, who had helped me pick this dress. Who had cried at my final fitting.

She wasn't crying now.

She was checking her phone. And when she finally looked up at me, her expression wasn't grief.

It was irritation.

「Aria.」 She stood, smoothing her skirt. 「Don't make a scene. It's humiliating enough.」

「Make a—」 My voice cracked apart. 「Mom. He just—Sienna just—」

「Your sister has loved Julian for two years.」 She said it like I was the one who'd done something wrong. 「Maybe if you'd paid attention to anyone but yourself, you'd have noticed.」

My father didn't even stand up. He looked at me the way he looked at a bad quarterly report.

「Take off the dress,」 he said quietly. 「It was never going to fit you anyway.」

Something inside my chest went very, very still.

I had one hand pressed flat against my stomach—against the secret no one in this cathedral knew, the tiny heartbeat I'd seen on a screen nine days ago—and I understood, all at once, with perfect clarity:

I was completely alone.

I picked up my ruined train with both fists and walked back down that endless aisle, past four hundred raised phones, my heels echoing like gunshots, mascara carving black lines down my face.

I made it to the cathedral doors before my knees buckled.

And that's when I saw him.

A man in a black suit, leaning against a black car at the bottom of the steps, watching me with the calmest eyes I'd ever seen. Like my entire world hadn't just burned down. Like he'd been waiting.

He held out a single card.

「Ms. Hale,」 he said. 「My employer watched the livestream.」

「He'd like to make you an offer before midnight.」

The fluorescent lights in the hospital buzzed like angry wasps, and I wanted to smash every one of them. I sat on the hard plastic chair outside the ICU, Emma's medical file clutched in my trembling hands. The numbers on the estimate sheet blurred together, but I had them memorized anyway.

$10,000 for the deposit. Surgery is scheduled in three days. No deposit, no surgery.

"Miss?" The nurse's voice was gentle, "The doctor wanted me to remind you that without the deposit by Wednesday, we'll have to postpone Emma's procedure."

"I know," I said without looking up 

The nurse hesitated, her eyes softening with pity that made my skin crawl. I didn’t need pity, I needed money, I needed my parents to not be dead so they could help me figure out how to save their youngest daughter.

After the nurse left, I pulled out my phone and stared at the calculator app. $847 in my checking account. My credit cards were maxed out from the previous hospital bills.

The apartment Mom and Dad left us was only partially paid off, and I couldn’t sell it fast enough to help Emma now. My baby sister with her congenital heart defect, was running out of time while insurance companies found creative ways to deny coverage.

I had called everyone, my aunt in Boston had sent $200. My old college roommate had sent $150, along with a sweet message saying she wished she could do more. A few other friends had contributed what they could. Their kindness made me want to cry and scream at the same time because it wasn't even close to enough.

My thumb hovered over a contact I had sworn I would never call again. Fredrick, my old manager at Velvet Nights.

I walked away from that club eight months ago, promising myself I was done. Done with the leering eyes, the grabbing hands that security always seemed too slow to stop, the way I felt like I needed three showers after every shift just to feel clean again. I had gotten a job as a legal secretary, something respectable, something that wouldn't make Mom's voice echo in my head with disappointment even though she was gone.

But legal secretaries made $42,000 a year, and Emma's medical bills were drowning me faster than I could bail water.

My finger pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it.

"Bianca," Fred’s voice answered on the third ring. He sounded amused, like he had been waiting for this call. "I thought you were too good for us now."

I swallowed my pride, "I need work, Fred. Just for a few weeks."

"A few weeks." He laughed, a rough sound like gravel in a blender. "You think you can just walk back in? I have ten girls who would kill for a permanent spot. Why would I give it to someone who quit on me?"

Because I made you a lot of money, I wanted to say, because you know exactly how good I was at this job I hated. "I was one of your best earners," I said instead, hating how desperate I sounded. "You know I was."

Silence on the other end, I could picture him in his office, leaning back in that ridiculous leather chair, weighing his options. Fred was a businessman first, always. He wouldn't hire me back out of kindness, but he might do it for profit.

"Come by tomorrow at six," he finally said. "I'll see if I remember you being as good as you think you were."

He hung up before I could thank him, well.. not that I wanted to thank him anyway.

I sat there for another minute, staring at Emma through the ICU window. She was asleep, her seventeen year old face peaceful despite the tubes and monitors. She looked so small in that hospital bed, so fragile. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, and I could see the faint scar on her chest from her last surgery three years ago.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me. "I'm so sorry, Em. I'll fix this. I promise."

I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mom's disappointed face, and heard Dad's voice telling me to be strong.

The next evening, I stood outside Velvet Nights, my hands were shaking, so I shoved them in my jacket pockets. The club looked exactly the same. Red velvet ropes, a  golden sign and Mark the doorman built like a brick wall wearing an expensive suit.

Mark raised an eyebrow when he saw me. "Bianca. Heard you went legit."

"Yeah, well." I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. "Legit doesn't pay some bills."

He nodded slowly, and unhooked the rope for me. "Fred’s expecting you. Good luck."

I needed more than luck.

Inside, the club pulsed with bass-heavy music and dim purple lighting. It was early, so only a few customers were scattered around the main floor. The real crowd wouldn't arrive until after nine. I made my way past the bar, past the main stage and down the hallway to Fred’s office. I knocked twice.

"Come in."

Fred looked exactly the same. He was on the phone when I entered, speaking rapid Russian and he gestured for me to sit.

I sat in the chair across from his desk and waited, my heart hammering. I had learned a long time ago not to interrupt Fred's calls. 

He finished his conversation and set the phone down, studying me with an expression I couldn't understand. "You look terrible."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. You have circles under your eyes. You're too thin. The clients here pay for fantasy, not reality. They don't want to see someone struggling."

"Give me one night. If I don't perform, you don't have to pay me."

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "What happened to the secretary job?"

"I still have it. I need this on the side."

"How much do you need?"

I hesitated. Showing weakness to Fred was dangerous, but lying was worse. He could smell desperation like a shark smelling blood. "Ten thousand. Fast."

He whistled low. "That's a lot of dances, Bianca."

My throat tightened. "I know."

"What's it for?"

"Does it matter?"

Fred’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. That was the thing about him. He was ruthless in business, but he respected boundaries when it came to his girls' personal lives. As long as you showed up and made him money, he didn't care about the details.

"I don't have any open spots for now," he said finally. "Full roster right now. Girls are fighting for Friday and Saturday nights."

My heart sank straight through the floor. No, this couldn't be it. I stood up, blinking back the burning in my eyes because I refused to cry in front of him. "Right, okay. Thanks for seeing me."

I was halfway to the door, my vision blurring, when Fred's phone rang. He answered it, and something in his tone made me pause with my hand on the doorknob.

"What do you mean she called in sick?" Fred's voice was loud. "It's Tuesday. No one gets sick on Tuesday. We have the VIP room booked." He pushed to listen to the person at the other end, "I don't care if she has the plague. Find me someone else."

He looked up at me, and I saw the calculation in his eyes. "Wait," he said, holding up a finger.

I stood frozen by the door, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. This was it. This was my chance.  “Oh God… Please.” 

"Ronan, this is the tenth and final time. If you pick Bianca today, I am done with you for good."

Standing before the giant Moonstone, I looked the Alpha dead in the eye.

He didn’t know I had begged my father for these ten chances.

And he definitely didn't know the Alliance's deepest secret.

He thought his brute strength alone guaranteed him the King's throne. He was wrong.

The ultimate throne must be sanctified by a pureblood white wolf.

Only my family carries the Goddess’s white wolf bloodline.

Whoever I choose as my fated mate, becomes the Alliance King.

Maybe it was the arrogance of being Alpha King in his past life, but Ronan was completely confident. He thought I would never leave him.

He frowned. A flash of impatience crossed his eyes.

"I won’t change my mind, Lyra. If you really want to pick someone else, be my guest."

He suddenly reached out. His large hand cupped my cheek.

His rough thumb rubbed heavily over my lips. It was full of an Alpha’s possessiveness and dominance.

"But stop throwing a fit, Lyra," he looked down at me. "You know you can’t live without me."

I stared into his arrogant eyes. I was about to tell him I really wasn’t going to wait anymore.

But he had already turned around.

When an Alpha touches the Moonstone, the Goddess speaks to his soul. Only he can see the inner wolf of his true mate. He must then declare the Goddess's choice to the pack.

Ronan pressed his hand against the Moonstone. He closed his eyes.

I knew what he saw in his mind. He saw my magnificent white wolf. He felt our undeniable bond.

Ronan opened his eyes. He looked at me, then walked right past me. He stepped toward Bianca.

"The Goddess chooses Bianca," he lied flawlessly in front of the whole pack.

He grabbed the Luna’s crown. He placed it on Bianca’s head himself.

I went totally cold. An icy chill seeped deep into my bones.

"Our family’s patience has run out," my father stood behind me. His low voice was thick with fury. "Ten times is already an exception. There will absolutely not be another!"

I closed my eyes. I swallowed the taste of blood in my throat.

"I know, Father." My voice was soft, but there was zero hesitation. "Whoever chooses me this time, I’ll go with him."

My father let out a long breath of relief.

The crowd parted in fear. Silas, the ruthless Alpha of the Frostfang Pack, walked steadily toward me. He had always been Ronan's deadliest rival for the King's throne.

He gave me a deep look. He handed me an obsidian stone carved with a frost wolf crest.

It was a family token. It represented the highest level of a mating bond.

I raised my hand and took the stone firmly.

The ceremony ended. Everyone moved to the Pack House of the Alliance to assign suites.

As a high-ranking noble, I was supposed to get the "Moonlight Suite" built over natural hot springs.

"Give the suite to Bianca," Ronan ordered.

His voice echoed in the Pack House. He left no room for argument.

The Pack Steward dropped to his knees. He hit the hard floor.

"Alpha Ronan, you cannot! Lady Lyra is heavily wounded. Silver still curses her bones. Cold nights cause her agonizing pain! She desperately needs the hot springs to soothe her damaged inner wolf! Elder Crestwood specifically prepared this suite for her!"

Bianca’s eyes instantly welled up. A perfect tear slipped down her cheek.

"Ronan, let it go," she grabbed his sleeve, crying softly. "I don’t mind where I sleep. I can sleep in the lowest rank’s barracks. Don’t make my sister mad."

"Shut up. You deserve the best." Ronan squeezed her hand.

A year before I was supposed to marry the eldest son of the Sutton family, Graham Sutton, I got into a car accident and never walked again.

Zach Sutton, the second son, stepped in and offered to marry me instead.

He treated me like I was made of glass.

In the third year of our marriage, I went to the rehab center and overheard his doctor say, “You caused that crash just so Sierra Moore could marry your brother. You turned Natalie Foster into a cripple just to get her out of the picture. She’s still working this hard to recover. Don’t you think it’s time to change the plan and actually help her recover?

“And you even had the surgeon remove her uterus during the surgery. She can’t have kids now, so she won’t be able to give the Suttons an heir or threaten Sierra’s place. But if she gives up on walking altogether, I’m afraid...”

Zach’s voice was calm and cold.

“Sierra wanted to marry my brother. That was the only way I could make it happen. I’d do anything for her.

“As for Natalie, I’ll make it up to her in other ways.”

My chest hurt so badly I could barely breathe.

So this perfect marriage of mine was just a lie.

I secretly reached out to a specialist overseas and agreed to start that aggressive treatment plan.

“But the side effects will wipe your memory,” the doctor warned me.

I signed the papers without a second thought.

There was nothing here worth remembering anyway.

The rehab room was silent except for the sound of me falling again and again. Each time, I got up, shaking.

The girl in the mirror looked wrecked and miserable.

But I had never wanted to stand more than I did right now.

Zach stood nearby, trying to comfort me, “Natalie, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. Even if you never walk again, I’m not going anywhere."

And I believed him.

For the past three years, he never missed a single therapy session. Rain or shine, he was always there. I truly believed that even if I stayed in a wheelchair forever, he’d stay by my side.

Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive to have found a man like him.

And for a while, I believed it too.

Until today. I was feeling a little better and came to the rehab center early, alone. That was when I heard him talking to the doctor.

He told him not to let me recover too fast.

The doctor sighed, “You really are cruel. You already wrecked her legs with that crash. Now you won’t even let her hope for recovery?”

Zach’s voice was light, almost casual.

“If she recovers, Sierra might feel threatened.”

Sierra. His brother’s fiancée.

He said, “Natalie came from a powerful family. If she still had her title as a world-class dancer, then once she married into the Suttons, Sierra wouldn’t stand a chance.

“The only way Sierra could shine was if Natalie stayed broken.”

I started shaking. My whole body went cold.

That day of the crash, I’d been pinned under the car. My legs were shattered.

I still remembered the sound of bones snapping. I screamed for help. No one came in time. My legs were done for.

When I woke up, the doctors told me it was over. My career, my life as I knew it, gone.

I had been about to step onto the world stage. I was going to be one of the best dancers alive.

After the crash, I fell into a dark hole. I even thought about ending it all. It was Zach who pulled me out of that place.

And now, I found out it wasn’t fate that ruined me.

It was him. He had messed with the brakes.

Because of him, I lost everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Just thinking about it made me shake.

He noticed and gently held my hand.

“Are you cold?”

He draped a coat over my shoulders, brought me a glass of water, even warmed up a towel and placed it on my neck.

So gentle. So thoughtful.

Everything he did looked exactly like love.

Too bad it was all just an act.

The woman he really loved was the one he could never have—his brother’s fiancée.

After the divorce, Claire Bennett slipped away to a charming little town far from home.

New name. New phone. Every thread to her old life cut clean.

Nobody knew where she'd gone.

And nobody knew she was carrying Miles Lockwood's baby.

Until a rainy night, when the little boy's fever spiked to 104.

She ran him into the ER, hands shaking, digging through her bag until her fingers closed around a card she'd forgotten she still had.

Black. Heavy. His.

Back in Oakhaven, Miles's phone lit up.

[Transaction Alert: $320 – Pediatric ER]

His blood turned to ice.

Pediatric... emergency?

Whose kid?

He called her. Once. Twice.

On the ninth ring, she picked up.

"Clairie." His voice cracked open, hoarse and shaking. "Tell me where you are. Tell me about the kid."

Nothing came back but her ragged breathing and a small, broken whimper.

"Clairie." He was already behind the wheel, flooring it, veins roping up his forearms. "Don't hang up. Please."

The man who had always been so cold was now begging humbly, over and over.

Claire looked down at the boy in her arms.

Same eyes. Same stubborn mouth. Nine-tenths his father.

Her eyes fell shut.

The memories and the heart she had buried with time began to beat once again.

***

Their second anniversary.

Miles said he had a surprise for her. Told her to wait at home.

So she wore the white dress he loved, lit the candles, cooked his favorite dinner, and waited.

She waited.

And waited.

Midnight came and went. The door never opened.

Cops didn't get to keep normal hours. She knew that. It didn't stop her stomach from knotting up.

One in the morning, her phone buzzed on the table.

Miles.

She snatched it up. Music and voices roared through the speaker.

"Did something happen?" she asked, soft.

Silence. Long enough for her chest to tighten. Then his voice, low and flat.

"Sorry. I'm not coming home tonight."

"Claire!" A woman's voice slid in. One Claire would know anywhere. "My friends threw me a welcome-back party. Come out, have some fun with us. Meet some people."

The line went dead before she could say a word.

Claire sat there gripping the phone, staring at two plates of food gone cold.

Elodie Hutton.

Of course. That explained why he'd stood her up without so much as a text.

His precious girl was home.

Walking into Two Dudes on my night off wasn’t my idea of a great time, but there I was. Sally had ordered two dozen cupcakes for her daughter’s graduation and I couldn’t pass up the money. The bar was busy for a Wednesday night and I had to guard my cupcakes like a linebacker as I made my way across the room. I’d barely been able to afford the ingredients to make the cupcakes after paying the utilities and if some drunk asshole knocked them out of my hands, it was likely to end in murder. I knew I was stressed when I found myself thinking about jail and how it might’ve been a relaxing way to get away for a while.

I got closer to the bar and saw Sally slip into the back with Jeremy, our boss. Since I had no intention of talking to Jeremy, I figured I’d sit and wait for her. Jeremy was long-winded and I knew Sally had a crush on him so there was no telling how long the two would be gone. Glancing around for an open seat, I instead found myself watching a woman cling to a man for dear life. His face was hidden behind her hair but his shoulders were wide enough to stretch out on either side of her. From what I could tell, he was a big man, but he was having trouble getting the woman off him.

Being behind the bar usually meant I was used to snapping out orders at drunk patrons who were getting carried away but I wasn’t working and without a bottle of tequila in my hands, there was no way that woman was going to listen to me. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my business but the longer I watched the man gently try to push her away, the more annoyed I got. She clearly couldn’t take no for an answer and if the roles were reversed, I would’ve had my soda gun on her already.

Growling out an annoyed sigh, I straightened my back and put a smile on my face. Striding over to the two of them, I wedged myself between them to put my cupcakes on the bar top andthrew my arms around the man’s very broad shoulders. “I made it, finally! I had to grab the cupcakes for Sally, but I’m here now, babe. Sorry for being—”

Somehow the tight squeeze between the woman’s boobs and his chest hadn’t stolen my breath, but finally looking up at the man’s face had. Oh, he was handsome. I instantly understood why the drunk woman was clinging to him. I wasn’t drunk and I wanted to rub my body all over his, too. The feeling of muscles under my hands was nice, but his eyes boring into mine had my lady bits singing.

His dark hair was a little too long and falling over his forehead, and normally I would’ve thought he should’ve shaved his stubble before coming out, but the salt and pepper in his beard was alluring. His olive skin was smooth and his intense dark brown eyes were countered by a full mouth that was a shade pinker than I would’ve expected with his coloring. He looked like a god and I was willing to bet there were abs, visible abs, hiding under his Henley.

One side of his mouth ticked up in a smirk and he easily wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me close. Yep, abs. I could feel them against my stomach and damned if that didn’t make my panties combust.

“I never mind you being late, Cupcake. Not when you show up looking edible every time.”

The woman was still hovering at my back so I took the chance to run my fingers through his hair and feel the silky strands. His eyelids lowered enough to tell me he liked it, so I did it again and bit my lip. He had no business being so hot and I had no business touching him, but what could I say? I was a hero.

I glanced over my shoulder at her and smiled. “Who are you?”

The woman frowned and glared at where the stranger had nuzzled his face into my neck. His beard was rough on my sensitive skin but then I felt his warm, soft lips against my pulseand I wasn’t sure who was more shocked, me or the woman watching.

“Who am I? Who the hell are you?”

Brown Eyes trailed one of his hands lower until it was riding the top curve of my ass. “She’s no one I know. I was just trying to tell her I was meeting my girlfriend here. My habitually late girlfriend.”

My best friend Lona Benton's brother had come back from the military.

Word was, he'd been wounded on a mission, a brutal injury that left him unable to have kids.

Lona sighed dramatically, "I'm a DINK, you know—no kids, no plans for them. And now Trist, with this injury, is out of the game too. Looks like my family line ends with us."

A few days later, I finally met the tough-as-nails brother Lona was always going on about—Tristan Benton.

The moment I laid eyes on him, my heart stopped.

This man was the spitting image of my daughter's father.

***

"It's all my dad's fault for giving us such cursed names! Lona, Tristan—what kind of bad-luck names are those?"

In the smoky haze of the barbecue joint, Lona clutched her beer bottle, tears streaming down her face as she wailed.

"I had this dream, you know? When Trist comes back, I'd introduce you two. Lucy would officially be my niece!" Her voice cracked, slurring with booze.

"But a man who can't have kids? What's the point? He's basically useless. We're so close, I can't set you up with him—that'd be like sabotaging you!"

Just then, her phone buzzed to life.

I glanced at the screen.

It was her brother, Tristan.

Lona was already half-passed out, her face planted on the table, oblivious to the ringing.

I froze for a moment, torn about whether to answer. But the call wouldn't stop. When it rang for the third time, I sighed and gave in, pressing the button.

"Mom says get your ass home," came a deep, gravelly voice from the other end.

It was smooth, almost too smooth, and I felt a flush creep up my cheeks.

I tugged at my burning earlobe, trying to sound casual. "Hi, I'm Lona's friend.

"We're at the barbecue place. She's, uh, not exactly in a state to get home on her own. Any chance you could swing by and pick her up?"

After all, Lona could barely stand right now.

I'd had a few drinks myself and didn't trust my balance enough to drag her home.

It would be a godsend if her family came for her.

Before he could respond, Lona suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Poor Trist!" she slurred, swaying in her seat. "Trist was shipped off to military school so young; he never even had a girlfriend. And now, with this... this injury, who's gonna want him?"

The line went dead silent.

My own buzz fizzled out under the weight of embarrassment. "She's really drunk," I mumbled, trying to smooth things over.

"Address," he said, his tone clipped, icy.

"8 Elmwood Lane."

The call ended abruptly.

Lona had always painted Tristan as this larger-than-life figure.

To her, he was a man with a will of iron, her childhood hero.

I'd known her for years, but with Tristan always off on some mission, I'd never met him.

A week ago, Lona dropped the bombshell: Tristan was back, discharged from the military after a serious injury.

I glanced at Lona, slumped again, and decided to drag her outside to wait. He'd probably show up soon.

In the distance, a sleek black SUV rolled up.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out.

He was dressed in crisp workwear, his frame imposing, muscles evident even in the dim streetlight.

The glow behind him cast his face in shadow, leaving only a sharp, commanding silhouette.

Just then, my phone lit up with a video call.

"Is that Lucy?" Lona mumbled, squinting at my screen.

"She's calling this late? Must be important.

"Go on, answer it. Trist's here anyway."

She waved sloppily at the figure approaching.

My stomach twisted with worry about my daughter, so I didn't bother with pleasantries.

As the man drew closer, I stepped aside to take the call.

Lucy's bright little face filled the screen.

"Mommy!" she chirped, her smile wide and carefree.

Relief washed over me.

"Why aren't you in bed, kiddo?"

"I miss you, Mommy!"

My mom's voice cut in from the background.

"I took her to the countryside today to catch shrimp. She had a blast, and now she's too wired to sleep. Had to call you. Where are you, anyway? Still out?"

"I'm with Lona, just catching up."

My mom had taken Lucy back to the countryside for a few days, giving me a rare break.

"Lona's there?"

Lucy's face popped back into view, her eyes sparkling. "I wanna talk to my godmother!"

I glanced back at the entrance.

Lona was now slung over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Without a word, he tossed—yes, tossed—her into the SUV.

I froze, blinking at the sheer audacity of it.

Talk about a tough guy.

On the day I was born, Hera came to my mother's birthing bed.

She did not punish Zeus for betraying his marriage again. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the newborn and gave her judgment in a voice colder than winter stone.

“This child will spend her life longing for love and never receiving it. Unless a man bound to her fate truly loves her and chooses her, her soul will be torn apart by pain when she turns twenty-five! ”

I am Callista, daughter of Zeus.

I am also Hera’s most innocent sinner.

A priestess once told me that three sons of the gods were tied to my fate. As long as I could enter a marriage bond with one of them, I might escape the curse before it devoured my mind.

Twenty-four years passed.

Now I'm in the last month of my twenty-fourth year, and not one of them came for me.

The final deadline before the curse swallowed me whole.

And Vandros, the man I had once placed my greatest hope in, was marrying Cecilia in the temple of Aphrodite.

*****

Cheers rose from inside the temple.

I stood outside the doors and watched Vandros lower his head to kiss Cecilia on the lips.

Cecilia was the daughter of Aphrodite and a mortal man. She was beautiful in a way that made people forget to breathe, and she was even better at making everyone believe she was fragile, pure, and worth protecting.

Including Vandros.

He had not always been like this.

Three years ago, a spear had pierced him through in the arena, and even the priests said he would not survive the night.

I was the one who offered my divine blood, enduring the pain of Hera’s curse, that was tearing at my soul, and dragging Vandros back from death.

Back then, he gripped my hand and swore, “Callista, you saved my life. From this day on, I will never fail you!”

Later, Cecilia cried to him and told him that I had hired men to humiliate her.

After that, Vandros never listened to another word I said.

The wedding hymn grew louder inside the temple, and the curse burst open in the deepest part of my consciousness. I bent over, and even breathing became a kind of torture.

So even at the very last moment, no one would choose me.

I turned away from the wedding and walked to the widest stone road outside the temple. Chariots for the celebration were racing past. If I stepped out now, everything would be over.

I closed my eyes and took one step forward.

The next instant, a horse screamed right in front of me, and the wheel of a chariot nearly brushed the hem of my dress.

Then a hand yanked me hard to the roadside.

“Callista!” A man’s furious roar exploded beside my ear.

“If you want to die, don’t die in front of everyone! Do you want an innocent charioteer executed for killing Zeus’s daughter?”

I opened my eyes and saw my brother, Theron.

Like me, he was a child of Zeus. He was also the person whose family love I had once wanted most.

Because of Hera’s rage, my existence had always been a stain in many people’s eyes.

Theron was my protector and my strongest brother.

He once fought for me and promised that he would treat his sister the best in the world.

But ever since Cecilia claimed I had ordered men to hurt her, Theron had refused to call me his sister again.

He dragged me onto his chariot and drove all the way out of the city, bringing me to the bank of a rushing river.

Before I could even stand steady, Theron slapped me hard across the face.

“You wanted to die, didn’t you?” He pointed at the river behind him, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “There are no innocent people here for you to drag down with you. If you want to die, die here.”

My face burned. My ears rang.

Still, I lifted my head and could not stop myself from asking, “Theron, why were you there?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be at Cecilia’s wedding?” I stared at him, my voice was shaking, “Did you... see me leave and follow me because you were worried about me?”

I knew the answer would not be the one I wanted.

And yet some laughably stubborn hope remained in my heart.

"Ahh…"

A moan slipped out. I quickly covered my mouth.

Damn it. My sex addiction was flaring up, and my pills were at home. Nobody told us about this company retreat until this evening.

I'd had it since I turned eighteen. One brush of a man's skin and I got wet; bad nights, I came on the spot. I never told a soul, just swallowed my pills and stayed away from men.

So I did the math and told myself it was fine. Get a room, lock the door, ride it out alone, nobody ever finds out.

Then the supervisor announced, "Sorry, guys, the rooms are all booked… but we've got tents! Not many, so make do. Lark, you're in Dax's tent."

There went the door, and the lock, and my last shred of a plan.

I crawled straight in and curled up in the far corner, facing the wall, praying I'd be asleep before the last pill wore off.

Dax came in after me, reaching up to hook the lantern on the frame. His shirt pulled loose—hard ridges of abs, a dark line of hair sinking down. My thighs pressed together all on their own.

He sat down with his knees apart, and I could see the thick shape of him through his jeans.

I stared until my ears burned, then turned to the wall and dragged the blanket over my hip.

Under it I was already slick, panties glued to me, clit throbbing so hard it ached.

Then Dax moved closer.

"What's wrong?"

His heat landed on my back, close enough that I could smell him—soap, sweat, man.

"N-nothing. I’m fine."

Please… just stay away from me.

But he leaned in anyway, and the back of his warm hand brushed my bare shoulder.

That was all it took. My whole body jerked, and a hot pulse spilled out of me into my ruined panties.

I picked up my phone with shaking fingers. Midnight. Six hours since my last pill.

A year before I was supposed to marry the eldest son of the Sutton family, Graham Sutton, I got into a car accident and never walked again.

Zach Sutton, the second son, stepped in and offered to marry me instead.

He treated me like I was made of glass.

In the third year of our marriage, I went to the rehab center and overheard his doctor say, “You caused that crash just so Sierra Moore could marry your brother. You turned Natalie Foster into a cripple just to get her out of the picture. She’s still working this hard to recover. Don’t you think it’s time to change the plan and actually help her recover?

“And you even had the surgeon remove her uterus during the surgery. She can’t have kids now, so she won’t be able to give the Suttons an heir or threaten Sierra’s place. But if she gives up on walking altogether, I’m afraid...”

Zach’s voice was calm and cold.

“Sierra wanted to marry my brother. That was the only way I could make it happen. I’d do anything for her.

“As for Natalie, I’ll make it up to her in other ways.”

My chest hurt so badly I could barely breathe.

So this perfect marriage of mine was just a lie.

I secretly reached out to a specialist overseas and agreed to start that aggressive treatment plan.

“But the side effects will wipe your memory,” the doctor warned me.

I signed the papers without a second thought.

There was nothing here worth remembering anyway.

The rehab room was silent except for the sound of me falling again and again. Each time, I got up, shaking.

The girl in the mirror looked wrecked and miserable.

But I had never wanted to stand more than I did right now.

Zach stood nearby, trying to comfort me, “Natalie, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. Even if you never walk again, I’m not going anywhere."

And I believed him.

For the past three years, he never missed a single therapy session. Rain or shine, he was always there. I truly believed that even if I stayed in a wheelchair forever, he’d stay by my side.

Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive to have found a man like him.

And for a while, I believed it too.

Until today. I was feeling a little better and came to the rehab center early, alone. That was when I heard him talking to the doctor.

He told him not to let me recover too fast.

The doctor sighed, “You really are cruel. You already wrecked her legs with that crash. Now you won’t even let her hope for recovery?”

Zach’s voice was light, almost casual.

“If she recovers, Sierra might feel threatened.”

Sierra. His brother’s fiancée.

He said, “Natalie came from a powerful family. If she still had her title as a world-class dancer, then once she married into the Suttons, Sierra wouldn’t stand a chance.

“The only way Sierra could shine was if Natalie stayed broken.”

I started shaking. My whole body went cold.

That day of the crash, I’d been pinned under the car. My legs were shattered.

I still remembered the sound of bones snapping. I screamed for help. No one came in time. My legs were done for.

When I woke up, the doctors told me it was over. My career, my life as I knew it, gone.

I had been about to step onto the world stage. I was going to be one of the best dancers alive.

After the crash, I fell into a dark hole. I even thought about ending it all. It was Zach who pulled me out of that place.

And now, I found out it wasn’t fate that ruined me.

It was him. He had messed with the brakes.

Because of him, I lost everything I’d ever dreamed of.

Just thinking about it made me shake.

He noticed and gently held my hand.

“Are you cold?”

He draped a coat over my shoulders, brought me a glass of water, even warmed up a towel and placed it on my neck.

So gentle. So thoughtful.

Everything he did looked exactly like love.

Too bad it was all just an act.

The woman he really loved was the one he could never have—his brother’s fiancée.

I’d always been clingy. That night, like most nights, I was curled around my boyfriend, trying to steal a goodnight kiss.

Then the comments appeared, scrolling across my vision.

[Can't the second lead take a hint? The male lead has been dodging her for weeks.] [The male lead is avoidant and hates being touched. She’s just setting herself up for heartbreak.]

[PSA: the male lead needs someone like the female lead, not this.]

[Don’t stress — the real female lead shows up soon. This one’s getting ditched.]

I went still. Slowly, I unwound my arms from around his neck.

Blaine Carter lifted his head. There was a guarded look in his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice was tight and strained.

***

Something twisted in my chest. I couldn’t quite make myself look at him.

I lowered my eyes and curled my fingers into the sheets. “I’m tired,” I whispered.

He looked at me for a beat, then another. Whatever he saw on my face, it must not have given me away.

He turned over. “Go to sleep,” he said, his voice flat and clipped.

I stared at his back. A bitter knot formed in my stomach.

I got up and turned off the light. When I climbed back into bed, still turning those comments over in my mind, I kept to the very edge of the mattress — as far from him as I could get.

I didn’t reach for him. If he already resented how clingy I was, I wasn’t going to make it worse. Maybe keeping my distance would make him hate me a little less.

In the dark, I lay there listening to his steady breathing behind me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the words I'd seen.

Deep down, beneath all that wanting, I’d always known the truth — Blaine didn’t love me.

He’d been distant from the very beginning, and he’d always flinched at my touch.

And I — I’d wanted to be with him every minute of every day.

He never said anything. But every time I got too close, his jaw would tighten and his brow would crease, his whole body screaming me what he would never say out loud.

I’d willfully ignored all of it. I’d even told him I was afraid to live alone, lying to his face just to get him to let me move in.

Then I’d pushed even further and weaseled my way into his bedroom. Every night, I wrapped myself around him like I could keep him from slipping away.

He’d always let me, but his first instinct was always to pull back. I’d wanted him so badly I’d turned a blind eye to it all.

Maybe the comments were right.

The thought sat heavy in my gut. The longer I lay there, the worse it got.

Sleep evaded me for a long time.

"You're really doing the procedure tomorrow?"

The attending physician handed my chart back, brow furrowed.

"I thought Dr. Whitmore's medical conference trip was almost over. You could've held out till he got back."

I stopped him cold.

"No. I've got it covered."

The doctor blinked, caught off guard.

Because everyone at Riverdale Medical Center knew what I used to be like.

A headache. A fever. A paper cut. I'd find a way to drag Adrian into any of it.

I stepped out of the consultation room—

And walked straight into him.

Adrian had a suitcase in one hand, looking like he'd just gotten off a plane and come straight to Riverdale Medical Center.

Evelyn Carter trailed behind him like she always did.

She wore her white coat, a black cashmere coat draped over her shoulders.

That coat.

I'd given it to Adrian for our third anniversary.

Adrian's face hardened when he saw me.

"What are you doing here?"

He paused.

"Sick again?"

Again.

Just like before.

His tone carried that familiar edge of irritation. Like my existence had just added another item to his to-do list.

He snatched my chart out of my hand, scanned it in two seconds flat. "Reschedule the procedure for next week. I'll come with you."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them:

"No need. I've got it. Thanks."

The distance in my voice hit him like a slap.

Adrian went still.

The old me?

Would've whined about a paper cut. Blown up his phone over which dress to wear.

From what I ate for breakfast to the biggest decisions in my life. I always ran them by Adrian first.

Now?

I scheduled my own surgery. Calm. Efficient.

And he wouldn't have even known if we hadn't collided in that hallway.

I reached for my chart. My hand caught the pill box.

It hit the floor.

The label screamed up at me. Crystal clear.

Birth control pills.

"Don't read into it."

Adrian bent down and snatched it up, his voice snapping back into that cold, clinical tone he used with patients.

"Evelyn's having bad cramps. This is for the pain."

Evelyn pulled the black cashmere coat tighter and mumbled, her voice small and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Claire."

"Dr. Whitmore was about to go home. It's my fault—I could barely stand from the pain. I asked him to bring me here."

She paused, then shot me a look that was almost admiring.

"I wish I could be as independent as you, Claire."

"Then Dr. Whitmore wouldn't have to keep chasing after me."

Independent.

The word landed like a slap.

A flashback hit me.

When my abdomen was in excruciating pain and I didn't know which department to go to. I asked Adrian.

He was the youngest deputy director of neurology at this top-tier teaching hospital. And his answer to me was a flat, "I don't know."

I complained about how dismissive that was.

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his tired eyes, his gaze pinning me like I was some giant infant who couldn't function without constant supervision.

"You couldn't have Googled this yourself?"

"You're an adult. Can you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me for everything."

"I'm not your parent. Not responsible for teaching you basic life skills."

How rich.

He had no patience for his own girlfriend. Yet he could personally escort his junior colleague to a consultation and pick up her medication.

A stranger walking in right now would've sworn Evelyn was his girlfriend.

The old me would've lost it.

Demanded answers. Cried. Made a scene.

But I just said,

"Mm."

Then,

"Pills might not be enough, though."

"You could also rub her stomach. Hold her while she sleeps. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear."

Evelyn's face flushed crimson.

"Claire, I didn't mean—"

Adrian's expression turned to stone.

"You're still hung up on this?"

"Because I didn't tell you before the medical conference trip?"

Two weeks ago.

It was Adrian's birthday.

I'd worked overtime for weeks to trade shifts, just so I could take time off.

I'd made dinner from scratch.

I'd picked up his custom gift.

I waited for him to come home.

He never showed.

Later that night, I saw Evelyn's Instagram story—

Adrian was overseas. International medical conference. She was there too.

His explanation, when he finally got back to me, was clipped. Casual.

"It was a medical conference trip. Nothing more. No need to run it past you."

"Birthdays happen every year. Project opportunities don't. I thought you knew how to prioritize."

"Don't you have your own things to do? Why are you always tracking my calendar?"

That was the moment I finally asked him:

"Adrian. Am I ever a priority to you? Even for a second?"

Compared to my emotional unraveling—

His response? Ice-cold.

Then he hung up.

"You're not thinking straight."

"We'll talk when I get back."

I put my name on the transfer agreement before I could second-guess myself.

The day before school starts, Mom posted a screenshot of a money transfer in the family group chat.

I’d just gotten a thousand dollars, my heart leaping with hope, when Mom tagged me directly in the thread.

[Wallace, send that money over to your sister.]

I blinked, typing back: [Didn’t you send that to me?]

A voice note popped up immediately, sharp and clipped. “That money goes into both of Nana’s bank accounts so she won’t run short. How dare you think you deserve cash when your grades are garbage? Send it right back, or you’ll regret it.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I sent the full thousand back.

My account balance dropped to three dollars. I was about to ask if she could spare two hundred, only to find I’d been kicked out of the group.

Dad pulled me aside to comfort me. “Your mom’s just harsh but well-meaning, she means well. Take these three hundred. Don’t take it to heart. Pack your things; we’ll drive you two over to Duke University tomorrow.”

I wiped my eyes and loaded my luggage into the car that night. Yet when dawn broke, my suitcase lay discarded out on the driveway.

The heavy black hard-shell suitcase hit the ground, sliding across the concrete, its old lock cracking clean open.

Mom blocked the car door with one arm, her tone flat. “Nana’s got way too much luggage. There isn’t room. You’ll have to get there on your own.”

Dad tried to speak up for me, but one cold look from Mom shut him down instantly.

“I told you not to apply to Duke. We can’t drop two kids off there. This is what you get for not listening.”

I stared at the wide-open backseat, throat burning.

The trunk was stuffed full of Nadia’s belongings, plus gift bags for professors and new classmates. There was simply no spot left for my twenty-four-inch suitcase.

I should have known. Their perfect little family of three had never had space for an extra like me.

Duke, though, was never my real destination. A bird with no home belonged farther north.

***

Frayed, faded hand-me-down clothes spilled halfway out of my broken suitcase—castoffs Nadia no longer wanted.

I stood out in the open, summer sunlight burning hot against my skin.

Inside the car, Nadia was curled across Mom’s lap in a brand-new designer sundress. The AC was cranked so high she shivered.

Mom reached over to turn it down without a second thought, then frowned when she noticed I hadn’t left. “What are you still doing standing there?”

In the old days, I would have bowed my head and mumbled, “Okay, I get it.”

Growing up, our schools had sat on opposite ends of town.

Nadia went to the fancy private school five minutes from home. I commuted two hours each way across the city to an underfunded public school. Mom and Dad always drove Nadia.

From age seven onward, I got up at five every morning, trudging through the freezing dawn to catch the bus. My overstuffed backpack weighed me down until one shoulder hung lower than the other.

Nadia wouldn’t get up until seven, hair done up in perfect princess braids. She had time for a leisurely breakfast on the ride. Her Elsa-printed backpack never touched the ground; either Mom or Dad carried it for her.

I’d begged them to drive me once. All I got was, “It’s too far. We have work.”

If I pushed further, I got snapped at. “Why don’t you get grades half as good as your sister, then?”

Twelve years of this back-and-forth. I ought to have grown used to it.

But watching my pale, polished sister in the cool car, then looking down at my sunburned arms, my feet rooted to the pavement.

“There’s an empty seat back there,” Dad said, glancing over his shoulder from the driver’s seat, his brow furrowed. “Wallace’s thin, she won’t take up much room. Let her ride with us.”

Mom was smoothing sunscreen across Nadia’s arms and rolled her eyes. “Jude, come on. Nana’s going to be gone for six whole months. We still need to run errands for her supplies on the drive. We promised her, we can’t back out now.”

“Three of you squish in the back, or one of you sit up front,” Dad insisted.

“Not a chance,” Mom huffed. “I’m not riding shotgun in this blazing heat, and neither is Nana.”

Sweat soaked through the back of my shirt. I opened my mouth to say I’d happily take the front seat.

Nadia cut me off, pouting slightly. “Mom, isn’t this kind of unfair to Wally? You’ve never once driven her to school. I really don’t need a ride, y’know. I’m strong enough to haul my own bags.”

She flexed her delicate arms beneath her puff-sleeve dress for show. “See? I’ve got muscles!”

Mom and Dad laughed, the heavy tension dissolving in an instant. Once again, I was the awkward one ruining everyone’s good mood.

Dad coughed quietly. “Don’t be silly. You’re way too little, we’d never feel safe letting you go alone.”

“Unfair?” Mom scoffed. “This is her own fault! I told her not to apply to the same school as Nana. She refused to listen. She needs to learn a lesson.”

Dad caved. “Wally, you’ll have to take the train.”

I twisted the hem of my shirt, words stuck tight in my throat. I said nothing.

Car doors slammed shut. A two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer popped up on my phone screen. I stared at it for a long time, then tapped accept.

Late that night, Dad texted me: [I’m sorry this happened. I’ll help you move your stuff when you get to Duke.]

I glanced at my phone, where a shipping alert popped up.

I typed back: [I’m not coming to Duke.]

My parents had no clue. Duke was never where I intended to go.

I’d applied to Cornell, far up north. No short flights there, only endless train rides.

The backyard barbecue was half dead when the boy I grew up with asked me:

"College apps close tomorrow. You still haven't noticed yours got changed?"

I blinked at him. No idea what he was talking about.

Tiffany snorted.

"Asher and I made a bet. We wanted to see how long it'd take you to notice we swapped your Stanford app to UCLA."

"But you're so damn slow you still haven't caught it."

"Hurry up and change it back. Otherwise you and Asher are doing long-distance."

I stared at the burnt chicken wing in my hand. Suddenly it all felt so pointless. I tossed it.

Tiffany and Asher ran the school. They traded the number-one spot back and forth like a game of catch.

I clawed my way to fiftieth.

They offered to tutor me together. Boost my ranking.

Neither of them could stand losing to the other.

"Asher, you suck at teaching. Grace looks completely lost. I bet she won't even crack the top fifty this time."

"I bet she breaks top thirty. Loser buys lunch for a month."

Somewhere along the way my tutoring sessions turned into their debate club.

I absorbed nothing. Dropped to one hundredth.

We planned a graduation trip. I overheard them betting again.

"I canceled Grace's ticket. I bet she still hasn't noticed." Tiffany sounded so sure of herself.

"If she has, you write my essays for a month."

I had to buy my own ticket. Watched them board the same flight.

Now they'd moved the bets to my college application.

I wasn't changing it back.

UCLA. Fine. As long as it was far away from them.

***

"Neither of us guessed the exact date Grace would find out, but I came closer."

Tiffany patted Asher's shoulder. Smug.

"So you still lose. Two months. My personal servant."

"Servant boy. Peel me a shrimp."

Asher gritted his teeth.

"The rules clearly said exact date. You're cheating."

"But a gentleman doesn't argue with a lady. I'll let it slide."

His face screamed no. His hands said yes. He shelled it clean. Held it to her mouth.

He turned to me.

"I'm just honoring the bet. Don't read into it."

"You want shrimp? I can peel you one too."

Asher hated rule-breakers. No exceptions. Ever.

Before the SATs he set me a schedule. Two hours of tutoring. Every day.

Once I had cramps so bad I couldn't get out of bed. I asked for ten minutes.

His face went cold.

"Don't fold the second things get hard. How are you supposed to apply to the same school as me?"

"Suck it up. Or I'm done teaching you."

I cried over that for weeks. Thought he didn't care about me at all.

Now I was watching him break every rule for Tiffany.

I gripped the skewer. Nails bit into my palm. The sting snapped me back. I shook my head.

"No thanks. I don't like shrimp."

"But you used to love shrimp. Why don't you—"

"Tiffany's the one who loves shrimp." I cut him off.

Two seconds of silence.

Asher's mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

After the food, Tiffany suggested a walk by the lake.

Midway I crouched to tie my shoelace.

When I looked up, Asher and Tiffany were thirty feet ahead.

Laughing. Neither of them looked back.

I watched their backs. Took a slow breath. That feeling of being invisible—it suffocated more than any fight ever could.

My mind has always wandered. Hard to focus on anything.

Walking too. I lagged behind everyone else.

Asher used to slow down for me. Glance back. Check I was still there.

Sometimes when my laces came undone he'd kneel and tie them himself.

People called me his shadow. He'd always push back:

"Grace isn't a shadow. She just notices things. Her attention gets pulled somewhere else."

Somewhere along the way, whenever he and Tiffany got together, they'd bicker endlessly.

Engrossed enough to forget me entirely.

Watching their backs pull farther away, for the first time I didn't follow.

I pulled out my phone. Opened the iMessage group chat.

Asher made it for tutoring. After graduation my account glitched and I got locked out.

Three days ago it finally came back.

They hadn't kicked me out. They hadn't added my new number either.

Three days. I watched them message from morning to night.

Sniping at each other. Something felt off.

Ten minutes ago Tiffany sent a message in the group.

"Let's pretend we left Grace behind. Nobody answer her texts. Let's see if she cries."

"No. She's scared of walking alone at night. We can't ditch her." Asher refused.

Tiffany snapped: "You're my servant right now. Do what I say."

Asher replied with dots. Nothing else. No more objections.

I stared at the screen. Fingers hovering.

Then I typed. Sent. Yanked it back.

"I know. Enjoy your game."

Done. I shut off my phone. Opened Uber.

While the car came I searched the highest-rated Italian spot nearby. Ate a full dinner by myself. Snapped a photo. Posted it to my Instagram Story. Caption: "Solo dates are the best dates."

Starting today, I make the rules.

　I woke up to the sound of people singing badly.

　　"Happy birthday to you..." I blinked hard against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, my brain slow to reboot. The voices were getting louder, and for a second, I thought I was dreaming. A really weird, off-key dream.

　　"Happy birthday, dear Katia..."

　　My bedroom door flung open. I sat up so fast the blanket tangled around my legs like a trap. My vision adjusted just in time to see a small parade entering my room, Delia leading the way with a cupcake on a tray, Dad trailing behind her holding a phone like he was filming a hostage video, and then, my mother, smiling. I nearly choked because my mom has never smiled at me.

　　"Happy birthday, sweetheart," she said; her voice was smooth and artificial, like she'd sprayed it with perfume before letting it out of her mouth.

　　I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. Because here's the thing: Martha didn't do birthdays. Not mine, anyway. Delia got birthdays. Princess themes, balloons, new dresses, and a chorus of relatives pretending they liked each other. I got awkward silences and last-minute gas station cards. I once got a vacuum cleaner. I was twelve.

　　So this? This felt like a setup.

　　"Um... thanks?" I said, my voice rough from sleep and suspicion.

　　Delia plopped the tray down in my lap like she was presenting a peace offering. "I made the cupcake myself," she said sweetly, which meant the maid probably did it while Delia supervised with a glass of wine.

　　I looked down at it. Vanilla with white frosting and one lonely candle jammed in the center like a warning flare.

　　"Blow it out," my dad said cheerfully, but his eyes were doing that thing they always did when he was nervous, darting around like they were looking for an exit.

　　I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, seriously. What's going on?"

　　My mom gave a soft laugh, as if I was being silly for having the correct instincts. She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing the comforter like she'd ever touched it before.

　　"You're twenty now," she said gently. "That's a very important age."

　　"Cool," I said, unimpressed. "Should I be bracing for a tax seminar or something?"

　　Delia giggled. Dad coughed.

　　Mom kept going, undeterred. "You're a woman now, Katia. And your father and I have something very exciting and important to tell you."

　　There it was. The sting in the frosting. The trap under the ribbon.

　　I sat up straighter. "Okay…"

　　She looked at me like she was about to hand me a tiara. "You've been chosen to marry Julian Windsor."

　　The room didn't go quiet; it went hollow.

　　For a second, I couldn't even process the words. I stared at her, waiting for a punchline, a camera crew, or something.

　　"Who?" I asked, even though I'd heard her perfectly.

　　"Julian Windsor," she repeated, like I was the dumb one. "The Windsor heir. Their family has been interested in an alliance for years. You were betrothed when you were sixteen."

　　I blinked. "What?!"

　　Dad gave me a sheepish look. "We didn't want to overwhelm you at the time."

　　"At the time? You mean when I was sixteen?!"

　　Mom's smile never wavered. "It was a strategic match. His family is very private. Very powerful. This is a good thing, Katia. You're incredibly lucky."

　　Lucky?

　　Like this was some kind of prize.

　　Like I should've been jumping up and down because I was the golden ticket in a billionaire breeding lottery.

　　"I've never even met him," I said, still struggling to wrap my head around the casual horror of what she'd just dropped on me like it was a brunch topic.

　　"Neither has Delia," she replied smoothly. "But if things had gone differently, she would've married him instead. You should be grateful it's you."

　　"Wow," I muttered. "How generous of you, Mother."

　　Delia leaned against the bedpost, swirling her hair around her finger. "He's supposed to be really handsome. And rich. Like... rich rich. The Windsors own, like, everything. Casinos. Oil. Maybe a spaceship? I don't know. They're super secretive."

　　"Oh great," I snapped. "So I'm marrying a ghost with a trust fund, and you know this how?"

　　My mom's eyes hardened, just for a second. "Don't be dramatic. He's real. And they chose you. That should mean something."

　　"No," I said. "What means something is that you waited four years to tell me I was promised to a complete stranger like this is a medieval auction."

　　My dad cleared his throat. "We thought we'd wait until the Windsors reached out. And... they have."

　　I stared at him. "You mean this is happening now?"

　　"They've arranged to meet in a few weeks," my mother said. "There will be dinner. Formalities. You'll get to know each other before the engagement becomes public."

　　Public? Right. Because this wasn't a relationship. It was a press release waiting to happen.

　　"I can't believe this," I said, my voice flat. "You didn't even ask me."

　　"You don't ask about opportunities like this," she said firmly. "You accept them."

　　That was her tone now. The mask was slipping. She wasn't the smiling mother with a cupcake anymore. She was the CEO of this family, and I was a failed acquisition being forced into a merger.

　　I got out of bed, shoving the tray off my lap. The cupcake toppled sideways, the candle smearing frosting across the blanket like a smear of white lies.

　　"I need air," I said.

　　Mom stood up. "Katia, don't be ridiculous—"

　　"No. I need to think. I'm going to Vegas."

　　That caught her off guard. "Vegas?"

　　"Just a weekend," I lied. "To clear my head. You want me to marry a stranger? Fine. But let me have one moment of freedom first."

　　She looked like she wanted to argue, but Dad touched her arm. "Let her go. She'll come around."

　　I watched the silent war play out in her expression. In the end, control won. Because she thought she already had it.

　　"Fine," she said, that awful smile returning. "Go. Take some time. But don't forget what's waiting when you come back."

　　I didn't answer.

　　I was already packing the second the door closed.

　　They thought they were giving me space. What they didn't know was that I wasn't going to Vegas for air. I was going for speed.

...

　　Katia's POV

　　Vegas heat hit me like a wave the second I stepped off the private jet. The runway shimmered under the late afternoon sun, and I squinted past my sunglasses, already half-listening to the ping of updates on my encrypted racing burner phone. Six hours before the race, and my heart was already trying to climb out of my chest. But I wasn't nervous.

　　I was hungry.

　　The black Rolls Royce Ghost waiting for me outside the hangar wasn't subtle, but nothing about this trip was supposed to be. My crew greeted me like I was a CEO arriving for a hostile takeover. I didn't speak; they knew why I was here.

　　The underground race wasn't some little street corner showdown. This was the elite of the elite, with closed invitations, encrypted access, and enough luxury vehicles to make a Formula 1 grid look like a used lot. They held it at a decommissioned airfield just outside the city. From the sky, it looked abandoned. From the ground? It was a neon-lit colosseum, pulsing with noise and heat and money.

　　My car was already there.

　　A midnight-blue Aston Martin Valkyrie AMR Pro, customized down to the bolts. The engine purred like a lion in a cage. I ran my hand along the hood, letting the vibration travel up my arm. This machine was built to win. Just like me.

　　I pulled on my suit in the back trailer, matte black, form-fitted, and made from materials that cost more than some people's homes. The helmet was blacked out, with only a blood-red visor slit. I didn't need people seeing my face. They didn't deserve to.

　　By the time I stepped onto the tarmac, the place was alive.

　　Hundreds of people lined the barricades, some rich kids trying to live out their Fast & Furious fantasies, some seasoned racers who had bet money they couldn't afford to lose. Cameras flashed, and beats thumped from speakers the size of trucks. Drones hovered above, catching every movement.

　　But everyone turned when someone arrived. I believe it must be the infamous Jules.

　　Silver McLaren Sabre. Chrome trim with black spoilers. The engine sound was so deep it made the air feel heavier. He stepped out like a ghost in steel. His helmet mirrored mine, faceless and unreadable. He didn't look at me, not directly, but I felt his attention like static on my skin.

　　Everyone knew Jules, but no one knew who he was or what he looked like. He had never lost. Not once. Not in three years. His name was synonymous with fear on the track. Not just because he was fast. But because he made the others look like they were standing still.

　　Until now, I didn't come to Vegas for a vacation. I came to end his streak.

　　The announcer's voice echoed over the PA system.

"Luna, Alpha Ravyn has sent another divorce agreement." Beta Corvine's voice was careful, almost brittle, as if a single wrong word might shatter Luna Seraphine's fragile state of mind.

His Luna had been bedridden for months after saving the pack from a chemical attack, yet her husband, Alpha Ravyn, had not shown her any care or concern. He was currently outside celebrating with his new lover, Daisy, while he sent Corvine to deliver yet another divorce agreement.

This was already the seventh divorce agreement the Alpha forced him to deliver to his Luna.

"He said he would reconsider if you agreed to accept Daisy as your co-Luna. He's been telling the pack you'll accept it anyway, that you love him too much to go through with a divorce and…"

Corvine froze, the rest of his sentence died in his throat. Luna Seraphine's pale fingers reached out for the pen, and her movements were steady as she flipped through the papers and signed her name at the bottom of the document. There was no hesitation, and the room was filled with the quiet scratch of pen against paper. She handed the papers back to Beta Corvine, smiling gently at his shocked expression. 

'Finally, you've learned your lesson after seven chances,' her wolf, Marsha, echoed in her mind. 'We are free of that wretched scum. This is the final time he can humiliate us!'

Yes. In her seven years of marriage, Seraphine had received a total of seven sets of divorce documents in her marriage to Alpha Ravyn. 

The first had come before Ravyn traveled to the Grimroot Pack. Either she divorced him, or she allowed him to become the sole signatory to the pack's accounts.

The second arrived on their seventh wedding anniversary. He wanted Daisy, her former nanny's daughter, to move into the pack house like when they were little.

The third came on Seraphine's birthday. Daisy would be the nanny of their son Bryan, so Seraphine could 'focus on pack duties.'

The fourth arrived on Alpha Ravyn's own birthday, requesting Daisy as his personal assistant.

The fifth came after Daisy publicly humiliated her before the pack. Ravyn sent the papers and demanded Seraphine overlook the disrespect or accept the divorce.

The sixth arrived on Bryan's sixth birthday. Daisy should move into the Luna's chamber, since Seraphine "never used it anyway."

Each time, Seraphine had torn the papers apart in front of the beta, her expression calm even as her heart cracked a little further. With every refusal to divorce, Daisy managed to invade every part of her life and claim it for herself. 

But this time Daisy and Ravyn had gone too far. 

To accept Daisy as co-Luna was an insult to her dignity. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. Seraphine finally understood that her marriage had been dead long before today.

Whatever remained was no longer worth saving. 

She was tired of fighting for Ravyn's attention, begging for his care, and waiting for affection that never came.

She would take her son and leave the pack for good.

While Alpha Ravyn was the second-richest man in New York City, few knew that much of that success rested on her shoulders. Her strategies, negotiations, and secret abilities strengthened his pack's administration, making it the second largest to the Grimroot pack.

As such, Seraphine knew she had the ability to give her son a good life, even if she left the pack.

"Luna…" Corvine finally breathed, eyes wide as he stared at the signed document. "Why did you sign this time?"

Seraphine looked up at him and smiled faintly. "My mother once told me that seven is the number of perfection," she said quietly. "If something can't be saved six times, it won't be saved on the seventh."

'You should have left him the very first chance you got,' Marsha complained. 'I have never liked him since I laid eyes on him. I still don't get what you saw in him all those years ago! That son of a bitch needs to die!'

'Language,' Seraphine scolded. 'His parents have always been good to me. They treated me better than even my own.'

'You are right about that,' Marsha said apologetically, but then she continued to rage about Ravyn. 'That bastard Ravyn deserves to burn in hell!' 

Seraphine agreed, but she had other more important priorities. Bryan must be missing her. She peeled the sheet away and swung her legs over the side of the bed. 

Corvine gasped. "Luna! You can walk?"

Everyone thought that the chemical attack had left her paralyzed. Even doctors had written her off as a lost cause. But she had her own medical skills that she had painstakingly honed to treat her own condition, along with Marsha's own healing ability. 

Now she could walk again. Pain flared with her every step she took, sharp and warning, but she only endured it. After spending two months bedridden, she welcomed pain that came from walking on her own two feet.

Her lips curled into a smirk, but she said nothing. Two months confined to a bed and one month of slow recovery had given her more than enough time to think, and the realization was simple.

A broken marriage was like a cracked egg. No matter how carefully you tried, it could never be put back together.

"Tell Ravyn," she said calmly, "that a co-Luna won't be necessary. He should just make her Luna once the divorce is finalized."

Corvine didn't argue. Secretly, he was happy to see her resolve in walking away from the people unworthy of her sacrifice.

Luna Seraphine had been the most powerful Luna the pack had ever known, except her own husband had never appreciated or acknowledged it. Their union had been a mistake from the very beginning.

Years ago, watching humans freely choose who they loved, the packs had envied them. The elders had begged the Moon Goddess to free them from the mate bond. Their wish was granted, and with it came lust, infidelity, and fractured loyalties.

Men like Alpha Ravyn had no idea how complicated human love truly was, like the freedom to desire many, yet willingly commit to one. Instead, he despised being bound to Seraphine. 

If that fateful night had never happened, he would never have married her at all.

But Seraphine could never hate that night, for it gave her Byran. 

As Seraphine opened the hospital door, loud, celebratory music crashed into her ears, as if mocking her lack of invitation. 

"What's going on?" she asked.

Corvine lowered his head shamefully. "The coronation ceremony. Alpha Ravyn is announcing Daisy as co-Luna. Alphas from other packs were invited without their Lunas. He said you wouldn't dare refuse."

Seraphine smiled, but her eyes were empty. She knew the Lunas would have stood against such injustice.

Marsha howled in outrage. 'The nerve! I'm going to rip his throat out!' 

"I see," Seraphine kept her calm as she took back the divorce papers and walked out of the pack hospital, still dressed in her thin hospital gown. It seemed like she had to confront her future ex-husband before meeting her son.

Corvine opened his mouth to stop her, but words failed him when he caught the determined look in her eyes. From a distance, the music grew louder. Pack members she had bled for stared as she passed, their eyes filled with confusion, curiosity, and disbelief.

When she entered the ceremonial hall, the room fell apart. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"Luna Seraphine?"

"She's alive?"

"She's walking, no wheelchair, no crutches…" they were too shocked to say anymore.

'What has that garbage and that bitch been telling people?' Marsha roared angrily. 'How could they believe that we'll die so easily?!'

Seraphina knew Ravyn and Daisy must have been spreading tales.

Alpha Ravyn, handsome, composed, powerful, froze mid-speech. "Sera," he said, voice soft but eyes glacial. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be recovering?"

Yes, that was Ravyn. Keeping up his appearance among guests and pack members with gentle words wrapped in a frozen gaze. Never once had he looked at her the way he looked at Daisy.