The biting wind of the Northern Territories had been my only companion for three years, stripping away the softness of my youth until I felt as jagged as the ice that covered the landscape. But as the familiar scent of pine and damp earth filled my nose, my heart dared to beat a little faster. Home. I was finally home.

I tightened the threadbare cloak around my shoulders, my fingers brushing against the rough fabric. It was a stark contrast to the silks I used to wear as the Beta’s daughter, but survival had taught me to value warmth over beauty. In my mind, I pictured Chandler. Three years of letters, three years of holding onto the promise of his hazel eyes and the mate bond that would surely snap into place the moment we reunited. I imagined him waiting at the border, his arms open, ready to apologize for the necessity of my exile and welcome his Luna home.

But the border was empty of Alpha blood.

Instead of a private, intimate reunion, I was met with the jarring sight of the pack grounds decorated as if for a festival. Streamers of silver and blue—the pack colors—fluttered from the trees, and the distant hum of music drifted through the air. A Grand Gathering.

Two guards I didn’t recognize stepped out from the sentry post, blocking my path with crossed spears. They looked me up and down, their noses wrinkling as if I were a rogue who had rolled in muck.

"State your business," the taller one barked, his eyes lingering on my worn boots.

"I am Eleanor Montgomery," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Daughter of Beta Montgomery. I have returned."

The guards exchanged a look, and then, to my horror, they laughed. It wasn't a warm sound; it was a bark of mockery.

"The exile?" the second guard sneered, leaning on his spear. "Didn't think you'd survive the North. You look more like a beggar than a Beta's blood."

"Let me pass," I commanded, trying to summon the authority I was born with. "Alpha Chandler expects me."

" The Alpha is busy preparing for the ceremony," the tall one scoffed, though he lazily uncrossed his spear. "You'll have to wait for clearance. We can't just let strays wander in during a Grand Gathering."

It took an hour. An hour of standing in the dirt while luxury cars with tinted windows glided past, carrying visiting dignitaries who didn't even glance at the shivering girl by the gate. When I was finally waved through, the shame burned hotter than the cold.

I kept my head down as I navigated the pack village, avoiding the gazes of those celebrating. I just needed to get to my room. I needed to wash the North off my skin, put on a dress that smelled like lavender, and find Chandler. Once he saw me, once he smelled me, this nightmare of a welcome would end.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Pack House, slipping through the servants' entrance to avoid the crowd in the main hall. My feet carried me instinctively to the second floor, to the room that had been mine since birth. I reached for the handle, a small smile finally touching my lips.

But the door didn't open to my sanctuary.

It opened to a wall of mops, buckets, and stacks of cardboard boxes. The scent of lavender was gone, replaced by the stinging odor of bleach. My bed, my desk, my paintings—everything was gone. It was a storage closet.

"Excuse me?" I grabbed the arm of a passing maid, a young girl I didn't recognize. "Where... where is Eleanor's room?"

She looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. "The Beta's daughter? Her things were moved to the servants' quarters years ago, miss. To make room for the expansion."

My chest tightened, a physical blow that nearly doubled me over. Servants' quarters? I was the future Luna.

I stumbled down the back stairs, my vision blurring. I found the small, cramped room at the end of the hall. The door was ajar. Inside, amidst the gloom, something sparkled.

"Oh, you're back."

The voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom. I looked up to see Kinslee standing there. My younger sister. But she didn't look like the wild, frightened girl I had sacrificed myself to protect three years ago.

She was radiant. Her hair was styled in perfect, glossy waves, and her skin glowed with expensive oils. But it was what she was wearing that made the air leave my lungs.

Draped around her neck was the Montgomery emerald—our grandmother's necklace, an heirloom that was supposed to be passed to the eldest daughter on her wedding day. And her dress... it was a shimmering silver gown, cut low and fitted perfectly. I recognized the design. I had sketched it in my notebook before I left. It was the dress I had planned to wear for my Mating Ceremony.

"Kinslee," I breathed, my voice cracking. "That necklace... that dress..."

Kinslee touched the emerald at her throat, her fingers manicured to perfection. She didn't look guilty. She looked bored. "Oh, these?" She laughed lightly, a sound that grated against my nerves. "I was just keeping them safe for you, El. You know how things get lost around here."

She took a step closer, the scent of expensive perfume—and something else, something cloyingly sweet like vanilla—wafting off her. She looked me up and down, her blue eyes filled with a cold, calculating amusement that I had never seen before.

"Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper, "it would be a shame for such beautiful things to rot in a box while you were playing in the snow. Don't you think?"

I stared at her, waiting for the apology, waiting for the sisterly embrace. But Kinslee just smirked, a cruel twisting of lips that told me everything I hadn't wanted to believe. The exile hadn't just taken my time; it had taken my place.

Kinslee didn’t wait for a response. She brushed past me, the silk of my stolen dress whispering against the floorboards, leaving a trail of vanilla scent that made my empty stomach churn. I stood there for a moment in the gloom of the servants' hallway, the ghost of my past life screaming at me to run, to beg, to scream. But the cold of the Northern Territories had frozen my tears long ago. I wasn't the same girl who had died weeping in a dungeon. I reached into the pocket of my ragged cloak and wrapped my fingers around the cold, heavy silver coin hidden there. Its sharp edges bit into my skin, grounding me.

I turned and walked toward the music.

The double doors of the Great Hall were thrown open, spilling golden light into the courtyard. I stepped through, and the festive chatter died instantly. It was like walking into a painting I didn't belong in. The hall was suffocatingly warm, filled with the scent of roasted meats and expensive wine—luxuries I hadn’t tasted in three years. Hundreds of eyes turned to me. I saw the sneers of the pack warriors, the pitying glances of the visiting dignitaries, and the cold, hard stares of my parents. My father, the Beta, adjusted his lapel pin and looked away, ashamed not of his betrayal, but of my ragged appearance.

"Eleanor," a voice boomed from the dais.

Chandler stood there, holding a crystal goblet. He looked every inch the Alpha—tall, broad-shouldered, with hair like spun gold. In my last life, my heart would have fluttered. Now, I only saw the rot beneath the handsome mask. He didn't look happy to see me; he looked like a man disposing of trash.

He raised a hand, silencing the few whispers that remained. "Step forward."

I walked through the parting crowd, my worn boots thudding softly on the polished marble. I stopped at the base of the stairs, refusing to bow my head.

Chandler set his goblet down and looked at me with a practiced expression of regret that didn't reach his eyes. Beside him, Kinslee preened, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

"Eleanor Montgomery," Chandler announced, his voice amplified by his Alpha aura, causing the weaker wolves in the room to flinch. "You have returned from the North, but you have not returned whole. The pack needs a strong Luna. A Luna with a reputation as pure as the driven snow, not one tainted by weakness and... scandal."

A ripple of laughter went through the room. My mother, standing in the front row, covered her mouth with a delicate handkerchief, feigning sorrow while her eyes gleamed with triumph. They were pinning Kinslee’s sins on me. Again.

Chandler took a deep breath, his chest puffing out. "Therefore, for the good of the Crescent Moon Pack and the preservation of our lineage, I make this decree before the Council of Alphas."

The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the static of magic. I knew what was coming. I had lived it before. But this time, I wouldn't scream.

"I, Alpha Chandler Stephens," he bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip, "reject you, Eleanor Montgomery, as my mate and Luna."

A collective gasp filled the hall. Rejection was rare; public rejection was a calculated cruelty meant to destroy the soul.

He turned immediately to Kinslee, grabbing her hand and raising it high. "And I claim Kinslee Montgomery, a wolf of beauty and strength, as my true chosen mate and Luna!"

The pack erupted into cheers. My sister beamed, basking in the adoration that was supposed to be mine. Chandler looked down at me, waiting. He was waiting for the tears. He was waiting for me to fall to my knees and beg him to reconsider, just as I had done when he murdered me in that other timeline.

Instead, I straightened my spine. The silence that followed the cheers was deafening as I didn't move. I didn't cry. I didn't shake.

I looked Chandler dead in the eye, channeling every ounce of the Alpha blood my family tried to pretend I didn't have. I pulled the silver coin from my pocket, letting the light catch the intricate Lycan crest stamped on its face.

"I, Eleanor Montgomery," I said, my voice clear and steady, cutting through the murmurs, "accept your rejection."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

*Snap.*

I felt the bond shatter in my chest. It wasn't painful. It felt like a heavy chain falling away, leaving me light, free, and hollow.

Chandler, however, stumbled back as if he’d been punched. He clutched his chest, his face paling. The severance of a fated bond, even a rejected one, carried a backlash he clearly hadn't anticipated from a "weak" wolf. The crowd fell silent, confused by his reaction and my stoicism.

I didn't give them time to recover. I looked at my parents, then at my sister, etching their faces into my memory one last time. They were strangers to me now.

I gripped the silver coin in my palm, squeezing it until the sharp edge sliced into my flesh. A single drop of warm blood coated the metal. I closed my eyes, blocking out the confused whispers of the pack, and pushed my intent into the dormant metal, screaming with my mind across the miles.

*"I am ready."*

The response was instantaneous. It didn't come as a whisper, but as a roar that vibrated in the very marrow of my bones, dark, possessive, and terrifyingly powerful.

*"I am coming, my Queen."*

The applause for my sister’s ascension was still thundering against the vaulted ceiling as I turned on my heel. The severance of the mate bond left a hollow ache in my chest, a phantom limb where my future was supposed to be, but beneath it hummed a terrifying, electric thrill. I was free. I didn't need to pack. I had nothing but the rags on my back and the token in my pocket.

I pushed through the heavy double doors, eager for the biting cold of the night air, but I didn't make it to the steps. A hand clamped around my upper arm, fingers digging into my bicep with bruising force.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice. It was the same voice that had whispered sweet lies to me in childhood and condemned me to death in my past life. I stopped, staring at the polished wood of the doorframe, and slowly rotated my head.

Chandler stood there, his chest heaving slightly. The arrogance was still plastered on his face, but his eyes darted over me with frantic confusion. He had expected me to collapse. He had expected the broken, weeping girl he sent away three years ago.

"I am leaving, Alpha," I said, the title tasting like ash in my mouth. "You made your choice. I have accepted it."

"You accepted it?" He scoffed, stepping closer, invading my personal space with the scent of sandalwood and expensive champagne. It used to make my knees weak; now, it just smelled like betrayal. "You don't just walk away from a fated bond, Eleanor. You should be on your knees. You should be fighting for me."

His ego was a fragile thing, bruised because I hadn't given him the satisfaction of a public breakdown. He tightened his grip, trying to pull me closer, perhaps to smell the distress on me, to feed his vanity.

Revulsion coiled in my stomach, hot and violent. In a reflex born of pure disgust, I wrenched my arm away. The movement was sharp, fueled by three years of chopping wood and hauling ice in the North. Chandler stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock.

"Do not touch me," I hissed, my voice low. "You forfeited that right the moment you chose her."

For a second, the Alpha in him flared, his pupils dilating as he prepared to command me into submission. But before he could speak, a gaggle of elders and visiting dignitaries spilled out from the hall, surrounding him with congratulations and claps on the back.

"Alpha Chandler! A magnificent choice!"

"To the new Luna!"

He was swept away in a tide of sycophants, his gaze lingering on me for one last, furious second before he was forced to turn and smile. I didn't waste the moment. I slipped into the shadows of the corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I couldn't just walk out the front gate. Without identification papers, the border patrol would detain me as a rogue, and Chandler would have me dragged back in chains before Lincoln could cross the territory lines. I needed my documents.

I moved silently through the pack house, a ghost in the home that was supposed to be mine. My destination wasn't my old room, but my father’s study on the third floor. The hallway was empty, the guards distracted by the festivities below.

When I reached the heavy mahogany door, I found it locked, just as I expected. In my past life, I would have knocked. I would have waited. But the North had taught me that waiting meant starving.

I pulled a thin, stiff wire from the hem of my cloak—a makeshift tool I’d used to break into supply sheds during the harshest winters. I knelt, sliding the metal into the lock. My hands were steady. *Click.* The tumbler gave way with a satisfying snap.

I slipped inside and closed the door softly behind me. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old paper. I went straight to the large oak desk, bypassing the safe—my father was too arrogant to lock up family documents, believing no one would dare snoop.

I pulled open the bottom drawer, my fingers rifling through the hanging files. *Medical records... Tax forms...* My hand landed on a thick folder labeled *"Eleanor - Dowry & Assets."*

I flipped it open, expecting to find my birth certificate. Instead, I found a transfer deed. My eyes scanned the legal jargon, and a bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. My parents hadn't just given my position to Kinslee; they had transferred my entire inheritance—the trust fund left by my grandmother, the land deeds in the west—to her name. The transfer was dated three days after I left for exile.

They had been planning this for years.

"Greedy bastards," I whispered, tossing the deed aside. I dug deeper, looking for my ID. My fingers brushed against a leather-bound ledger hidden beneath the false bottom of the drawer. It felt wrong. Heavy.

Curiosity, a dangerous habit, made me open it. The pages were filled with numbers—large sums of money funneled out of the pack accounts and into offshore shell companies. Embezzlement. My father was stealing from the pack he swore to serve.

But it was the stack of papers tucked into the back of the ledger that made my blood run cold. They were treaties. Illegal trade agreements with rogue packs known for drug running and violence. I scanned the bottom of the page, looking for my father's signature.

It wasn't there.

In its place, executed in perfect, flowing script, was *my* name.

*Eleanor Montgomery.*

The room seemed to tilt. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself. The dates on these treaties were recent. While I was freezing in the North, my father had been forging my signature on documents that carried a mandatory death sentence from the Council of Alphas.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't just about replacing me with Kinslee. It was a setup. If the Council ever audited the pack's finances, my father wouldn't be the one to fall. I would be the scapegoat. The exiled, bitter daughter who sold out her pack for revenge.

I wasn't just an unwanted ex-mate. I was a walking corpse, framed for treason.

I shoved the papers back into the ledger, my hands trembling for the first time since I returned. If I left now, without this proof, I would be a fugitive. But if I stayed to gather more evidence, I risked ending up back in the dungeon.

A heavy footstep sounded in the hallway outside. The doorknob began to turn.