Seven years. Seven long years since I'd last set foot in New York City.

The skyline stretched before me, a glittering canvas of ambition and betrayal. I stood on the balcony of our Manhattan penthouse, the cool evening air caressing my skin. My fingers absently traced the platinum band on my left hand—a habit I'd developed whenever the past threatened to overwhelm me.

"You're thinking about them, aren't you?"

I didn't need to turn to know Leonardo had joined me. His presence was like a physical force, powerful and reassuring. The mate bond between us hummed with his concern.

"They're just ghosts, Violet," he said, his arms encircling me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. "Ghosts you've outgrown."

I leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his solid warmth. "I know. But ghosts can still haunt you."

Leonardo turned me gently to face him. In the fading light, his eyes held flecks of amber—his Alpha nature responding to my distress. "Tonight isn't just business," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "It's your victory lap."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. Inside lay a diamond necklace unlike any I'd seen before—a delicate web of platinum strands holding stones that caught the light like captured starlight.

"Leonardo, it's beautiful," I whispered.

"It's the Luna's necklace," he said simply. "Every Alpha's mate wears one. It symbolizes your position in our world."

As he fastened it around my neck, his fingers lingered on my skin. "My Luna," he whispered against my ear. "Show them who you've become."

---

The Metropolitan Museum of Art glowed with golden light, transforming the grand hall into something from another world. I entered alone—Leonardo had been delayed by a last-minute security check. The weight of the Luna's necklace reminded me of my new identity with every step.

Seven years ago, I'd been Violet Howard, the naive girl who'd poured everything into a man who saw her only as a stepping stone. Now I was Violet Snyder, wife of one of Europe's most powerful men, mother to his child, Luna of his pack.

The gown I wore was understated but unmistakably haute couture—a sleek column of midnight blue silk that whispered rather than shouted of its cost. I'd chosen it deliberately for its simplicity, knowing that true power never needed to announce itself.

I accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter and moved to the periphery of the room. New York's elite mingled before me—financiers, politicians, celebrities—all unaware of the predator in their midst.

"Mrs. Snyder," a voice called. Margaret Ashford, the gala's host and one of New York's most influential officials, approached with genuine warmth. "We're honored by your presence tonight."

"Thank you for the invitation," I replied, my voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in my chest.

"Leonardo will join you soon?" she asked, her eyes scanning the crowd.

"He'll arrive shortly."

Margaret smiled. "The entire room is buzzing about your return. Seven years is a long time to be away from New York."

"Yes," I agreed. "A lot can change in seven years."

Across the room, I felt eyes on me. Not Leonardo's protective gaze, but something else—something that made my skin crawl with recognition.

Phillip Meyer stood near the bar, his tailored suit and practiced smile unchanged since our days in Washington. Beside him, Brittany Willis clung to his arm like a trophy, her designer dress screaming of new money rather than old class.

I turned slightly away, sipping my water, but I could feel their stares boring into my back.

"Look at her," I heard Brittany's voice carry across the space between us. "Standing there all alone."

Phillip's laugh was low and cruel. "Violet Howard. I thought she'd disappeared for good."

"She probably came back when she ran out of money," Brittany replied. "Poor thing looks like she's been living in a cave."

I kept my expression neutral, though my heart hammered against my ribs. They had no idea who I'd become—what I'd become.

"Let's go say hello," Phillip said, his voice dropping to a predatory murmur. "After all, I owe her... everything."

I watched from the corner of my eye as they moved toward me, Phillip's hand possessively gripping Brittany's waist. His eyes held the same calculating gleam I remembered from our final days together—the look of a man who saw people as opportunities to exploit.

They thought I was still that broken girl from seven years ago.

They were about to learn how wrong they were.

I felt their approach before I heard them. The air shifted, carrying the scent of expensive cologne and cheap perfume—a combination that instantly transported me back to Washington D.C., to the life I'd left behind.

"Violet! Violet Howard!" Phillip's voice boomed across the marble floor, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby guests. His politician's smile flashed bright and false as he approached, arm still wrapped possessively around Brittany's waist. "I can't believe it's you!"

I turned slowly, my expression carefully neutral. The Luna's necklace felt heavy against my skin, grounding me in who I was now—not who they thought I still was.

"Phillip," I acknowledged, my voice cool and measured. "It's been a while."

"Seven years!" He laughed, the sound hollow and performative. "Seven years since you disappeared from D.C. without so much as a goodbye."

Brittany's eyes narrowed as she scanned my dress, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "That's... an interesting choice of attire," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "So brave to wear vintage to an event like this."

I knew exactly what she was implying. My midnight blue silk gown—crafted by one of Paris's most exclusive designers—looked deceptively simple. To someone like Brittany, who measured worth by brand labels rather than quality, it probably did look like something from a consignment shop.

"Life must be so different for you now," Phillip continued, his tone shifting to one of practiced sympathy. "Paris wasn't kind to you, was it? I always knew you'd come back to America eventually."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn't finished.

"I mean, let's be honest—you were never really cut out for the international business world. Too small-time."

Brittany giggled, pressing closer to him. "Remember how she used to think she could compete with the big players? So naive."

I took a small sip of my water, letting their words wash over me without penetration. "If you'll excuse me," I said quietly, attempting to step around them.

Phillip moved directly into my path, his smile tightening at my dismissal. "Actually, I was thinking—maybe you need a job."

He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card, holding it out between us like a peace offering. "My office needs a filing clerk. Junior position, of course. But it's steady work, and I'm willing to overlook your... history."

I stared at the card. White stock, embossed letters. SENATOR'S OFFICE - PHILLIP MEYER, CHIEF AIDE.

"You see," he continued, his voice taking on that patronizing tone I remembered so well, "I've done well for myself. And I'm not one to hold grudges. You left D.C. rather abruptly—abandoned our relationship without explanation. But I understand you were... struggling."

Brittany nodded vigorously beside him. "Phillip's been so successful. We've both been so successful." She flashed her diamond bracelet—new money, desperate to prove itself.

"This job," Phillip pressed, "it's an olive branch. A chance to get back on your feet. I know things haven't been easy for you."

I looked at the card again, then into his eyes—those calculating eyes that had once seemed so charming to me. Now I could see the emptiness behind them, the hollow ambition that had led him to betray everything we'd once shared.

"No, thank you," I said simply.

I took the card from his hand and dropped it into a passing waiter's trash tray. The action was smooth, deliberate—a casual dismissal that sent shockwaves through both of them.

Phillip's smile faltered. "You're... declining?"

"I have no need for employment," I replied, my voice level.

Brittany's face contorted with rage. "You ungrateful bitch," she hissed, abandoning all pretense of politeness. "Do you have any idea who we are now? Who Phillip has become?"

I met her gaze steadily. "I know exactly who you both are."

Phillip's hand tightened around Brittany's waist, his knuckles white with sudden anger. "You always did have a problem with authority," he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Still so arrogant for someone with no connections, no money, no—"

"Phillip."

The single word cut through his tirade like a blade. He froze, his eyes widening slightly as he realized how loud he'd become—how many of New York's elite were now watching our exchange with undisguised interest.

I stepped around him, my head held high. "Enjoy your evening," I said softly. "I'm sure it will be memorable."

As I walked away, I could feel their stares burning into my back—Phillip's shocked disbelief and Brittany's seething hatred. They still had no idea who I'd become.

But they were about to find out.

I could feel the eyes of the room shifting toward us, drawn by the rising volume of Brittany's voice. Her face had twisted into something ugly, her perfectly applied makeup unable to hide the venom beneath.

"She's stalking you, Phillip!" Brittany announced, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. Her voice carried across the marble floor, crystalline with malice. "Look at her—showing up here after seven years, still obsessed with you."

I took a small step backward, my fingers instinctively finding the cool metal of my wedding band. The Luna's necklace seemed to pulse against my skin, a reminder of who I was now—who I had become.

"Victoria Chen is watching," Margaret Ashford murmured as she passed by me, her voice low with warning.

I glanced toward the bar and spotted her—Victoria Chen, the notoriously sharp business journalist whose column could make or break reputations in New York. She was observing our exchange with undisguised interest, her phone partially concealed in her hand.

"I'm not stalking anyone," I said quietly, turning to walk away.

Brittany wasn't finished. She stepped directly into my path, her designer heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

"You can't just show up here and pretend you belong," she hissed. "Everyone knows what you did to Phillip—how you abandoned him when he was just starting his career."

A small crowd had gathered now, drawn by the promise of drama. I could see whispers spreading through the gathering, heads turning our way.

"Phillip has been so successful without you," Brittany continued, her voice rising with each word. "We've both been so successful. And you—you're still the same nobody you always were."

I kept my expression neutral, though inside I was calculating how quickly Leonardo would arrive. The mate bond between us hummed with his approach—he was close, but not yet here.

"You need to leave," I said simply, attempting once more to step around them.

That's when Phillip's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with bruising force. His politician's smile had vanished completely now, replaced by something dark and ugly.

"You don't get to walk away from me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Not again."

The pain in my wrist was sharp, immediate. I looked down at his fingers digging into my skin, then back up at his face—the face I had once loved, now twisted with rage and entitlement.

"Let go of me," I said evenly.

"You think you're still special?" he hissed, leaning closer. "You think you can just show up here and act high and mighty? You owe me, Violet. You owe me for the years I wasted on you."

His breath was hot against my face, carrying the scent of expensive whiskey and cheaper cologne. Behind him, Brittany watched with gleeful satisfaction.

"We need to talk," Phillip continued, his grip tightening. "Come to my hotel later. We'll discuss repayment for all the emotional distress you caused me when you disappeared."

The crowd around us had grown silent, watching the scene unfold with morbid fascination. Victoria Chen's phone was raised now, no longer even pretending to be concealed.

"Repayment?" I repeated, my voice dangerously soft.

"For abandoning me," he clarified, his eyes glittering with malice. "For making me look like a fool in front of everyone in D.C."

Before I could respond, a massive shadow fell between us. A hand the size of a dinner plate clamped onto Phillip's wrist, forcing him to release me instantly.

"Are you injured, Mrs. Snyder?"

The voice was deep, controlled, and utterly deferential. Walker stood before me, his broad shoulders blocking Phillip from my view. He didn't look at Phillip at all—his eyes remained fixed on me, waiting for my response.

"Mrs. Snyder?" Phillip repeated, confusion momentarily replacing his anger.

The crowd murmured, the name rippling through the gathered onlookers like a stone dropped in still water.

"Who the hell are you?" Phillip demanded, trying to wrench his arm free from Walker's grip.

Walker ignored him completely, his focus entirely on me. "Should I call Mr. Snyder?" he asked quietly.

Phillip's face contorted with rage and frustration. "What is this? Some kind of act?" He looked wildly around at the watching crowd. "Is this your new game, Violet? Hiring muscle to make yourself look important?"

Brittany stepped forward, her confidence visibly wavering but her voice still sharp. "This is ridiculous. He's obviously just some actor she paid—"

"Be very careful with your next words," Walker interrupted, finally turning to face her. His voice remained calm, but there was something in his tone that made both Phillip and Brittany fall silent.

The room held its collective breath, waiting for what would happen next.