Four years later

The bell above the boutique door chimed as I examined a rack of designer dresses. The fabric was exquisite—silky and cool against my fingertips. Four years had transformed me from a broken, rejected she-wolf into... this. I caught my reflection in the mirror—poised, confident, draped in a tailored navy suit that screamed success rather than survival.

"Mrs. Wallace, would you like to try that one on?" The saleswoman approached with a smile.

"Thank you, but I'm just browsing today," I replied, my voice carrying the quiet authority I'd cultivated as Luna of the Blood River Pack.

The store was one of Manhattan's finest, all gleaming surfaces and exclusive labels. The Lycan Summit had brought pack leaders from across the country to New York, and Malcolm had meetings with the council all day. I'd slipped away to browse, enjoying a rare moment of solitude.

Then the scent hit me—pine and musk, undercut with something bitter. A scent I'd once known as well as my own.

Barrett.

I didn't need to turn around to confirm it. My wolf stirred within me, not with longing but with alertness. *Danger*, she whispered. *Past danger*.

The bell chimed again, and I heard his voice—deeper now, carrying the unmistakable weight of an Alpha's authority.

"Giana, darling, anything you want. Consider it a babymoon gift."

I kept my eyes on the dress before me, fingers steady as I sorted through the hangers. My heart rate remained even, my breathing controlled. Four years of Malcolm's patient love had healed what Barrett's rejection had broken.

"Amelia?"

I turned slowly, professionally. Barrett stood three feet away, his expression a mixture of shock and something else—something that looked almost like hunger. Behind him, Giana's hand rested protectively on her heavily pregnant belly, her eyes narrowed at the sight of me.

"Barrett," I acknowledged with a slight nod. "Giana."

He recovered quickly, his Alpha aura flaring as he stepped closer. "What are you doing in New York? In my territory during the summit?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Your territory?"

"The Silver Moon Pack has always had connections here," he said dismissively. "I'm surprised you'd show your face at a summit event."

I smiled—the diplomatic smile I'd perfected for difficult negotiations. "I'm afraid I don't recall seeing you on the delegate list."

His eyes narrowed as he inhaled deeply, trying to catch my scent. I knew what he was detecting—or rather, what he wasn't. The masking scent Malcolm had placed on me was subtle but powerful, detectable only to Alphas of his caliber.

"You're working here?" he asked, his tone shifting to something patronizing. "As a shop girl?"

Giana stepped forward, one hand still cradling her belly. "Oh, Barrett, don't be cruel. She's obviously just... struggling."

I watched as she examined me with false sympathy, her eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "It must be so hard, being masterless all these years."

Barrett reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "Look, Amelia, I know things have been... difficult for you."

"Difficult?" I repeated softly.

"As a rogue," he clarified, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "Without a pack. Without protection."

I felt a flash of amusement at his assumption. Did he really think I'd spent four years as a desperate rogue, pining for him?

"I can help," he continued, extracting several hundred-dollar bills. "For old times' sake."

Giana's smile tightened. "Barrett, darling, you're always so generous."

I looked at the money he held out—an insult disguised as charity—and felt nothing but pity for the man before me. He had no idea what I'd become, who I'd become.

"Thank you for the offer," I said, my voice cool and measured. "But I'm afraid I must decline."

Barrett's brow furrowed. "Don't be proud, Amelia. No one needs to know."

"I'm not being proud," I replied. "I simply don't need your money."

Giana laughed lightly. "Oh, Barrett, stop. Can't you see she's too stubborn? Some people would rather suffer than accept help."

I met her gaze steadily, allowing just a hint of my Luna eyes to glow—not enough to reveal my true status, but enough to make her falter.

"Enjoy your shopping," I said, turning back to the dresses. "I was just leaving."

As I walked toward the exit, I could feel Barrett's eyes burning into my back, confusion and something like suspicion radiating from him in waves.

Who was Amelia Harvey now? And why did she seem so... untouchable?

I stepped into the pristine bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me. The boutique's restroom was as elegant as its showroom—marble countertops, fresh flowers, and soft music playing from hidden speakers. I leaned against the sink, taking a moment to breathe. The encounter with Barrett had been unexpected, but not devastating. Four years had healed what his rejection had broken.

The door swung open with a bang. Giana stood in the doorway, her pregnant belly prominent under her tight dress, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"Finally alone," she said, stepping inside and blocking the exit. "No need to keep up appearances anymore."

I straightened, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "I'm not sure we have anything to discuss, Giana."

She laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "Oh, please. Don't pretend you're not dying to know how I've been living in the life that should have been yours."

I turned to face her directly. "I'm not interested in your life."

"Liar." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're nothing but a pathetic rogue. Four years, and you're still alone. Still broken. Still nothing."

I studied her face—the triumph, the cruelty. She needed this moment, needed to see me crumble.

"I won," she continued, her eyes glittering. "I got Barrett, the pack, everything. And you? You're just trash."

Something shifted inside me. Not anger, not hurt—just a deep, weary impatience with her games.

"You really believe that," I said softly.

"Believe what?"

"That you won."

I allowed my eyes to change, just for a moment. Not the brown of an Omega or the amber of a regular pack member, but the glowing gold of a high-ranking Luna. I released a fraction of my aura—just enough to fill the small space between us.

Giana's face drained of color. Her eyes widened in terror as she stumbled backward, her hand instinctively covering her throat.

"What—what are you?" she gasped.

I maintained eye contact, letting her see what Barrett never had—my true strength.

"Nothing that concerns you," I replied, turning back to the mirror. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

I walked past her frozen form, opening the door with deliberate calm. As I stepped out, I heard her exhale sharply, as if she'd been holding her breath.

---

Back on the sales floor, I was examining a small display of children's toys when a familiar presence brushed against my mind.

"Mommy! Mommy! I want the blue bear!"

Myla's voice, bright and clear through our mind-link, made me smile. I reached for the toy she'd mentioned—a stuffed bear with midnight blue fur and a silver bow tie.

"Is that for your niece?" The saleswoman appeared at my side, her smile professional.

Before I could answer, Barrett materialized beside me, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Who's that?" he demanded, his voice low and tense.

I blinked, confused by his intensity. "I'm sorry?"

"That voice. The child." He stepped closer, invading my personal space. "You're not alone?"

Realization dawned. He'd intercepted the mind-link—a remnant of our once-bonded state. I kept my expression neutral, though my wolf bristled at his proximity.

"It's none of your concern," I replied evenly.

"Is it a rogue pup?" His lip curled slightly. "You're bringing mongrels into the city?"

The insult stung, not for me but for Myla. My daughter was many things—bright, beautiful, beloved—but never a mongrel.

"That's enough, Barrett." I turned away, clutching the blue bear tighter.

---

At the register, I placed the bear on the counter along with a few other items I'd selected. The cashier smiled warmly as she began scanning the barcodes.

"I've got this," Barrett announced, pulling out his wallet again. He slapped several bills on the counter. "For old times' sake."

The cashier looked between us uncomfortably. "Um, I'm not sure—"

"It's fine," I said, reaching into my purse. "I'll handle it."

I withdrew a Black American Express card embossed with the Lycan Council seal. The cashier's eyes widened slightly as she took it.

"Will this be all?" she asked, her tone more deferential.

"Yes," I replied, then paused. "Actually, add whatever Ms. Mills selected as well."

Giana, who had been hovering nearby, stiffened. "I don't need charity."

"It's not charity," I said smoothly. "Consider it a gift for the expectant mother."

I handed the card to the cashier, who processed the payment with efficient movements. Barrett stood frozen, his money still lying on the counter, his expression a mixture of confusion and growing unease.

As the receipt printed, I gathered my purchases and turned to leave. Barrett's hand shot out to stop me.

"Amelia, wait. What are you doing here? Really?"

I looked at his hand on my arm, then back at his face. "Living my life, Barrett. Something you should try."

I stepped around him and walked toward the door, feeling his eyes boring into my back. Who was Amelia Harvey now? That was a question he was only beginning to ask—and one I had no intention of answering.

The Grand Ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton glittered with crystal chandeliers and the polished smiles of werewolf aristocracy. The summit reception was in full swing, champagne flowing as freely as the political alliances being forged. I smoothed the silk of my midnight blue gown—a far cry from the white dress I'd worn at Barrett's ceremony four years ago.

"Mrs. Wallace," Marcus Stone, Malcolm's Beta, appeared at my elbow with a fresh glass of champagne. "The Alpha King sends his regards. He's running late from the council meeting."

I smiled, accepting the glass. "Thank you, Marcus. I'm sure he'll make an entrance when he arrives."

Marcus's eyes scanned the room protectively. "He asked me to stay close to you."

"Malcolm worries too much," I said, though I knew it was more statement than complaint. My mate's protective nature was one of the things I'd come to cherish most.

Across the room, I spotted him—Barrett, his head bent attentively toward an elderly Alpha from the Northern Territories. He wore a tailored black suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back. Even from this distance, I could see the animation in his face as he spoke, gesturing emphatically.

"He's looking for you," Marcus murmured, following my gaze.

"The Luna of Blood River," I corrected. "Not me."

"Same difference."

I took a sip of champagne, watching as Barrett excused himself from the conversation and began making his way around the perimeter of the room. His eyes darted from face to face, searching.

"The Silver Moon Alpha has been asking about your pack all evening," Marcus continued. "Something about a treaty for shared hunting grounds."

"I know," I replied. "Malcolm mentioned it. Barrett needs Blood River's support to expand his territory north."

Barrett's gaze swept across the room again, and this time it locked onto me. Recognition flashed across his face, followed by confusion, then something darker. He changed course, heading directly toward us.

"Amelia," he said as he approached, his voice tight with controlled anger. "What are you doing here?"

"Attending the reception," I replied evenly. "Just like you."

"This is a private event for pack leaders and their delegations." His eyes narrowed. "How did you get in?"

Marcus straightened beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. "Mr. Lee, I assure you—"

"I wasn't speaking to you," Barrett snapped, his Alpha aura flaring. He grabbed my arm, fingers digging into my skin. "I want to know why you're stalking me."

I looked pointedly at his hand until he released me. "I'm not stalking anyone, Barrett."

"Then what are you doing at my summit?" His voice dropped lower. "Following me from the boutique to here?"

"I'm here on official business," I said, keeping my voice level despite the irritation building inside me.

"Official business?" He laughed, the sound harsh. "What official business could a rogue possibly have at a Lycan Summit?"

I felt Marcus tense beside me, but I placed a subtle hand on his arm. This wasn't his battle.

"Last I checked," Barrett continued, "rogues weren't invited to diplomatic receptions."

He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. The Alpha aura around him intensified as he prepared to assert his dominance.

"I command you to leave," he said, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of an Alpha order. "I command you to leave this reception immediately, rogue."

The command washed over me like water over stone—present but powerless. I took another sip of champagne, my hand steady.

"No," I said simply.

Barrett blinked, momentarily stunned. "What did you say?"

"I said no." I smiled, a small curve of my lips. "I'm not leaving."

"That's not possible," he whispered, confusion replacing anger. "You can't resist an Alpha command."

"Perhaps she's deaf," Giana suggested, appearing at Barrett's side. Her hand rested protectively on her swollen belly. "Or broken. Rejection can do that to a wolf."

I set my champagne glass down on a passing waiter's tray. "Neither deaf nor broken, I assure you."

Barrett's eyes darted between Marcus and me, trying to process what was happening. "Who are you with?"

"Blood River Pack," Marcus answered before I could.

Barrett's expression shifted from confusion to suspicion. "You're with Wallace's pack? As what?"

Before I could respond, a young server approached with a tray of canapés. As he passed, I caught Myla's scent on him—she must have sent him to find me.

"Mommy!" Her voice echoed in my mind. "Daddy says dinner soon!"

I smiled, making my decision. This harassment needed to end, and the treaty discussions deserved a more controlled environment.

"Barrett, Giana," I said, straightening my shoulders. "Would you join us for dinner tomorrow evening? My penthouse suite at The Plaza. Eight o'clock."

Giana's eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with suspicion. "Why would you invite us to dinner?"

"To discuss the treaty," I replied smoothly. "And other matters."

Barrett studied me, his expression unreadable. "You're inviting us to your... penthouse?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly, a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Finally ready to beg for your place back in Silver Moon?"

I didn't correct him. Let him believe what he wanted. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

"Eight o'clock," I confirmed, turning back to Marcus. "Now, shall we find the ambassador?"

As we walked away, I could feel Barrett's eyes boring into my back, his confusion and curiosity a tangible presence in the room. Tomorrow, he would learn exactly who Amelia Harvey had become—and it wasn't what he expected.