ten years ago, I thought Ethan Calloway and I were bound forever, our love sealed tight.​

The day I brought him home to meet my parents.​

First, he forced my dad, James, to his knees and taped his mouth shut with industrial duct tape, pinning his arms behind his back with zip ties that bit into his skin.

Right in front of him, Ethan ripped my clothes to shreds, his hands cold and cruel.​

He dragged my mom, Susan-who'd been battling Alzheimer's and barely recognized her own reflection-over to the fireplace, where he'd stacked old newspapers and kindling earlier.

He struck a match and tossed it in, then wedged a chair under the doorknob of the study where he'd locked her in.

The smoke alarm wailed as flames licked the curtains, her confused cries muffled behind the door.​

I can still see her silhouette pressing against the frosted glass, the way it warped and blackened before the window shattered in a shower of sparks.​

Dad, still restrained, watched it all-watched me being humiliated, watched Mom burn.​

His screams tore through the house as he gnawed through the zip ties with his teeth, blood streaming from his gums.

He didn't run for the fire extinguisher.

Instead, he grabbed the antique bronze letter opener from the dining table-Mom's favorite heirloom-and drove it into his own chest.​

The metal clanged when it hit the hardwood, his body crumpling over the dining room chandelier's chain. It snapped under his weight, sending the crystal fixture crashing down.

Shards of glass mixed with his blood on the floor, glinting like sick diamonds in the firelight.​

In one night, I lost both my parents.

I knelt in the blood-soaked ground, choking out a single word to Ethan: "Why?"

He grabbed my chin, his sneer cutting deeper than any knife.

"Claire, you really thought I loved you? This is revenge."

Ten years back, a medical mishap on my dad's operating table took Ethan's father, Arthur.

His mom, Catherine, took her own life soon after.

So Ethan spent ten years weaving a love story, a cruel trap just to make me feel the agony of my family, gone.

After that, he kept me caged by his side, tormenting me.

I tried to end it all 200 times, and 2pp times he dragged me back from the edge.

"We'll torture each other till we're old and gray," he said.

What he didn't know was that during our deepest year of love, when he needed a heart transplant to survive, I'd secretly signed a donor agreement.

Now, an artificial heart ticks in my chest, and it's got ten days left before it gives out.

I stood outside Ethan's villa, clutching the diagnosis paper, the words "artificial heart failure" burning my eyes.

The healer's voice echoed in my head: "ten days at most. Get your affairs in order."

Taking a shaky breath, I pushed open the door.

The laughter in the living room died instantly.

Ethan reclined on a shadow - cloaked obsidian throne, swirling a goblet of moon - blood wine.

Four she - wolves encircled him-my cousin Madeline Walsh, cousin Rachel Bennett, best friend Samantha Bswimming pool, and classmate Lauren Pierce.

Draped in sinuous, moon - silk nightshades, their smiles oozed a feral desperation to earn his primal favor.

"You're back?" Ethan's eyes flicked up, his lips curling into a cruel smirk.

"Perfect timing. The game's just starting."

My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

For months, Ethan had chased every she-wolf close to me, seducing them, bedding them, all to watch me break.

Now, they were all head-over-heels for him.

Ethan snarled.

"First to shatter her-make her howl like a runt-claims my eternal mark.

Their eyes blazed like wolves zeroing in on a wounded fawn.

Madeline struck first-her fist slamming into my ribs, a sickening crack that stole my breath.

The pain exploded, sharp and searing, and I crumpled, gasping, when suddenly the world warped: I was back at last year's birthday, the kitchen warm with vanilla, Madeline pressing a homemade cake into my hands, her smile soft as she murmured,

"Claire, I hope you're happy. Always."

The memory shattered as another blow landed.

Blood trickled onto the braided leather wristband I'd given her-a graduation gift I'd worked two part - time jobs for three months to craft.

It looped around her wrist.​

"Eight punches and she still won't cry?"

Madeline panted, flicking blood from her nails as she glanced back at Ethan.

"What's it gonna take? Shatter her ribs? Crack her skull?"​

Last summer, she'd held out her wrist, grinning as I fastened the band, and said, "This'll stay on forever. A promise, yeah?" Now it clung to her skin, soaked in my blood.

He leaned back, eyes narrowed like he was savoring a show.

"Next."

Rachel's fingers dug into my wrist-dragging me to the basement corner where we'd carved our initials last summer.

"Remember when you took a blade for me?" she breathed, slamming my hand into the vice.​

I screamed as she twisted the handle.

The scars from that blade-still pink on my palm-burned as motor oil seeped in.

"You said you'd die for me," she laughed, "now bleed for me."

"Boring," Ethan said, glancing at his watch. "Next."

Samantha clamped my hand to the table, rummaging out a rusted sewing needle-the same one I'd used to stitch her torn prom dress that night she sobbed, "You're my soulmate."​

Now she drove it under my thumbnail, twisting. "Three days by my hospital bed?" She laughed, blood bubbling under the nail. "Time to pay back-with screams."

"Time's up," Ethan's voice sliced through. "Last chance."

When Lauren came bounding down the stairs with a cardboard box, my heart nearly stopped. That box-hidden under my bed-held my parents' keepsakes.

"No!"

I finally screamed.

Too late.

Lauren grinned, smashing a photo frame to the floor.

Glass shattered.

My dad's glasses was crushed under her heel.

My mom's favorite necklace snapped in two. When she tore Mom's silk scarf to ribbons, my tears hit the ground.

"I win!" Lauren crowed, rushing to Ethan. "I'm your only mate now, right?"

Ethan's laugh was cold as he gripped her chin. "You think I'd want anyone tied to Claire? You all disgust me."

He hit a buzzer, and guards dragged the shrieking she-wolves out.

I collapsed in the wreckage, trembling fingers brushing the broken pieces of my parents' lives. I picked up half a faded family photo, Mom's warm smile staring back at me.

"Ethan," I sobbed, my voice raw, "wolf like you, who can't love anyone, shouldn't drag others into your mess."

"Who says I can't love?" His sneer was venomous.

The door swung open.

A she-wolf wheeled in a suitcase.

"Ethan, where should I put my stuff?" she asked, voice light.

His face softened instantly.

He pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "With me, of course."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, but his eyes locked on me, cold as ice. "Meet Vanessa Monroe, my chosen mate."

"Remember that crash three years ago? I was on death's door. Vanessa saved me, gave me her heart so I could keep hunting the Bennett pack."

"You said I can't love?"

He pulled Vanessa tighter, his gaze boring into me.

"Watch me prove you wrong."

Shock, rage, pain, despair-they crashed over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me. I bit my lip until it bled, the taste grounding me.

Then I laughed.

I laughed until my body shook, until blood coughed up from my throat, until tears streamed down my face.

I gave him my hear and he's cherishing someone else's.

When I signed that donor agreement, the healers swore they'd keep my name secret. Never thought it'd lead to this, him mistaking his savior.

But I won't tell him.

What's the point?

Tell him it's my heart beating in his chest?

That I've got ten days left because of it?

The blood feud-two lives has already severed any bond we might've had.

That night, Ethan barged into my room, his knock sharp and impatient.​

"Vanessa's craving coffee," he said. "Get to it."​

I lowered my eyes and headed to the kitchen without a word.

In the kitchen, I poured grounds into the filter, cold water numbing my fingers.

My mind wandered to the old days when Ethan loved my coffee. He'd wrap his arms around my waist from behind, whispering, "My mate's got the perfect touch."​

The machine gurgled, steam clouding my vision.

I swiped at my eyes, unsure if it was the heat or tears.​

Three hours later, I stood outside the master bedroom, a steaming mug in hand. I knocked softly.​

"Come in," Ethan's voice called.​

I pushed the door open.

Vanessa lounged against the headboard, Ethan perched on the bed, stirring sugar into a glass-his signature twist of the spoon, a rhythm he'd learned just to match how I took my coffee.​

"Your coffee," I said, setting the mug on the nightstand.​

Vanessa took a sip, then yelped. "Scalding! Are you trying to burn me?"​

I pressed my lips together. "I'll make it cooler."​

The second mug came up, and she pushed it away after one taste.

"No sugar? Do you even listen?"​

By the third, she barely sipped before shrieking, "Where's the milk? This is sludge!"​

Her hand flicked, and the entire mug of hot coffee splashed across my chest.​

I cried out, pain searing my skin, a red welt blooming instantly.​

"Ethan!" Vanessa whimpered, cradling her unmarked fingers, tears pooling in her eyes.

"It burned me."​

Ethan's face darkened. He kicked me hard, sending me stumbling back. "You trying to die?"

I crashed against the wall, pain blackening my vision.

"It wasn't me-she knocked it over herself."

"Shut up!" His snarl cut me off, his eyes glinting with malice.

"You're gonna lie now?"

He hit the buzzer, and two wolves appeared at the door.

"Lock her in the cold storage. One day, one night," Ethan ordered, his voice ice-cold. "Make sure she doesn't try anything stupid."

As they hauled me away, my shoulders scraping the floor, the last thing I saw seared into my eyes: Ethan lifted Vanessa's hand to his lips, his thumb brushing the back of her knuckles-the same slow, lazy stroke he used to trace down my spine. He blew softly, warm breath fanning her fingers, then pressed a kiss to each one.

The cold storage door slammed shut, and the freezing air sank into my bones.

I curled up in a corner, teeth chattering uncontrollably. The chill crept deeper, numbing my limbs, fogging my mind.

In my haze, I was back years ago.

I'd been rushed to the hospital with a severe case of wolfsbane poisoning-my throat swelling shut, skin blistering-when Ethan dropped a treaty signing with the rival pack to fly back for me.

The healers said I was teetering on the edge, so he camped by my bedside for three days straight, pressing cool cloths to my forehead and growling if the monitors beeped too loud.

Even the older wolves clucked, shaking their heads, "Never known an alpha to tend his mate like a mother wolf with her cub."

"Claire. Claire!"

His voice echoed in my head, laced with a panic I'd never heard before. A hallucination, it had to be. The Ethan of today wouldn't care if I froze to death.

When I came to, the sharp sting of antiseptic told me I was in a hospital. A healer's stern voice filled the room.

"Ethan, Claire's condition is critical, especially after that surgery she had-"

"Healer," I croaked, cutting him off. "I know my own body."

The room went silent.

Ethan stood by the window, his face unreadable in the backlight.

"As long as she's breathing, it's not my problem," he said. He didn't even glance up from the papers in his hand. "Save the sob story."​

His phone buzzed.

In the same breath, his fingers slackened, the papers crumpling slightly as he swiped to answer.

"Hey, baby," he purred, "bill's taken care of. Be there before you finish that latte, promise."

He hung up and left without a glance.

I grabbed my phone, hands shaking, and opened Instagram.

Vanessa's latest post stared back at me-a photo of Ethan by her hospital bed, his eyes tender.

"Just a little burn, and he's losing his mind, staying up all night by my side~ Wouldn't even leave to pay the bill~" the caption read.

My hand drifted to my chest, where the artificial heart hummed faintly.

Ten days. That's all I had left.

I was discharged from the hospital. Dragging my frail body through the doors, I ran straight into the last wolf I wanted to see.

Ethan loomed beside his sleek black Rolls-Royce, arm slung lazily around Vanessa's waist-his fingers drumming her hip like I wasn't even there.​

"Get in," he snapped, eyes frosty as he nodded to the back seat. "We're seeing my parents."

My fingers clenched my shirt so hard my knuckles turned white.

The car headed to a cemetery on the outskirts of town.

I watched from the back seat, the leather cold against my palms, as she traced the line of his jaw with a manicured nail, her lips brushing his earlobe.

I sat in the front passenger seat, catching their cozy reflection in the rearview mirror, each glance twisting the knife in my chest.

At the cemetery entrance, Ethan stepped out first.

I started to follow, but the sight before me froze me in place.

From the gate to the heart of the cemetery, a ten-mile path was lined with glowing red coals, shimmering like a nightmare under the sun.

Ethan pulled Vanessa close, his voice frigid. "Claire, your whole pack's guilty. Your parents are gone, so you'll pay for their sins."

He jabbed a finger at the smoldering coals. "Kneel. Crawl to my parents' grave-on your palms, not your knees. Lick the dust off their headstone when you get there. Beg for forgiveness like the filth you are."

My legs shook. I knew refusing would only make it worse.

The moment my knees hit the coals, the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

Pain seared through me, black spots dancing in my vision, but I gritted my teeth and crawled forward.

Behind me, Ethan's car rumbled, creeping along at a snail's pace.

Through the open window, I caught a flash of their hands-Ethan's fingers threaded through Vanessa's, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles. Then he lifted her hand, brushing his lips against her wrist, his gaze lingering on the pulse fluttering there like he was drunk on the sight. Vanessa giggled, twining a finger through his hair to tug his mouth closer, and he obliged, pressing a soft kiss to the base of her thumb before nipping it playfully.

Each crawl, felt like branding my body on a red-hot iron. My knees were a bloody mess, my palms charred black. Sweat and blood dripped onto the coals, hissing with every drop.

When I finally reached the gravestone, I was on the verge of passing out.

Through blurry eyes, I saw Ethan standing with Vanessa by the tomb.

"Mom, Dad," he said, his voice soft in a way I hadn't heard in years,

"I've found my true mate. I brought her to meet you. The ones who took you from me-they've paid."

Vanessa laid flowers at the grave, her voice sweet.

"Arthur, Catherine, don't worry. I'll take care of Ethan."

"Kneel," Ethan snapped, his eyes locking onto me, cold once more.

I drove my body down, forehead slamming into the gravel with a sickening crack-blood blooming where it hit the stone.

The impact jolted my teeth, and I did it again, harder, the edge of the gravestone slicing a gash above my eyebrow. By the third time, my vision blurred, blood dripping into my eyes as I pressed my cheek to the dirt, tasting iron and shame.

"Get out of here," he said, then turned, arm around Vanessa, and walked away.

Hailstones erupted from the sky on the way back, sharp as shards of ice slamming into my skin.

I dragged my shattered body forward, each step tearing the scabs on my knees, blood mixing with the icy pellets.

By the time I crawled to the villa, night had swallowed the sky, and my clothes were stiff with frozen blood.

Ethan was sprawled on the couch, twirling Vanessa's diamond bracelet between his fingers.

He glanced up, his eyes skimming my blood-crusted form like I was a stain on the rug, then went back to admiring the jewelry.​

"Vanessa wants a feast tomorrow," he said, tossing the bracelet onto a pile of her gifts. "You're planning it."

I froze.

"Make it like that dream binding ceremony you always talked about," he added, a cruel smirk curling his lips.

My heart twisted. I'd told him a hundred times about my dream ceremony-champagne towers, white roses blanketing the hall, a band playing my favorite songs. Now, my fantasy was just Vanessa's party.

"Quit dawdling." He flicked a tiny bottle of antiseptic at me, lips curling like the sight of me annoyed him. "Fix yourself. She hates looking at messes."​

He turned on his heel, not waiting for a response.

The antiseptic hit the floor. I picked it up and chucked it in the trash. Dragging my scarred, aching body, I started setting up the banquet hall, working through the night.