The rain fell like needles, sharp and cold, washing away what was left of my old life. But no storm could remove the truth I was never meant to be Aria DeLuca.

I looked out the window of the Rossi property in San Francisco, watching the rain blur the city lights. It had been three weeks since the crowning. Three weeks since Lorenzo’s words had cut through the air and destroyed my world.

“You were never meant to wear my mark.”

Those words still rang in my head like a curse I couldn’t escape.

I touched my wrist, the place where his mark should have been. My skin was bare, pale, shivering. Once, I had dreamed of that mark representing forever. Now it only reminded me of the moment I was called a fake before the entire pack.

Rossi, my so-called savior, sat across the room, smoking slowly, his dark eyes following my every move.

“If you keep staring out that window, someone might think you’re waiting for him,” he said in a low, joking tone.

I turned toward him, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m not.”

He smirked. “Liar.”

My jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, standing up and walking closer. “You still love him, don’t you? The Alpha who tossed you away like ash after the fire.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The quiet spoke louder than words ever could.

Rossi sighed and sat beside me, the faint smell of smoke and danger sticking to him. “Listen, Aria”

“I’m not Aria anymore,” I interrupted softly. “Aria DeLuca is dead.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “Then who are you now?”

I looked back at the rain-soaked window, the city lights shining like broken glass in my eyes. “Whoever I need to be to survive.”

That night, the memories came like knives.

The hospital room. The crying kids. My mother’s tired smile before everything turned to chaos.

I remembered some voices, one demanding. And then another, cold and forceful.

“She’s the real heiress,” a nurse whispered. “The other one is the midwife’s child”

“Not anymore,” said a man’s voice. “Make the switch. She’ll have everything.”

The memory jolted me awake, gasping. My hand pressed to my chest, heart beating wildly.

Was it a dream or the truth my mind had buried for years?

I stumbled from the bed, searching the drawers Rossi had given me. Birth papers, fake IDs, cash tools for the new life he was helping me build. But at the bottom of the pile was something else.

A blurred picture. Two babies. A hospital tag with my mother’s name and another with the name Aurora Rossi.

My stomach turned. Aurora Rossi. The woman who’d taken my place. The woman who now wore my crown.

I didn’t notice Rossi enter the room until his voice broke the silence.

“You found it.”

I froze. “You knew?”

He leaned against the doorframe, shadows cutting across his sharp features. “I didn’t know. I suspected.”

“Suspected?” I hissed. “You let me think I was going insane?”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” he said, his tone tightening. “You need to remember it yourself. If I told you, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

My throat got tight. “So it’s true. I was switched at birth.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Aurora’s father bribed the midwife. He wanted a Luna for his family. Your parents were weak. Poor. Easy to silence.”

The room spun. My pulse roared in my ears. “So… my whole life… every smile, every promise, every rejection was built on a lie?”

Rossi’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “If they took your name, Aria, then build another they can’t touch.”

I sank onto the bed, holding the picture so tightly it nearly tore. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” he said, walking closer. “But you’ve already survived worse.”

His hand brushed mine, and for a moment, I felt warmth against something dangerous and unsaid.

But the warmth turned cold when a sharp pain tore through my stomach.

I gasped, doubling over.

“Aria?” Rossi’s tone snapped into worry.

I clutched the side of the bed, breath coming fast. “It’s just fine”

Then I felt it again. The same twisted pain that had started days ago.

He caught me before I hit the floor. “You’re not fine,” he whispered, carrying me to the bed. “You’re burning up.”

“I just need a moment,” I said through gritted teeth.

He knelt in front of me, his hand sitting on my knee. “When was the last time you saw a doctor?”

“I haven’t,” I whispered. “I can’t risk being found.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re risking your life instead.”

“I’ll be fine.”

But I wasn’t. The next wave of pain came harder, and something inside me broke. Tears filled my eyes.

“Rossi,” I whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

He cursed under his breath and grabbed his phone. “We’re leaving. Now.”

The drive through the storm was a blur. My world tilted between pain and flashes of light. Rossi’s voice was the only thing keeping me linked.

“Stay with me, Aria.”

I blinked through tears. “You shouldn’t care. You barely know me.”

He glanced at me, his jaw set. “I don’t leave people bleeding on the floor. Not anymore.”

Not anymore. The words held weightguilt, maybe even pardon.

The car skidded to a stop outside an abandoned clinic. He carried me inside, breaking the lock with a sharp kick.

The air smelled of dust and rain. Old surgery lights flickered overhead.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I obeyed, trembling. My heart thundered in my ears as he rummaged through drawers, pulling out supplies.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked, voice weak.

He didn’t look up. “Because you remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

He finally met my eyes. “Someone I failed to protect.”

The quiet that followed was heavier than sound.

Then he froze, eyes flicking to the small ultrasound machine still hooked to the power. “Lie back,” he said gently.

I listened. The gel was cold against my skin. The moment the picture flickered onto the screen, everything stopped.

Two heartbeats.

One mine. One incredibly small and alive.

Rossi stared at the monitor, stunned. “You’re pregnant.”

The words hit like a bullet.

“No,” I breathed. “That can’t be”

“It can,” he said softly. “You didn’t know?”

My eyes blurred with tears. “No. I thought the pain was from stress… from running.”

Rossi’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “It’s his, isn’t it?”

I nodded, the truth killing me. “Lorenzo.”

The name tasted like salt and blood.

Rossi’s jaw tightened. “The bastard marked another woman while you carried his child.”

“Don’t,” I said hoarsely. “Don’t talk about him.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live in your head.”

“He already lives in my blood,” I said, voice breaking.

Rossi looked away, his face blank. “Then we’ll make sure he never touches you or that child again."

I turned my face toward the wall, tears slipping quietly down. “You don’t understand. He won’t stop until I’m gone. He thinks I’m a liar. A thief.”

Rossi’s tone hardened. “Then we’ll make him regret believing that.”

Hours passed. The rain softened. I sat on the clinic bed, looking at the faint picture of the baby that changed everything.

I was no longer just a broken Luna. I was a mother.

And if the world wanted to call me a fraud then I would become something far more dangerous.

I was done lying.

But just as resolve began to build inside me, Rossi’s phone buzzed. He frowned and answered, his tone sharp.

“What?” A pause. His jaw went stiff. “Say that again.”

My heart stills. “What is it?”

He hung up slowly. “They know you’re here.”

The blood drained from my face. “How?”

He looked toward the door, eyes dark as sin. “Because someone in this city just sold your location to the DeLuca pack.”

The lights flickered again, thunder cracking in the background.

I pressed a shaking hand to my stomach. “Then we run.”

Rossi’s eyes burned with a dangerous calm. “No, sweetheart. We fight.”

Outside, headlights cut through the rain-soaked night black SUVs moving toward the clinic like hungry dogs. And as the first engine roared closer, I whispered to my unborn child, “You were born of betrayal, little one but you’ll rise in blood.”

Success has a strange sound, it doesn’t scream; it hums softly under your skin, saying, You made it. But no amount of glitter can quiet the ghosts of the past.

Three years.

That’s how long it took for me to stop shaking every time I heard the name DeLuca. Three years to bury the scared girl who ran through tunnels and replace her with someone new. Someone powerful.

Someone untouchable.

The flashing lights from the press outside my shop glittered through the glass walls as I stood before the mirror, fixing the diamond pin on my jacket. The woman looking back at me was a stranger's hair pulled into a perfect bun, blood-red lipstick, shoes sharp enough to kill.

“Miss Vale,” my helper called softly from the door. “The investors are waiting.”

Miss Vale. The name rolled off her tongue like silk. A name I’d picked carefully Aria Vale, creator and CEO of Moonveil Couture. The name alone made photographers talk and fashion houses tremble.

I smiled at her mirror. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

As the door shut, I stared at the skyline beyond the glass. San Francisco sparkled under the afternoon sun, but I still felt the cold shadow of Los Angeles, the city I had fled, the pack that had destroyed me, the Alpha who had called me a fraud.

Lorenzo.

Even thinking his name was like tasting blood.

I pressed a hand to my gut reflexively, a habit I hadn’t lost even after all this time. My secret was safe. The one thing they hadn’t killed.

The meeting was routine numbers, drawings, and growth plans. I listened, nodded, and signed. But my mind was elsewhere, always halfway between the kingdom I’d built and the life I’d lost.

When the boardroom cleared, I stepped out onto the deck. The air smelled of flowers and rain. Rossi joined me moments later, his dark suit crisp, his eyes steady.

“Three years,” he said with a smile. “And you still manage to make every wolf in this city bow to you.”

I turned to him with a faint smile. “I learned from the best.”

“Flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“Neither does mercy,” I said quietly.

He laughed, but there was pride in his eyes. “You’ve come a long way from the girl bleeding in a clinic.”

“That girl died,” I answered. “She had to.”

“Still,” he said, giving me a glass of wine, “you built something extraordinary. Moonveil isn’t just a brand, it’s a throne.”

I took a sip, enjoying the sharp taste. “And thrones always come with enemies.”

He studied me for a moment, his voice low. “You’ve been watching the DeLucas again, haven’t you?”

My hand tightened on the glass. “I don’t watch. I study. There’s a difference.”

“You mean him.”

I didn’t answer.

Rossi sighed. “You can’t keep living like this, Aria. Revenge doesn’t fill the hole. It only feeds it.”

“Maybe,” I said, setting the glass down. “But it keeps me alive.”

Later that night, after the building cleared and quiet fell over the penthouse office, I pulled out the old photograph, the one with two babies in the hospital. I traced my fingers over the edges, the faint handwriting of my mother’s name.

Aurora’s face terrified me still, her perfect smile, her gleaming title, her hand on the man who should’ve been mine.

“They stole my birthright,” I whispered into the dark. “Now I’ll take theirs.”