The phone slipped from Cole's hand as he stepped out of the shower, landing face-up on the bathroom counter with a soft thud. Steam still clung to the mirror, and I could hear him humming—actually humming—something I hadn't heard in the months I'd been living in this isolated pack house.

I shouldn't have looked. I knew that even as my fingers reached for the device, drawn by an inexplicable pull I couldn't name. The screen had lit up from the impact, displaying a video thumbnail that made my breath catch in my throat.

It was me. But not me as I knew myself now—this version of me was radiant, laughing, wearing a white dress that seemed to shimmer in moonlight. A man's hands—Cole's hands—were gently lifting my chin, and even in the blurry preview, I could see the tender way he looked at me. Like I was precious. Like I was... loved.

My finger trembled as I pressed play.

The video was grainy, clearly shot from a distance, but the audio was clear enough. I watched myself—this other version of me—as Cole's teeth grazed my neck in what could only be a mating ceremony. The me in the video arched into his touch, whispering words I couldn't quite make out but that made Cole's eyes flash with something primal and possessive.

"I love you, little wolf," his voice came through the phone's speaker, rough with emotion. "My Luna. My everything."

Luna. The word hit me like a physical blow. I wasn't his Luna—I was just his chosen mate, a burden he'd taken on out of duty or pity. But this video... this looked like so much more.

The bathroom door creaked, and I fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it as Cole appeared in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair was still damp, water droplets clinging to his shoulders, but all of that faded when his eyes locked onto the phone in my hands.

The warmth drained from his face. "Nora."

"Who is she?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper. "The woman in this video—who is she?"

Cole moved toward me slowly, like I was a wounded animal that might bolt. "Give me the phone, little wolf."

"Don't call me that." The endearment that had always confused me now felt like a mockery. "You called her that too, didn't you? In the video. You called her your Luna."

Something flickered across his features—pain, maybe, or guilt. "Nora, please. Just give me the phone."

"Is this why you keep me here?" My voice was getting stronger now, fed by a hurt I didn't fully understand. "Because I look like her? Because I remind you of someone you actually loved?"

"That's not—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his damp hair. "The phone belongs to one of the pack members. The video isn't important."

The lie hit me like a slap. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way he couldn't quite meet my eyes. "You're lying."

"I'm protecting you."

"From what? The truth?" I clutched the phone tighter, even as he reached for it. "I saw how you looked at her, Cole. I saw how she looked at you. That wasn't duty or obligation—that was real. That was love."

His hand closed over mine, gently prying the phone from my fingers. "Some truths are too painful to remember."

The words sent a chill down my spine. "Remember? What do you mean, remember?"

But Cole was already turning away, deleting the video with quick, efficient movements. "It's nothing, Nora. Just old footage that shouldn't have been on there."

I watched him destroy what felt like the only proof I'd ever seen of genuine happiness, and something inside me cracked. "You loved her."

He went very still. "Yes."

The simple admission shattered something in my chest. "And now you're stuck with me instead."

When he turned back to face me, his eyes held a depth of sorrow that made my breath hitch. "You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." I backed toward the door, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his pity. "I'm your consolation prize. Your chosen mate because you couldn't have the one you really wanted."

"Nora, wait—"

But I was already fleeing, his voice echoing behind me as I ran down the hallway. The child's laughter from the video played on repeat in my mind, along with the reverent way Cole had whispered 'my Luna' to a woman who would never be me.

I was nothing more than a pale imitation of someone he'd truly loved, trapped in a life that felt like wearing someone else's clothes. And the worst part was, I couldn't even remember agreeing to any of it.

The wolf sanctuary sat at the edge of pack territory, a sprawling compound of natural enclosures and rehabilitation centers that I'd never been allowed to visit before. Cole had finally agreed to my request to adopt a pup, though his reluctance had been written across every line of his face.

"Just to look," he'd said, his voice carefully neutral. "We'll see how you feel around them."

Now, standing before the first enclosure, I understood his hesitation. The moment I stepped through the gate, something inside me shifted—a stirring so profound it felt like waking from a long sleep. Three wolf pups tumbled over each other in the grass, their playful yips echoing off the wooden fence posts.

"Oh," I breathed, my hand flying to my chest where an ache I couldn't name bloomed warm and insistent.

The smallest pup limped toward the fence, favoring her left front paw. Her fur was a mottled gray and white, and one ear bore a small notch—evidence of whatever trauma had brought her here. When she looked up at me with amber eyes that seemed far too wise for her age, my knees nearly buckled.

"Can I go in?" I asked the handler, a middle-aged woman named Janet whose weathered hands spoke of years working with wounded animals.

"She's been skittish around most people," Janet warned, but she was already unlocking the gate. "Been here three weeks since we found her. Mother was killed by rogues."

I stepped inside, moving slowly, instinctively knowing not to make sudden movements. The other pups bounded toward me immediately, but the injured one hung back, watching with those ancient eyes.

"Hey, little one," I whispered, sinking to my knees in the grass. "It's okay. I know what it feels like to be scared."

Something in my voice must have reached her because she took a tentative step forward, then another. When she was close enough, I extended my hand palm-up, letting her catch my scent. Her cold nose touched my fingers, and the contact sent electricity racing up my arm.

"Hope," I said suddenly, the name emerging from some deep place I didn't recognize. "Your name is Hope."

The pup's tail gave the faintest wag, and she pressed closer, allowing me to run gentle fingers through her soft fur. I found myself humming—a melody I didn't remember learning—as I examined her injured paw with practiced care.

"Looks like it's healing well," I murmured, my fingers finding the exact spots to massage without causing pain. "Just needs time and patience."

"Well, I'll be damned," Janet said from behind me, her voice filled with wonder. "She hasn't let anyone touch that paw since she got here. You've got Luna qualities, that's for sure."

I froze, my hand stilling on Hope's fur. "What do you mean?"

Janet's face went carefully blank, the same expression I'd seen on so many pack members when they caught themselves saying too much around me. "Oh, just... you know. Natural nurturing instincts. Good with pups."

"But you said Luna qualities specifically." I stood slowly, Hope whimpering at the loss of contact. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing important," Janet said quickly, already backing toward the gate. "Just pack talk, you know how it is."

But I didn't know how it was. That was the problem—I didn't know anything about pack dynamics or traditions or why the word 'Luna' made my chest tight with longing I couldn't explain.

I spent another hour with the pups, but Janet's words echoed in my mind. Luna qualities. The same word from the video—the word Cole had whispered to that other woman with such reverence.

As we walked back toward the main compound, Cole fell into step beside me, his presence both comforting and confusing as always.

"She's special," I said, thinking of Hope's trusting amber eyes. "I want to bring her home."

"If that's what you want," Cole replied, but there was something strained in his voice. "We can arrange it."

The pack house came into view, its windows glowing warm against the approaching dusk. But instead of heading inside, I found myself drawn to the side of the building where Cole's office window faced the courtyard. The meeting he'd mentioned was clearly in session—I could hear the low murmur of voices through the glass.

"I should check on dinner," I said casually, though my heart was racing.

Cole nodded, distracted by something on his phone. "I'll be in my office for a while. Pack business."

I waited until he disappeared inside, then crept closer to the window. The voices were clearer now, and what I heard made my blood run cold.

"...can't keep making excuses for her absence, Cole," a gruff male voice was saying. "The other packs are starting to talk. An Alpha without his Luna present is seen as weak."

"My Luna needs privacy to heal," Cole's voice cut through the room like a blade. "I won't have her paraded around for political convenience."

"But where is she?" another voice demanded. "No one's seen hide nor hair of her in months. Some are saying she's dead, others think you never had a proper mating to begin with."

The sound Cole made was somewhere between a growl and a sob. "Don't you dare question my bond with her. She's alive, she's healing, and she's still my Luna. That hasn't changed, and it never will."

My legs gave out, and I sank against the wall beneath the window, my mind reeling. His Luna. Present tense. Not past tense like he was mourning someone lost, but present—like she was still alive, still his.

But if I was just his chosen mate, his consolation prize, then where was his real Luna? And why did the ache in my chest feel like recognition rather than jealousy when I heard the raw love in his voice?

The nightmares began three nights after my visit to the wolf sanctuary.

At first, they were just flashes—a child's cry echoing through darkness, the metallic scent of blood, my own voice screaming apologies to someone I couldn't see. I'd wake with my heart hammering against my ribs, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to my skin, and that familiar ache in my scarred hand.

But each night, the images grew clearer. More vivid. More terrifying.

Tonight, I saw my hands—definitely my hands, with the distinctive scar across my palm—covered in crimson. A small figure lay crumpled in the corner of what looked like a nursery, crying in a voice that tore through my soul. And there was something else—a wolf, gray and white like Hope, whimpering as it tried to crawl away from me.

"I'm sorry," I heard myself sobbing in the dream. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

I jolted awake, my own voice still echoing in the empty room. The clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM, but I couldn't bear the thought of closing my eyes again. Instead, I sat up, pressing my palms against my temples as if I could physically push the images away.

Were these memories? Or was my damaged mind creating horrors to fill the gaps in my past?

The uncertainty was eating me alive.

By the fourth night, I'd given up on sleep entirely. I spent the dark hours pacing the small living room, making tea I didn't drink, staring out at the moonlit forest and trying to understand why every shadow seemed to whisper accusations.

Cole noticed, of course. He always noticed.

"You look exhausted," he said over breakfast, his voice carefully gentle. "Are you sleeping?"

"Fine," I lied, pushing scrambled eggs around my plate. "Just adjusting to the idea of bringing Hope home."

His eyes searched my face with that intensity that always made me feel transparent. "Nora—"

"I said I'm fine." The words came out sharper than I intended, and I saw him flinch. "Sorry. I'm just... tired."

He was quiet for a long moment, then stood abruptly. "Wait here."

I heard him moving around in his office, the sound of drawers opening and closing, papers rustling. When he returned, he carried a manila envelope that looked worn from handling.

"I think it's time," he said, settling back into his chair. "You've been asking questions, and maybe... maybe you deserve some answers."

My pulse quickened. "What kind of answers?"

Instead of responding, he opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of photographs. The first one he placed on the table made my breath catch.

It was me—or someone who looked exactly like me—in a white dress that seemed to glow in candlelight. I was laughing, my head thrown back in pure joy, while Cole's arms wrapped around me from behind. His face was buried in my neck, and even in the still image, I could see the reverence in his posture.

"Who is this?" I whispered, though part of me already knew the answer would shatter something inside me.

"Look closer," Cole said softly.

I picked up the photo with trembling fingers. The woman's face was mine—not similar, not close, but exactly mine. Down to the small freckle beside my left eye and the way my smile tilted slightly higher on one side.

"I don't understand," I breathed.

Cole placed another photo beside the first. This one showed the same woman—me—holding a tiny baby with dark hair and Cole's distinctive green eyes. The love on my face was so profound it made my chest ache with longing for something I couldn't name.

"And this one." Another photo. Me in casual clothes, sitting in what looked like this very kitchen, feeding the baby while Cole watched us both with an expression of such tender devotion it made tears spring to my eyes.

Each image felt like a punch to the gut. I recognized the settings—this house, the pack grounds, even Cole's office in the background of one shot. But I couldn't remember any of it. These moments of apparent happiness, this life of love and family, were completely foreign to me.

"Stop," I gasped, pushing the photos away. "Stop, please."

"Nora—"

"Who is she?" I demanded, even as my rational mind screamed the impossible truth. "Who is this woman who looks exactly like me? Who lives in my house, with my... with you?"

Cole's face crumpled with a pain so raw it took my breath away. "She's you, little wolf. This is you."

"That's impossible." But even as I said it, I was reaching for the photos again, drawn to these glimpses of a life I couldn't remember. "I would remember being this happy. I would remember having a child."

"You were," he whispered. "And you did."

The room tilted around me. "Where is she? The baby—where is she now?"

Cole's silence stretched between us like a chasm, and in that moment, the fragments of my nightmares began to shift into a terrifying new pattern.