Scarlett

The lake water was so cold it felt like liquid fire in my lungs.

I was sinking, my limbs heavy as lead, the surface growing dimmer with each passing second. The pack's laughter still echoed in my ears—cruel, mocking sounds that followed me even into the depths. Killian's words cut deeper than the icy water: "You want to be with your own brother? That's disgusting."

The portrait I'd spent weeks painting lay in shattered pieces on the funeral hall floor. Rosalie's funeral. My stepsister, who everyone loved, who everyone mourned. Everyone except me, apparently. Because I was the freak who'd fallen for her stepbrother. The pathetic girl who couldn't tell the difference between family and mate.

My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside, but even she was too weak to fight anymore. The bone marrow transplant had taken everything from me—my strength, my hope, my will to keep going. And when Killian destroyed that painting, when he looked at me with such disgust, something inside me finally broke.

I remembered being twelve, scared and alone when Mom remarried into the Gates pack. Killian was the only one who didn't treat me like an outsider. He taught me to shift, helped me with my homework, made me feel like I belonged.

I remembered being sixteen, cornered by ten rogue wolves in the forest. Killian appeared like an avenging angel, his massive black wolf tearing through them to reach me. He'd been bloodied and exhausted afterward, but he'd held me close and whispered that he'd always protect me.

I remembered being eighteen, my wolf's voice clear as crystal for the first time: "Mate. He's our mate."

But mates weren't supposed to feel disgust when they looked at you. Mates weren't supposed to shatter your heart into a thousand pieces and leave you drowning in a frozen lake.

The water pressed against my chest, stealing what little breath I had left. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges. Maybe this was better. Maybe—

A blinding flash of light exploded behind my eyelids.

I gasped, my eyes flying open. White. Everything was white—sterile white walls, white sheets, white fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit me like a physical blow.

I was alive. I was in a bed. And standing beside me, his face a mask of barely controlled desperation, was Killian.

"Please, Tessa," he was saying, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Donating blood isn't a big deal for you, but without it, Rosalie will die."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. Rosalie. The blood donation. This conversation—I remembered this conversation. But that was impossible. Rosalie was already dead. I'd attended her funeral. I'd painted that portrait that Killian destroyed. I'd thrown myself into the lake because—

My heart hammered against my ribs as the truth crashed over me. I was back. Somehow, impossibly, I was back to the day Killian first asked me to donate blood for Rosalie.

He looked exactly as I remembered—tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair disheveled from running his hands through it, his green eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights at Rosalie's bedside. He wore the same gray sweater, the same desperate expression.

"The doctors say she needs a specific blood type," he continued, unaware that I was staring at him like he was a ghost. "Your blood type. You're the only compatible donor in the pack."

My body felt weak, hollow. The bone marrow transplant had been three weeks ago—I'd given everything I had to save a pack member who'd been dying of leukemia. The doctors had warned me that my immune system was compromised, that I needed time to recover. Another blood donation so soon could be dangerous. Could be fatal.

Last time—in my previous life—I'd said no. I'd been too weak, too scared. And Killian had left my hospital room with such disappointment in his eyes. Rosalie had died two days later, and the entire pack blamed me. Called me selfish. Heartless.

Killian had never forgiven me. And eventually, that lack of forgiveness had curdled into something much worse.

"Tessa?" His voice was softer now, uncertain. "I know you're still recovering, but—"

"I'll do it."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Killian's eyes widened, his prepared arguments dying on his lips. He'd clearly expected me to refuse again, had probably rehearsed a dozen different ways to convince me.

"You—what?"

I struggled to sit up, my muscles protesting. The IV in my arm tugged uncomfortably, but I ignored it. "I said I'll do it. I'll donate the blood."

Relief flooded his features, so intense it was almost painful to watch. This was what love looked like on Killian Gates—not the romantic love I'd dreamed of, but the fierce, protective love he felt for his sister. The love he'd never felt for me.

"Thank you," he breathed, stepping closer to the bed. For a moment, I thought he might reach for my hand. "Tessa, I can't tell you what this means—"

"But this is the last time."

He froze, confusion replacing relief. "What?"

I met his gaze steadily, my voice calm despite the storm raging in my chest. "This is the last debt I owe the Gates family. After this, we're even. I don't want anything from you, and you don't get to ask anything from me. We're done."

"Tessa, what are you talking about? You're family—"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "I'm not family. I never was. I was just the awkward stepsister you tolerated because you had to."

Killian's jaw tightened. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" I shifted in the bed, every movement sending waves of exhaustion through me. "After Rosalie recovers, I'm leaving the pack. I'll find somewhere else to go."

"You can't just leave—"

"Watch me."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and broken dreams. Killian's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his wolf probably pushing against his control. But I was beyond caring about his comfort.

I'd died for this family once. I'd given everything—my blood, my bone marrow, my heart, my life—and it had never been enough. This time would be different.

This time, I'd save Rosalie because it was the right thing to do. But then I'd walk away before Killian could destroy me again.

"I'll call the doctor," he said finally, his voice strained. "Get everything set up."

He turned toward the door, then paused. "Tessa... why are you doing this? Really?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of my previous life pressing down on me like the lake water that had filled my lungs.

"Because," I said quietly, "everyone deserves a second chance. Even people who don't deserve it."

I wasn't sure if I was talking about Rosalie or myself.

Scarlett

Killian stared at me, his green eyes wide with something that looked almost like shock. His mouth opened, then closed, as if the words had gotten stuck somewhere in his throat.

"Are you serious?" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, keeping my expression as neutral as possible despite the way my heart was hammering against my ribs. "Completely serious."

He ran a hand through his dark hair, the gesture so familiar it made my chest ache. "I thought... I thought you'd want something in return. I thought you'd ask me to—" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching.

"To what?" I asked, though I already knew what he'd been about to say. In my previous life, he'd accused me of exactly that—of using Rosalie's illness as leverage to force him into marking me.

"Nothing," he said quickly, but his eyes told a different story. "I just... I expected you to make demands."

"My only demand is simple." I shifted in the hospital bed, ignoring the way the IV tugged at my arm. "After this, I want to sever all ties with the Gates family. Completely. I won't be your stepsister anymore. I won't be part of your pack. I'll be nothing to you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Killian's expression darkened, his wolf probably pushing against his control. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous.

"Don't play games with me, Tessa." He stepped closer to the bed, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "If you think leaving the Gates family will somehow give us a chance, you're delusional. Rosalie is my destined mate. She's the only one I'll ever mark."

The words hit me like physical blows, each one designed to cut deep. My wolf whimpered inside me, a sound of pure anguish that I felt in my bones. But I'd heard these words before. I'd died with them echoing in my head.

"I know," I said quietly, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "I understand completely."

Killian's frown deepened, as if my calm acceptance confused him more than anger would have. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a soft knock on the door interrupted him.

Dr. Morrison entered, his expression grave. He was a middle-aged man with kind eyes and graying hair, someone who'd always treated me with more compassion than most pack members.

"Miss Gates," he said, then caught himself. "Miss Tessa. I need to discuss the risks with you before we proceed."

Killian stepped back, but I could feel his intense gaze on me as Dr. Morrison pulled up a chair beside my bed.

"Your recent bone marrow donation has left your body in a severely compromised state," the doctor explained, his voice gentle but firm. "Your blood count is dangerously low, your immune system is barely functioning. A full blood transfusion at this point could be fatal."

I heard Killian's sharp intake of breath, but I didn't look at him. Instead, I focused on Dr. Morrison's concerned face.

"What are the exact odds?" I asked.

"There's a sixty percent chance of severe complications. Forty percent chance of... not surviving the procedure."

The room fell silent except for the steady beep of my heart monitor. I could feel Killian's shock radiating from across the room, but I'd already made my decision. I'd made it the moment I woke up in this bed, given this impossible second chance.

"I'll sign the consent forms," I said.

Dr. Morrison's eyebrows shot up. "Miss Tessa, I don't think you understand—"

"I understand perfectly." I met his gaze steadily. "Someone will die if I don't do this. At least this way, there's a chance we both survive."

The doctor looked between me and Killian, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I'll need to prepare the paperwork. But please, take some time to think about this. Talk to your family—"

"Killian!" A weak voice called from the hallway, cutting through the doctor's words. "Killian, where are you?"

Rosalie. Even through the walls, her voice carried that particular quality that had always made everyone in the pack want to protect her. Soft, vulnerable, with just a hint of breathlessness that made you think of wounded birds.

Killian's entire body went rigid, his head turning toward the sound like a compass finding north. The look on his face—pure, desperate love—was exactly the same as I remembered. It still cut like a knife.

"I'll be right back," he told Dr. Morrison, already moving toward the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Tessa... there's something different about you today."

Before I could respond, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway toward Rosalie's room.

Dr. Morrison sighed, gathering his clipboard. "I'll prepare the consent forms, but please reconsider. This is an enormous risk."

After he left, I lay back against the pillows, staring at the white ceiling. Through the thin walls, I could hear Killian's voice, low and soothing, probably holding Rosalie's hand and promising her everything would be okay.

I closed my eyes, remembering how this had played out the first time. In a few minutes, Rosalie would start crying about how she couldn't ask me to risk my life for her. How she knew I hated her and would never agree to help. Killian would rush back to convince me, and I'd refuse because I was too scared, too weak.

But this time was different. This time, I knew exactly what kind of person Rosalie really was beneath that fragile exterior.

Footsteps approached my room again—multiple sets this time. I opened my eyes to see Killian returning, but he wasn't alone. Rosalie was with him, leaning heavily on his arm, her face pale but her eyes sharp and calculating.

She looked exactly as I remembered—delicate features, long blonde hair that always seemed to catch the light perfectly, and those wide blue eyes that could make anyone believe she was innocent. She wore a pink silk nightgown that somehow managed to look elegant even in a hospital setting.

"Oh, Tessa," she said, her voice trembling with what sounded like genuine emotion. "I heard what Killian asked you to do. Please, don't feel pressured. I know how much you hate me. I know you'd never want to help me."

Tears gathered in her eyes, making them sparkle like sapphires. It was a masterful performance—one that had fooled me completely the first time around.

"Actually," I said, my voice calm, "I've already agreed to donate the blood."

Rosalie's tears stopped as if someone had turned off a faucet. For just a moment, her mask slipped, and I saw something cold and calculating flash across her features. Then the vulnerable expression was back, but now I could see it for what it really was—a weapon.

"You... you agreed?" she asked, her voice higher now, almost shrill. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," I confirmed.

Rosalie's grip on Killian's arm tightened, her knuckles going white. "What did you ask for in return? Did you... did you make Killian promise to mark you?"

The accusation hung in the air like poison. I could see Killian tense, waiting for my answer, probably expecting me to confirm his worst suspicions about my motives.

"I didn't ask for anything except to be released from this family," I said simply.

Rosalie's face went through several expressions in rapid succession—confusion, disbelief, and then something that looked almost like rage. Before I could react, she'd pulled away from Killian and crossed the room in three quick steps.

The slap came so fast I didn't have time to dodge it. Her palm connected with my cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, the force of it snapping my head to the side.

"You disgusting little manipulator!" she screamed, all pretense of fragility gone. "You think this makes you noble? You think Killian will be grateful and finally notice you? If he ever marks you, I'll kill myself! Do you hear me?"

I touched my burning cheek, tasting blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my mouth. Through the ringing in my ears, I saw Killian take a step toward me, his face a mask of shock and something that might have been protective instinct.

But then Rosalie let out a sob that sounded like a wounded animal, and he stopped mid-step. His internal struggle was visible—the brief moment where he'd wanted to help me warring with his deeper loyalty to her.

Loyalty won, as it always did.

He turned away from me and gathered Rosalie into his arms, holding her trembling form against his chest. "Shh," he murmured into her hair. "It's okay. Everything's okay."

I stood up slowly, my legs shaky from the medication and blood loss. The slap had left my face throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the familiar ache in my chest.

"I should go sign those consent forms," I said quietly, moving toward the door.

As I reached the threshold, Killian's voice stopped me. He didn't turn around, didn't look at me, just held Rosalie tighter as he spoke.

"Rosalie is my only mate," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the room. "As for anyone else? It's impossible."

I paused in the doorway, my hand gripping the frame so tightly my knuckles went white. In my previous life, those words had shattered me completely. They'd been the beginning of the end, the first crack in the dam that would eventually burst and drown me in that frozen lake.

But this time, I just smiled—a bitter, knowing expression that no one could see.

"I know," I whispered, so quietly that only I could hear it. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."

And with that, I walked away, leaving them to their perfect, toxic love story. This time, I wouldn't be there to watch it destroy me.

Scarlett

I stepped out of the hospital room on unsteady legs, my fingers already dialing a number I'd memorized but never had the courage to call before. The hallway felt endless, sterile white walls pressing in on me as I waited for her to pick up.

"Dr. Cole speaking."

"Miranda, it's Tessa." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I want to accept the position. The war zone medical aid project you mentioned last month."

Silence stretched across the line, so long I wondered if the call had dropped. Then came her sharp intake of breath.

"Tessa? Are you serious? I thought you'd declined because of your pack obligations." Dr. Miranda Cole had been my mentor since medical school, one of the few people who'd seen potential in the awkward stepsister of the Gates family. "And your recent bone marrow donation—your body needs time to recover."

"I'm serious." I pressed my back against the cool wall, watching nurses bustle past with their purposeful strides. "I know the risks. But I also know I'm one of the most qualified trauma surgeons available right now."

"The program starts in two weeks, Tessa. You'd be deployed to active conflict zones for six months minimum. Have you discussed this with your Alpha? With your family?"

The word 'family' sent a bitter laugh bubbling up from my chest. "They don't get a say in this decision. This is my life, my career. I'm doing this."

Another pause, then Miranda's voice softened with something that sounded like pride. "I've been hoping you'd change your mind. Your surgical skills are exceptional, and frankly, we need someone with your trauma experience. But Tessa—are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life."

"Alright then. I'll email you the paperwork tonight. Welcome to Doctors Without Borders, Dr. Hayes."

The call ended, and I stared at my phone screen, a strange mix of terror and exhilaration coursing through my veins. For the first time since waking up in this second chance at life, I felt like I was taking control of my own destiny.

But as I tried to push away from the wall, the world tilted dangerously. My vision blurred, and my legs gave out beneath me. The bone marrow transplant had taken more from me than I'd admitted to anyone, including myself.

I stumbled forward, expecting to hit the cold linoleum floor, but instead collided with something warm and solid. Strong arms caught me, steadying me against a broad chest that smelled like pine and something distinctly masculine.

"Careful there."

Killian's voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my cheek. I jerked back, my face burning with embarrassment and something else I didn't want to name. His green eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "Something about a project?"

My mind scrambled for a believable lie. "My mentor. Dr. Cole. She was asking if I wanted to join the pack's medical support team for the upcoming inter-pack gathering."

Killian's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't question my story. Instead, his hands remained on my arms, steadying me with a gentleness that felt at odds with the cold distance he'd maintained since Rosalie's arrival.

"The surgery is scheduled for next week," he said, his voice taking on that Alpha tone that brooked no argument. "I'm taking Rosalie home to recover in familiar surroundings. Until then, I don't want to see any conflicts between you two. She's fragile right now."

Fragile. The word tasted like ash in my mouth, but I nodded anyway. "Understood."

He studied my face for another long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "You look different today. Determined. It's... unexpected."

Before I could respond, he'd released me and walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart hammering against my ribs.

The next few days passed in a blur of paperwork and preparation. I threw myself into organizing my departure, rising before dawn to handle the medical aid project documentation and returning home well after dark. The Gates family mansion felt more like a mausoleum than a home, its grand hallways echoing with memories I was desperate to escape.

Killian and I moved around each other like ghosts, occupying the same space but never truly interacting. He'd brought Rosalie home as promised, installing her in the master suite like a precious china doll. I could hear her melodic laughter drifting through the walls at all hours, punctuated by Killian's deeper voice responding to her every need.

But sometimes, I caught him watching me. When I thought I was alone in the kitchen making coffee, when I passed through the living room with my laptop bag, when I stood on the back porch breathing in the night air. His gaze held a complexity I couldn't decipher—part confusion, part something that almost looked like concern.

I ignored it all. I had bigger plans now.

The night before my surgery, I sat in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by packed suitcases and sealed boxes. Everything I truly cared about fit into two bags. The rest—designer clothes Killian had bought me over the years, jewelry from pack celebrations, photographs of family gatherings where I'd never quite belonged—could stay behind with the life I was leaving.

I pulled out a piece of paper and began to write:

*Killian,*

*By the time you read this, the surgery will be over and I'll be gone. Don't look for me. Don't try to bring me back. This isn't a cry for attention or a manipulation—it's a clean break.*

*I've given Rosalie what she needed to survive. I've fulfilled my obligation to this family. Now I'm choosing a different path.*

*Thank you for the years of protection and shelter. I won't forget the kindness you showed me when I was young and scared. But I also won't pretend that what we had was ever real family.*

*From today forward, Tessa Hayes no longer belongs to Silverstone Pack.*

*Don't mourn me. Don't regret me. Just let me go.*

*Tessa*

I folded the letter carefully and placed it on my desk where he'd be sure to find it. Tomorrow, after the surgery, while everyone was focused on Rosalie's recovery, I'd slip away. Dr. Cole had arranged for a car to pick me up from the hospital's back entrance.

By the time Killian realized I was serious about leaving, I'd be on a plane to somewhere he'd never think to look.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars still clung from my teenage years. Tomorrow would bring either salvation or destruction. Either way, it would be my choice.

For the first time in my life, I was writing my own story.