The scent started the next morning.

I woke to it—that rust and tobacco smell seeping under my bedroom door like poison gas. My stomach turned before I was fully conscious. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was sick, retching until there was nothing left.

Kehlani had taken the room next to the nursery. Right across the hall from where I slept.

I tried to tell myself it would fade. That I'd adjust. But every time I walked that hallway to reach Leo, the smell got stronger. It clung to the walls, the carpet, my clothes. By the third day, I couldn't keep food down. By the fifth, I hadn't slept more than an hour at a time.

I found Levi in his office, surrounded by territorial maps and pack reports.

"Please," I said. My voice came out thin, desperate. "Move her to the west wing. Anywhere else. I can't—the scent—"

"What scent?" Levi didn't look up from his papers.

"Her father's. I can smell him on her. It's making me sick."

Now he looked at me. His eyes were cold, clinical. Like he was examining a broken thing. "Arya, Kehlani's father has been dead for three years."

I knew that. But blood carried memory. Scent didn't lie.

"I'm not imagining it," I said.

"Aren't you?" He set down his pen with careful precision. "Dr. Chen warned me this might happen. Trauma responses. Your mind projecting your past onto innocent people."

Dr. Chen. The pack therapist Levi had insisted I see after Leo was born. The one who'd diagnosed me with anxiety, depression, PTSD—a whole alphabet of broken.

"This isn't in my head," I said.

"Then why can't anyone else smell it?" His voice was so gentle. So reasonable. "I've asked the staff. They say Kehlani smells like lavender and honey. Pleasant. Normal."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. What could I say? That my wolf knew? My wolf was barely there anymore, crushed under years of submission.

"You're projecting," Levi said. He stood, came around the desk, and pulled me into his arms. I stood rigid against his chest. "I know you're scared. But Kehlani is not her father. She's just a girl trying to make a life for herself. You can't punish her for his sins."

I wanted to scream. To claw my way out of his arms and run. But where would I go? This was my home. My prison.

"Give it time," he murmured into my hair. "You'll see I'm right."

Three days later, the invitation arrived.

Margaret's garden tea party. Printed on cream cardstock with gold lettering, delivered by a pack omega who wouldn't meet my eyes. The Former Luna hosting her annual spring social for the territory's high-ranking she-wolves.

I wasn't invited. I was summoned.

The garden was perfect—white tents, crystal glasses catching sunlight, tables draped in silk. Margaret held court at the center, surrounded by Lunas and Betas' mates in designer dresses and expensive jewelry. I wore the only nice dress I owned, a simple blue thing that suddenly felt like rags.

"Arya." Margaret's smile was sharp as glass. "How lovely you could join us. Please, sit."

She gestured to a chair at the far end of the table. Away from the other women. Away from the conversation.

I sat.

"Now remember," Margaret said, her voice carrying across the garden. "We have so much to discuss. Pack alliances, the upcoming Moon Festival, the new trade agreements with the Eastern territories. Such complex matters."

Her eyes found mine. "Some topics require a certain level of understanding. So if anyone feels overwhelmed, please, just listen and learn."

The other women nodded. A few glanced at me with pity. Or contempt. I couldn't tell anymore.

Then Kehlani arrived.

She wore white—a flowing sundress that made her look ethereal. Innocent. Margaret's face lit up like she'd been waiting for this moment.

"Kehlani, darling! Come sit beside me." Margaret patted the chair at the head of the table. The place of honor. "Ladies, this is Kehlani Davis. She's been such a blessing to our pack. So poised. So graceful."

Kehlani smiled shyly and took her seat. Within minutes, she had the table charmed. She spoke about literature, art, pack politics—all the things I'd never learned because I'd spent my formative years in a cage.

"Such elegance," Margaret sighed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's refreshing. My poor Levi has been so burdened, you understand. Taking in a stray with such... difficulties. Trauma makes people so fragile. So broken."

My hands shook. I set down my teacup before I dropped it.

"But Kehlani," Margaret continued, "she's whole. Undamaged. The kind of wolf who could truly support an Alpha."

I stood. The chair scraped against stone.

Every eye turned to me. Margaret's smile widened.

"Leaving so soon, dear?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I'd scream. Or cry. Or both.

I walked away. Heard the whispers start behind me. Heard Margaret's voice, dripping false sympathy: "Poor thing. She tries so hard, but some wolves simply aren't meant for pack life."

That night, Levi found me in our bedroom.

"You embarrassed me," he said. Not angry. Disappointed. Somehow that was worse. "My mother went to great effort to include you. And you walked out like a child throwing a tantrum."

"She humiliated me," I whispered.

"She was trying to help you socialize. You're too sensitive, Arya. You see insults where there are none."

I turned away. Stared out the window at the dark garden below.

That's when I saw her.

Kehlani, walking through the moonlit garden in a white dress. Not the sundress from the party—this one was vintage, with lace sleeves and a high collar. Old-fashioned. Romantic.

She moved like a ghost.

Then Levi appeared. I watched him approach her, watched the way his whole body changed. Softened. He reached out, touched her face with a tenderness I'd never seen directed at me.

She tilted her head. A specific angle, chin down, eyes up through her lashes.

And Levi looked at her like she was the Moon Goddess herself.

I'd seen that look before. In Levi's study, there was a portrait. A woman in a white dress with lace sleeves. His fated mate. The one who died.

Or the one he rejected.

Kehlani wasn't just the daughter of my tormentor.

She was a ghost made flesh.

Dr. Chen arrived the morning after the garden party. I heard his voice downstairs, low and professional, discussing me like I was a case file instead of a person.

Levi brought him to our bedroom. I was still in my nightgown, hadn't bothered to dress. What was the point?

"Arya," Dr. Chen said, setting his medical bag on the dresser. "Levi tells me you've been having episodes. Paranoia. Violent outbursts."

"I'm not paranoid," I said. My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

"She attacked our nanny," Levi said from the doorway. "Unprovoked. In front of the entire household staff."

That wasn't what happened. But the words died in my throat.

Dr. Chen pulled out a penlight, checked my pupils. Asked me questions I couldn't focus on. The whole time, Levi stood there watching, his arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.

"Post-partum psychosis," Dr. Chen finally said. "Combined with delusional paranoia stemming from past trauma. It's not uncommon in Omegas with her history."

"No," I whispered. "That's not—"

"The treatment is rest and medication," Dr. Chen continued, like I hadn't spoken. "Complete bed rest. No stress. No responsibilities."

He pulled a syringe from his bag.

I tried to stand. Levi's hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and immovable. "This is for your own good, Arya."

The needle slid into my arm. Cold spread through my veins, pulling me down into cotton-thick darkness.

I woke to shadows.

The room was dim, curtains drawn. My head felt stuffed with wool. My limbs were lead. I tried to sit up and the world tilted sideways.

Then I saw her.

Kehlani sat in the chair beside my bed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked like a painting—serene, beautiful, patient.

"You're awake," she said.

I tried to speak. My tongue was thick, clumsy.

She leaned forward, and her expression changed. The sweetness drained away, replaced by something cold and sharp.

Her voice slid into my mind like a knife. *Can you hear me, Arya?*

The mind-link. She had pack access. Levi had given her pack access.

*Surprised?* Her smile widened. *He trusts me. More than he trusts you, anyway.*

I tried to push her out, tried to slam the mental door shut. But the sedative made everything slow, sluggish.

*My father used to talk about you,* she continued, her voice a poisonous whisper in my skull. *The little wolf in cage seven. He said you cried every night. Said you begged.*

Cage seven. The one in the corner, where the roof leaked and the cold seeped through the bars.

*He was so proud of that sale. Got top dollar for you.* She tilted her head, studying me like I was an insect pinned to a board. *And now look at you. Right back in a cage. Funny how that works.*

"Get out," I managed to rasp.

*Oh, I don't think so.* She stood, smoothed her skirt. *See, I'm Leo's nanny now. Levi put me in charge of his schedule. His feeding times. His playtime. Everything.*

My heart lurched. Leo.

*And you know what happens to pups when their mothers are unstable?* Her mental voice dropped to a whisper. *Accidents. Terrible, tragic accidents. A moment of inattention. A door left open. Stairs are so dangerous for little ones.*

I tried to lunge at her. My body wouldn't respond. The sedative held me pinned.

*Stay in bed, Arya. Be a good little Omega. Or I'll make sure you never see your son again.*

She left. The door clicked shut behind her.

I lay there, shaking, tears sliding hot down my temples.

Two days passed in a drugged haze. They brought me pills. I pretended to swallow them, tucked them under my tongue, spit them out when they left.

Slowly, the fog lifted.

On the third day, I heard Levi's voice in the hallway. "Border patrol. I'll be back by nightfall."

I waited until the house went quiet. Until I heard the SUVs pull away.

Then I got up.

My legs shook. The hallway swayed. But I made it to the stairs. Made it to Levi's study.

The door was unlocked. Arrogant. He thought I was too broken to be a threat.

The study was exactly as I remembered—dark wood, leather chairs, that portrait on the wall. The woman in the white dress with lace sleeves. His dead mate.

I stared at her face. At the way she tilted her chin. The exact angle Kehlani used.

My hands found the frame's edge. I pulled.

The portrait swung open on hidden hinges.

Behind it was a safe.

I tried Leo's birthday. Nothing. Tried the pack's founding date. Nothing.

Then, on instinct, I tried the date on the portrait's brass plate. The day his mate died.

The safe clicked open.

Inside was a single file folder. Thick. Well-worn.

The label read: *Project Rescue.*

I pulled it out with shaking hands.

The first page was a photograph. A man and woman standing outside a massive stone building—a Lycan stronghold, judging by the architecture. The man had a cane, his posture bent with old injuries. The woman stood beside him, her hand on his arm, her face etched with grief.

They were searching for someone.

I flipped to the next page. More photos. The same couple in different territories. Different cities. Always searching.

Then I saw the DNA report.

My name at the top. Their names below.

*Marcus Evans. Elena Evans.*

*Genetic match: 99.9% probability of biological parentage.*

*Date of analysis: Three years ago.*

Three years.

Levi had known for three years that I had family. That I had parents who were looking for me.

High-ranking Lycan nobility, according to the notes. Beta to the King and Queen themselves.

And he'd hidden it.

Kept me here. Kept me weak. Kept me his.

The folder slipped from my hands, pages scattering across the floor.

I sank to my knees among the evidence of his lies, and for the first time in ten years, my wolf didn't whimper.

She growled.