The river spit me out three miles downstream. I crawled onto the bank more dead than alive, coughing up water that tasted like metal and regret.

I didn't go back.

A year later, I'm Ava now. Ava Chen. The name came from a coffee cup I found in a trash can the day I stumbled into this coastal town. It felt right. Clean. Like someone who'd never eaten off a floor or believed an Alpha's lies.

New Bloom sits on the corner of Pine and Harbor Street. The shop is small—barely big enough for the counter, the cooler, and the worktable where I arrange flowers. The walls are painted soft cream, and sunlight streams through the front windows most mornings. It smells like roses and eucalyptus and the lavender I keep in bundles by the register.

It smells like peace.

Every morning, I brew Grandma Elena's tea. Wolfsbane, chamomile, and three other herbs I won't name. It tastes bitter, burns going down, but it works. My scent disappears under layers of flowers and chemicals. My wolf—if she's even still in there—stays silent. Buried.

I like it that way.

The bell above the door chimes around noon. A guy walks in wearing an expensive suit that doesn't match the casual vibe of the town. He's got that confident stride, the kind that says he's used to people moving out of his way.

Werewolf. I can tell even without scent. It's in the way he moves, the way his eyes scan the room like he's assessing threats.

I paste on my customer-service smile. "Welcome to New Bloom. What can I help you with?"

"I need an arrangement," he says, glancing at his phone. "Something impressive. For a summit."

Summit. Pack business. I keep my hands steady as I pull out my order pad. "What's the occasion?"

"Alliance meeting. Needs to look expensive."

I nod and start sketching. White roses, calla lilies, some greenery for depth. He watches me work, and I feel his eyes linger a little too long.

"You're really good at this," he says.

I don't look up. "Thanks."

"Seriously. You've got a gift." He pulls out his phone. "Mind if I take a picture? My sister's getting married. She'd love to see your work."

I should say no. Every instinct screams to say no. But Ava Chen is friendly. Normal. Human.

"Sure," I say, and I even smile.

He angles his phone, and I laugh at something he says—I don't even remember what. The shutter clicks. He grins, types something, and pockets the phone.

He pays in cash, tips well, and leaves.

I forget about him by closing time.

Three days later, my phone buzzes with a notification. Sarah, my neighbor, sent me a screenshot.

*Girl, you're FAMOUS.*

It's an Instagram post. The photo from the shop. Me, laughing, surrounded by flowers. The caption reads: *Prettiest florist in Seattle.*

It has thousands of likes.

My stomach drops. I zoom in on the comments. Most are harmless—people asking where the shop is, compliments on the arrangement. But then I see the others. Usernames that sound like pack names. Comments in code I recognize from my old life.

*Is that—?*

*No way. She's dead.*

*Those eyes though.*

I delete the app. Throw my phone on the counter. It doesn't matter. It's fine. I'm fine.

I'm not fine.

Two days later, the bell chimes.

I'm in the back, trimming stems, when I hear it. The sound makes my hands freeze. It's just a customer. It's always just a customer.

But the air changes. Gets heavier. Charged.

I step into the front room, and the world stops.

Three men stand inside my shop. The one in front is tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that's longer than I remember. His suit is wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looks like he hasn't slept in a year.

Xander.

Behind him, Marcus and Ryan. The Beta and Gamma. They're watching me like I'm a ghost.

Maybe I am.

Xander moves first. He crosses the shop in three strides and locks the door. The click echoes.

"We're closed," I say. My voice comes out steady. Ava's voice.

Xander inhales deeply. His eyes close like he's in pain. When they open, they're wild. Desperate.

"You're alive," he says.

His voice cracks on the last word, and something inside me cracks too. But I don't let it show.

"You have the wrong person," I say.

He takes another step. I take one back. My hip hits the counter.

"Alice." My name sounds like a prayer. Like a curse. "I know it's you."

"My name is Ava."

"Your eyes." He's close now. Too close. I can see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shake. "I'd know them anywhere."

The flowers around us suddenly feel suffocating. All that lavender and wolfsbane, and it's not enough. It was never going to be enough.

"You need to leave," I say.

He reaches for me. I flinch. He freezes, and something like anguish crosses his face.

"Please," he whispers. "Just—please. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" The words come out sharp. "How it was all a game? How you laughed while I ate off the floor?"

Marcus shifts uncomfortably behind him. Ryan's staring at the floor.

Xander's jaw tightens. "I was wrong. I was—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I've been losing my mind. The bond—when you jumped, it nearly killed me."

"Good," I say.

His eyes flash. For a second, I see the Alpha. The one who commanded a pack. The one who broke me.

Then it's gone, and he just looks broken himself.

"Come home," he says. "Please. The pack needs you. I need you."

I laugh. It sounds hollow. "I died a year ago, remember? At Shadow Cliff. You felt it."

"You're standing right here."

"Ava Chen is standing here. Alice Parker drowned."

His hand reaches out again, and this time I don't flinch. I just stare at him until he drops it.

"I won't let you go," he says. "Not again."

The Alpha command bleeds into his voice. It wraps around me, trying to force submission. Trying to make me obey.

But I've been drinking wolfsbane for a year. My wolf is buried so deep, she can't hear him.

I meet his eyes and smile. It's not a kind smile.

"You don't have a choice," I say.

And I watch something in him shatter.

He moves toward me with his arms open. Like he has the right. Like a year of silence erases everything.

I step back. My spine hits the shelving unit behind the counter. Vases rattle.

"Alice," he says, and his voice cracks on my name. "Please."

"Don't touch me."

He keeps coming. His hands reach for my shoulders, and something in me snaps.

I grab the pruning shears from the counter. The blades catch the light as I point them at his chest.

"I said don't."

Xander freezes. Behind him, Marcus takes a step forward, but Ryan puts a hand on his arm. They both look like they're watching something impossible.

Xander's eyes drop to the shears, then back to my face. His jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice drops into that tone. The one that used to make my knees weak and my head bow.

"Come to me, Omega."

The command rolls through the shop like thunder. It's laced with Alpha power, with the authority of someone who's never been told no. It should drag me forward. Should make my body move without permission.

I don't move.

The shears stay steady in my hand. My feet stay planted.

Xander's eyes widen. "Alice—"

"Alice Parker is dead," I say. "She drowned at Shadow Cliff. You felt it."

"You're standing right here."

"Ava Chen is standing here." I lower the shears but don't put them down. "And Ava doesn't take orders from Alphas."

Something flickers across his face. Shock. Maybe fear. He tries again, and this time the command is stronger. It vibrates through my bones, trying to find purchase.

"Submit."

Nothing. My wolf doesn't even stir. A year of wolfsbane tea has buried her so deep that his voice can't reach her.

I smile. It feels sharp on my face. "Is that all you've got?"

Xander staggers back like I hit him. His hand goes to his chest, and for a second, he looks lost. Like a child who just learned the rules don't apply anymore.

"How—" He can't finish the sentence.

"You should leave," I say.

He shakes his head. Once. Twice. Then his expression hardens into something desperate and determined. "No. I'm not leaving. Not without my mate."

"Then I guess you'll be here a while."

I walk past him to unlock the door. He doesn't try to stop me. When I pull it open, the afternoon sun streams in, and the bell chimes cheerfully.

"Get out of my shop."

Marcus and Ryan exchange glances. They move toward the door, but Xander doesn't budge.

"I'll be back," he says.

"I'll call the cops."

"I'll tell them you're my mate."

"I'll tell them you're a stalker." I meet his eyes. "Humans don't care about mate bonds, Xander. They care about restraining orders."

He leaves. Finally. But the look he gives me before he walks out promises this isn't over.

It's not.

He comes back the next morning with a velvet box. Inside is a diamond necklace that probably costs more than my shop. He sets it on the counter without a word.

I drop it in the trash.

The day after, it's a dress. Midnight blue silk. Just like the one I wore to the Mate Ceremony. My hands shake when I see it, but I don't let him know. I carry it outside and leave it on the sidewalk.

By the third day, there's a crowd. He brings roses—two dozen red ones—and more jewelry. A bracelet this time. He stands outside the shop window like he's courting me. Like we're in some romantic movie instead of a nightmare I can't wake up from.

I gather everything he's brought. Every gift. Every expensive attempt to buy back what he destroyed.

The lighter fluid is in the storage closet. I pour it over the pile on the sidewalk while he watches from across the street. His face goes pale.

"Alice, don't—"

I light the match.

The flames catch fast. Silk and velvet and roses burn together, sending black smoke into the clear sky. The smell is acrid and wrong, but I don't look away.

Xander crosses the street in three strides. "What are you doing?"

"Throwing out trash."

"Those were gifts."

"Those were chains." I watch the fire eat through the midnight blue silk. "You can't buy me, Xander. Not anymore."

He stares at the flames like I'm burning him instead of his money. Maybe I am.

That night, my phone explodes with notifications. Sarah sends me a link with three exclamation points.

It's a video. Xander, sitting in what looks like a hotel room, talking to someone off-camera. The caption reads: ALPHA XANDER MORGAN SPEAKS ON HIS LOST LUNA.

"She's alive," he says, and his voice is raw. Broken. "My mate. Alice Parker. She's been missing for a year, and I've finally found her."

The interviewer asks something I can't hear.

"She's suffering from trauma. Amnesia, possibly. She doesn't remember who she is. Who we are." He looks directly at the camera, and his eyes are pleading. "If anyone sees her, please. She needs help. She needs to come home."

The video has half a million views.

I throw my phone across the room.

By morning, they're everywhere. Paparazzi with cameras. Werewolves I don't recognize, their eyes glowing with curiosity or hunger. They crowd the sidewalk outside New Bloom, pressing against the windows, shouting questions.

"Is it true you're the Lost Luna?"

"Did the Alpha really abandon you?"

"Are you suffering from amnesia?"

I try to open the shop. I really do. But by noon, I can't move without someone shoving a camera in my face. A rogue wolf gets too close, his eyes tracking me like prey, and I have to lock the door.

I close early for the first time in a year.

When I flip the sign to CLOSED, I see Xander across the street. He's watching. Waiting.

And I realize he's not trying to win me back.

He's trying to trap me.