I walked out of the airport doors, the automatic glass sliding shut behind me. The noise of the terminal faded, replaced by the roar of taxi engines.

Then, I saw them.

Three familiar figures stood waiting by the curb. My stomach tightened instantly. Seeing them brought nothing but a wave of profound displeasure. I was only back in this city for my grandfather Harold Beaumont’s birthday dinner. I had been living in Europe for three years, and I had no intention of staying a minute longer than necessary.

"You're finally back," my older brother, Vincent Beaumont, said. He crossed his arms, his broad shoulders blocking my path to the street.

I adjusted the strap of my bag. "No, I'm flying to Paris tomorrow morning."

Damian Sinclair stepped out from behind Vincent. My fiancé. The man the Moon Goddess supposedly chose for me. He looked at me with the same condescending frown he wore the day I left.

"Are you still mad at us and Rosalie Hart?" Damian asked, his tone heavy with judgment. "She's an orphan wolf, we should be understanding. I didn't expect you to still be immature after three years."

"Immature?" I laughed. The sound was sharp, completely devoid of humor.

Vincent frowned at the noise.

"Is that what you call it?" I asked, staring Damian right in the eyes.

Three years ago, my departure was fueled by an all-out war over Rosalie. It happened at the pack banquet. Rosalie had paraded into the grand hall wearing ruined, dirty clothes. She stood in front of the entire pack, pointed a trembling finger at me, and publicly accused me of bullying her.

I had tried to explain. I tried to tell them she was lying. But not a single person stood by my side.

My own parents, Edward and Catherine Beaumont, turned their backs on me. My brother Vincent shook his head in disgust. My fiancé Damian called me a monster. Even my best friend, Leon Foster, treated me like a criminal.

They all accused me of tormenting the poor, helpless orphan. To teach me a lesson, my parents forcefully dragged me down to the basement and locked me in the confinement room for the entire night. They did it fully knowing I suffered from severe claustrophobia.

Leon Foster stepped forward now, pulling my mind back to the present. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw set stubbornly.

"You're not leaving, Celeste," Leon demanded. "You must apologize for your mistakes three years ago. Rosalie is hiding in her room terrified because you're back. She's still scared of you bullying her."

I looked at Leon. The boy who used to share his secrets with me now looked at me like I was a villain in a storybook.

"Tell Rosalie to stay in her room," I replied, my voice dropping to a flat, emotionless register. "I don't care enough about her to waste my energy."

I sidestepped the three of them and walked toward the street. A luxurious black car sat idling at the curb, exactly where I requested it. The driver stood ready by the rear door.

I reached out to get in.

Damian lunged forward. He slammed his hand against the heavy metal door, pushing it shut with a loud thud. He planted his tall frame between me and the vehicle.

"Come with me," Damian ordered, his chest puffing out with Alpha authority. "If you refuse to apologize to Rosalie, I'll reconsider our engagement. I'll forcibly break the Fated Mate bond, you know how painful that will be."

I stared at the hand he had pressed against the tinted glass. Then, I looked up at his face. He expected me to cry. He expected me to beg him not to sever our connection.

I smiled instead. A wide, mocking smile that made Vincent take a hesitant step forward.

"Didn't I already taste that pain three years ago?" I mocked, tilting my head.

Damian’s confident expression faltered.

"I felt it the exact moment you locked me in a confinement room for another lying she-wolf," I whispered, stepping closer to him until he was forced to lean back. "You can't threaten me with something you already destroyed."

I reached past him, grabbed the door handle, and yanked it open. Damian was too stunned by my reaction to fight back.

I climbed into the plush leather interior. "Drive," I told the chauffeur.

The door closed, sealing away the sight of the three men standing frozen on the sidewalk. The car pulled smoothly away from the curb.

I leaned my head back against the headrest. My phone rang inside my purse, vibrating against my leg. I pulled it out and accepted the video call.

Kael Ashcroft’s face filled the screen. His sharp features and piercing eyes were a welcome contrast to the fools I just left behind.

"You better be by my side tomorrow morning," Kael said immediately, skipping any form of greeting. "I don't want you getting tied down by your brainless family just because you went back for a visit."

"I'm on my way to the hotel now," I assured him, smoothing out the fabric of my skirt. "They tried to ambush me, but I handled it."

"Good," Kael nodded, adjusting his phone. "Plus, Aria Ashcroft misses you."

At the sound of that name, the cold armor around my heart completely dissolved.

Kael turned the camera away from his face. The video focused on a massive bed. A small, quiet figure lay sleeping under the covers, her tiny hands clutching the edge of a blanket.

I smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest.

"Of course," I said softly, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. "I promised I'd take her to Disneyland, how could I break my word."

Kael turned the camera back to himself. "Make sure you get on that flight, Celeste."

"I will. Goodnight, Kael."

I ended the call and let the phone drop into my lap.

Never deceive your daughter. Never hurt your daughter.

That was the only absolute truth I lived by now. It was the single most important lesson Celeste Beaumont understood after becoming a mother. I would burn the entire world down before I let anyone hurt my little girl.

I looked out the window, watching the city lights blur past as we merged onto the highway. I was ready to leave this place behind forever.

Then, the driver cleared his throat.

"Miss Beaumont?" he asked, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "We have a problem."

I turned around and looked out the back window. A heavy black SUV was swerving aggressively through the traffic, speeding up to ride directly on our bumper.

"We lost the black SUV at the estate checkpoint, Miss Beaumont," the driver announced. He kept his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.

"Good. Keep the engine running tonight," I told him, leaning back against the leather seat. "I won't be staying long."

The towering iron gates of the Beaumont manor parted slowly, groaning under their own weight. I stared at the sprawling grounds, the manicured hedges illuminated by harsh floodlights.

When I first met Kael Ashcroft, I assumed he was a starving art student. I had no idea his surname carried the bloodline of ancient Alpha kings. He ran three massive corporations—media, mining, and tech—while painting in his spare time. That was merely the tip of the Ashcroft empire.

Yet Kael always carved out hours for me and our daughter, Aria Ashcroft. If the long flight wouldn't have exhausted her, he would be sitting right beside me tonight. He would be tearing this pack apart on my behalf.

"Park near the side entrance," I instructed as the car pulled up to the valet.

"Understood," the driver replied, shifting the gear. "Will you need me to come inside?"

"No," I said, grabbing my clutch. "I can handle my family."

Three hours later, the deafening chatter in the grand banquet hall died instantly. The sudden silence was heavier than the noise. The crowd parted like a severed artery, leaving a clear path down the center of the room.

Rosalie Hart stepped into the open space.

Edward and Catherine Beaumont adopted her when I went missing for six months as a child, trapped in a slum pack. Rosalie shared my features. When I finally escaped and returned home, the war began. She played the victim perfectly, twisting every interaction until the pack decided I was the villain.

Rosalie locked eyes with me. She walked forward, her silver gown dragging across the polished marble floor. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes before she even spoke a word.

"You're here, sister," Rosalie whispered. Her voice trembled, pitched perfectly so the nearest guests could hear her fragile tone.

"Of course I came," I replied smoothly. I plucked a champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray, ignoring the nervous look the servant gave me. "Grandfather Harold Beaumont expects me."

"I thought you wouldn't show up," Rosalie sniffled. She wiped a tear from her cheek, her shoulders shaking. "I thought you still hated me."

"I don't think about you at all, Rosalie," I said, keeping my tone perfectly flat. "Grandfather was the only person in this house who ever offered me warmth. I came for him. Not for you."

Vincent Beaumont stepped out from the shadows of a towering pillar. He moved between us, physically shielding Rosalie from me.

"Enough, Celeste," Vincent warned. His voice carried a low, threatening edge that demanded obedience. "You're bullying her again."

I raised an eyebrow. "She walked up to me, Vincent. I was standing here in silence."

"Your presence is an insult to her," Vincent argued, pointing a finger at my chest. "You're looking at her like she's trash. Why is it that every time you appear, Rosalie cries?"

I laughed. A bright, sharp sound that echoed in the quiet hall. Several guests flinched at the noise. A woman to my left gasped.

"Is it my fault whenever she sheds a tear?" I asked. I raised my glass toward him in a mock toast. "Then she really shouldn't have been born. I'm sure she cried on her first day alive. That must have been my fault, too."

"Watch your mouth," Vincent growled. His fists clenched at his sides. "You have no respect for this family."

"This family has no respect for the truth," I countered, taking a small sip of the champagne. The liquid tasted oddly bitter, but I ignored it.

Damian Sinclair pushed his way through the onlookers. He glared at me, disgust radiating from his rigid posture.

"Stop pushing people, Celeste," Damian ordered. "You're causing a scene on your grandfather's birthday."

"I'm holding a glass, Damian," I pointed out, gesturing with the flute. "Who exactly am I pushing?"

"You push with your words," Damian snapped, closing the distance between us. "You need to apologize to Rosalie right now. You owe her."

"For what?" I challenged, staring directly into my fiancé's eyes. "For surviving?"

"For ruining her life three years ago," Leon Foster interjected. He stepped up beside Damian, crossing his arms over his chest. "You owe her a debt you can never repay."

"A debt?" I repeated.

A sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit me. The room tilted sharply to the left. I blinked hard, trying to focus on the crystal flute in my hand. My vision blurred, doubling the edges of the glass. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

"Are you ignoring me?" Damian demanded, his voice sounding muffled, as if he were speaking underwater.

"I..." I started, but my tongue felt numb and heavy.

I looked at Rosalie. She peeked out from behind Vincent's broad shoulder. Behind her meek, tear-stained cheeks, a sharp, wicked gleam danced in her eyes. She smirked, just for a fraction of a second, before twisting her face back into a mask of terror.

My fingers lost all sensation.

The glass slipped from my grip.

Champagne splashed across the front of Rosalie's pale designer dress. The crystal shattered on the marble floor with a loud, violent crash.

"Ah!" Rosalie shrieked. She jumped back, covering her face with her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, sister, I didn't mean to upset you! Please don't hurt me!"

Damian lunged forward. He snatched my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin like iron claws.

"Your heart is completely wicked," Damian spat. He shook my arm, forcing me to look at him. "She just welcomed you home, and you attack her?"

"I feel sick," I muttered. My knees buckled slightly, and I leaned heavily against Damian's grip just to stay upright. The chandeliers spun above me, blindingly bright. "My head..."

"Stop acting," Vincent snapped. He waved a hand at the estate guards standing by the double doors. "She did it on purpose. She threw the drink right at her."

"I didn't," I whispered, swaying on my feet. The metallic taste in my mouth grew stronger.

"Take her down to the guest quarters," Vincent commanded the guards, his voice booming over the whispers of the crowd. "Lock the door until she learns how to behave."

Leon shook his head, a disappointed scowl plastered on his face. "Always playing games, Celeste. You haven't changed at all. You're just as cruel as the day you left."

The guards marched over. They grabbed my arms, hauling me backward away from the shattered glass.

"Rosalie drugged my wine," I said. My words slurred heavily as the toxin spread through my veins. "Check the glass..."

Damian scoffed. He dropped my wrist and turned his back to me, wrapping his arms around his crying little victim. "You're pathetic, Celeste. Blaming her for your own vicious actions."

Nobody even looked at me. The guests whispered among themselves, casting disgusted glares in my direction as the guards dragged me into the dark hallway.

"Wait," I tried to say, but my throat tightened, cutting off my air.

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut, sealing me away from the banquet hall.

"I understand you, Celeste," Damian said.

He locked the door. The loud click echoed in the small guest room.

I fumbled with my phone, my thumb swiping clumsily across the glass screen. The drug Rosalie slipped into my champagne was working fast. My vision swam.

"Put the phone away," Damian ordered.

"Get out," I slurred, finding Kael's name in my contacts.

Damian snatched the device from my hands. He tossed it onto the armchair across the room.

"You need to listen to me," Damian insisted. He paced at the foot of the bed, his hands running through his hair. "You were the center of this family. You had all the love. Vincent adored you. Your parents spoiled you. You were the golden child of the Beaumont pack. When Rosalie arrived, it made you uncomfortable. I get it."

"You get nothing," I whispered, sinking deeper into the pillows. "You just like playing the hero."

"We have to care for her, Celeste. She's the youngest. She has no parents. She survived a rogue attack while you were living in luxury."

"I didn't kill her parents," I spat. The metallic taste in my mouth grew stronger. "What does that have to do with me? Why am I the one who has to pay for her tragic past?"

"Have some sympathy! You used to be kind."

"Sympathy? For a liar?" I laughed. The sound was harsh and broken. It surprised him. He expected me to cry, just like I did three years ago. "Besides, you don't even know her."

"I know she doesn't throw glass at her sister."

"If you saw the background check Kael pulled, you'd realize you're protecting a fraud,"