Five years. That’s exactly how long it takes to turn a grieving heart into a block of ice, and I had become an expert sculptor. As the lead Event Coordinator for the Regional Alpha Council, I didn't have the luxury of emotions. I had a schedule, a clipboard, and a ballroom in downtown Los Angeles that needed to look like the Moon Goddess herself had decorated it.

"The hydrangeas are wilting on table six," I barked into my headset, striding across the polished marble floor of the hotel lobby. My heels clicked a sharp, staccato rhythm that made the junior staff scatter like frightened rabbits. "Replace them. Now. And tell the valet team that if they scratch another Alpha's SUV, they’re paying for it in blood."

I checked my watch. The Moon Goddess Gala was the premier event of the season, a place where alliances were forged and broken over champagne. Everything had to be perfect. It was my armor. If I was the best, if I was indispensable, no one would look at me with that suffocating pity they’d reserved for Ella Harris, the girl whose mate died three days before her wedding.

"Breathe, El. You’re turning purple."

A large, warm hand settled on my shoulder, grounding me instantly. The scent of rich earth, pine needles, and rain enveloped me—a smell that had been my only sanctuary for half a decade.

I turned to see Alpha Corbin Rice of the Obsidian Pack grinning down at me. He was in a tuxedo that strained against his broad shoulders, his dark hair perfectly styled, but his eyes held that familiar, gentle warmth that was just for me.

"I am not turning purple," I huffed, though I leaned into his touch for a fraction of a second. "I am merely exercising my authority."

"You’re stress-eating the inside of your cheek," Corbin countered, holding out a steaming paper cup. "Black coffee. Two sugars. Drink."

I took the cup, the heat seeping into my cold fingers. Corbin was the only reason I hadn't gone rogue years ago. When Sebastian died—when my world ended—Corbin had been the one to pull me out of the darkness. He was my childhood friend, my protector, and the only Alpha who didn't look at me like a broken piece of china.

"The Ironclad Pack is late," I muttered, taking a sip. "They’re the new delegation from the north. If they don't check in within ten minutes, I’m scrubbing their seating assignment near the stage."

Corbin chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Ruthless. I like it. I’ll go smooth things over with the Elders. You handle the stragglers."

He gave my shoulder one last squeeze before heading toward the ballroom. I watched him go, a pang of gratitude hitting my chest. He was everything a true Alpha should be—strong, steady, kind. Why couldn't I just fall for him? Why was my heart still buried six feet under with an empty casket?

The automatic doors at the main entrance slid open with a hiss, snapping me back to reality. A gust of cool night air blew in, carrying a scent that made my wolf pace uneasily in my mind. It was a mix of expensive cologne and... something painfully, impossibly familiar.

I adjusted my blazer and marched toward the registration desk. The delegation had arrived.

"You're late," I said, keeping my eyes on the seating chart clamped to my clipboard. "Registration closed five minutes ago. I need the Alpha's name and the size of your party immediately if you want a table."

"My apologies," a deep, smooth voice replied. A voice that haunted my nightmares. A voice I had replayed in my head a thousand times until it faded into static. "We ran into traffic. Alpha Sebastian Edwards, Ironclad Pack."

My pen stopped moving. The world stopped turning.

*Sebastian.*

Slowly, painfully, I lifted my head. The air left my lungs in a violent rush. Standing on the other side of the velvet rope was not a ghost. It was a man. Flesh and blood. Alive.

He looked older, his jawline sharper, his shoulders broader, but it was him. Sebastian. The mate I had mourned for five agonizing years. The man whose "death" in a rogue ambush had shattered my soul.

My fingers went numb. The clipboard slipped from my grasp, clattering loudly against the marble floor. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the lobby.

Sebastian stared at me, his blue eyes widening in genuine shock. The color drained from his face. "Ella?"

He wasn't dead. He was standing there, in a designer tuxedo, looking at me with panic rather than love. And he wasn't alone.

Wrapped around his arm was a woman—beautiful, curvy, with a smug smile that faltered when she saw his reaction. Luna Kyla. And holding his other hand was a child. A little girl, maybe five years old, with Sebastian’s eyes and a cloud of blonde curls.

My brain couldn't process the image. He was alive. He had a family. He had... replaced me?

"Ella, I—" Sebastian started, taking a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to steady me.

Suddenly, a sharp pain spiked through my temples, blinding and white-hot. It was a pressure I had never felt before, like a radio frequency screaming to be tuned in. My wolf howled in agony, and then, the static cleared.

I didn't hear a voice with my ears. I heard it in the center of my mind. It wasn't the smooth telepathy of a pack link; it was raw, guttural, and primal—the unshielded thought of a wolf that hadn't learned to hide yet.

I looked down at the little girl. She was staring up at me with wide, innocent eyes, clutching a stuffed bear.

But the voice in my head was a monster.

*Is that the broken toy Daddy threw away so he could keep us?* the child’s wolf snarled in my mind, the thought dripping with a malice far too old for her age. *Mommy said she was dead. Mommy said we won.*

The lobby air turned into concrete in my lungs. I couldn't inhale. I couldn't think. The image of Sebastian—alive, breathing, holding another woman's hand—burned into my retinas like a solar flare.

I turned and ran.

My heels skidded on the polished marble as I shoved past a confused valet, bursting through the side doors into the hotel's sprawling gardens. The cool night air hit my face, but it didn't help. My chest heaved, a ragged, suffocating rhythm. Every step I had taken for the last five years, every tear I had shed over an empty casket, every night I had screamed his name into the void—it was all a lie.

"Ella! Stop!"

Strong arms wrapped around my waist, halting my frantic flight before I could collapse into the rose bushes. I thrashed for a second, panic blinding me, until the scent of rain and pine penetrated the fog.

Corbin.

I sagged against him, my legs turning to jelly. He held me up, his chest a solid wall against my trembling back.

"He's not a ghost, Corbin," I gasped, the words tearing out of my throat like jagged glass. "He didn't die in the ambush. He faked it. He chose them."

I felt Corbin stiffen. A low, dangerous growl vibrated through his chest, a sound so primal it made the leaves on the nearby bushes shiver. His aura flared, hot and protective, wrapping around me like a shield.

"He did what?" Corbin’s voice was deadly calm, but his eyes were storms of shifting obsidian.

"He ran away," I sobbed, clutching the lapels of his tuxedo. "He let me bury him so he wouldn't have to reject me."

Corbin’s grip tightened on my arms, grounding me. "I'm going to tear his throat out."

"No," I shook my head frantically. "Not here. Not at the Gala. I just... I can't breathe. I need water."

Corbin hesitated, looking torn between comforting me and hunting down the man who had destroyed my life. "Stay right here. Do not move. I’ll get you water, and then we are leaving. To hell with the Council."

He squeezed my hand once before sprinting back toward the terrace bar. I leaned against a stone fountain, trying to force oxygen into my blood.

*Is that the broken toy Daddy threw away?*

The child’s wolf voice echoed in my memory, a chilling reminder that I wasn't crazy. That little girl knew. They all knew.

"Ella."

The voice came from the shadows of the trellis. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with love, but with a terrifying mixture of rage and trauma.

Sebastian stepped into the moonlight. He didn't look guilty. He didn't look like a man who had destroyed a woman's soul. He looked annoyed.

"You're making a scene," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "I expected more dignity from you after all this time."

I stared at him, my mouth agape. "Dignity? You've been dead for five years, Sebastian! I mourned you! I wanted to die with you!"

He sighed, stepping closer, invading my personal space. "It was a mercy, Ella. Kyla was pregnant. If I had rejected you publicly, the bond snapping would have destroyed you. I staged the ambush to spare you the pain of a rejection ceremony. I did it for you."

The audacity stole my breath. He was twisting his cowardice into a noble sacrifice. He had left me to rot in grief not to save me, but to save himself the embarrassment of breaking a fated bond for a mistress.

"You are a monster," I whispered.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. The air around us grew heavy, dense with the crushing weight of an Alpha's command. "Watch your tone, Ella. I am an Alpha now. You will show respect."

The command slammed into my mind, an instinctual urge to bare my neck and submit. My knees buckled slightly under the pressure. It was the same aura I used to find comforting, now weaponized to silence me.

*Broken toy. Broken toy.*

The child’s malicious thought resurfaced, sharp and clear. It acted like an antidote to his venom. He didn't see me as a person; he saw me as a loose end to be tied up.

I locked my knees. I grit my teeth. I looked him dead in the eye and refused to bow.

"I am not your pack member, Sebastian," I hissed, fighting the crushing weight of his aura. "And you are not my Alpha. You are a fraud."

His composure cracked. He took a threatening step forward, his hand raising as if to grab me, when a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension.

"Bastian? There you are."

Kyla emerged from the path, her hips swaying in a tight red gown that cost more than my car. She walked right up to Sebastian and placed a possessive hand on his chest, her fingers splaying over his heart as if to check it was still beating for her.

She looked at me, her eyes raking over my trembling form with disdain. She sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled garbage.

"Is she bothering you, honey?" Kyla asked, her voice dripping with faux concern. She turned her gaze to me, a smirk playing on her lips. "You look unwell, dear. Shaking like a leaf. Are you sure you're stable enough to be running an event of this magnitude?"

She stepped closer, dropping her voice so only I could hear. "The Council doesn't hire hysterical women, Ella. If you can't handle seeing an old flame, maybe you should go back to playing the grieving widow. It suited you better."

She knew. She had known for five years. While I was weeping over a grave, she was laughing in his bed.

The scent hit me before I even opened the double doors to the Grand Ballroom. It wasn't the fresh, clean fragrance of expensive blooms; it was the sharp, grassy smell of sap and destruction.

I pushed the doors open and stopped dead. My clipboard clattered against my hip.

The centerpiece arrangement—a ten-foot-tall architectural masterpiece of white hydrangeas and imported orchids that had cost more than my first car—was decimated. It looked like a lawnmower had been taken to it. Petals were scattered across the dance floor like snow, stems were snapped, and the water vases were overturned, soaking the carpet.

"Miss Harris!" The boom of Elder Marcus Steele’s voice made me flinch. The Head of the Council marched toward me, his face a mottled red that matched his tie. "Care to explain why the gala venue looks like a war zone six hours before opening?"

"I... I don't know," I stammered, stepping over a crushed orchid. "I checked this room at midnight. It was perfect."

"Perfect?" Steele swept his arm across the wreckage. "This is incompetence, plain and simple. If you cannot control your vendors, perhaps you aren't fit to coordinate a birthday party, let alone the Moon Goddess Gala."

"It wasn't the vendors," I said, my voice shaking as I knelt to pick up a shredded stem. The cut wasn't clean. It was jagged.

"Oh no! Look at the pretty flowers!"

A gasp came from the corner near the stage. I looked up to see Kyla standing there, hand over her mouth in mock horror. Beside her, little Oaklyn was clutching her stuffed bear, her eyes wide and innocent.

"It's such a shame," Kyla said, her voice dripping with syrup as she walked toward us, her heels avoiding the puddles with practiced ease. "Sebastian will be so disappointed. He was saying just last night how... overwhelmed you seemed, Ella. Maybe the pressure was too much?"

I gritted my teeth, standing up to face her. But before I could speak, that high-pitched, static whine pierced my skull again.

*Mommy let me use my claws,* the voice giggled in the center of my mind. It was Oaklyn’s wolf, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. *Rip, rip, rip. The flower lady is in trouble now.*

My blood ran cold. I looked at the child. She was smiling at me, a sweet, angelic smile that didn't reach the predator lurking behind her eyes. They had done this. The mother gave the order, and the child was the weapon.

"I am removing you from the lead position effective immediately," Steele barked, pulling out his phone. "I'll call in the reserve team from—"

"You will do no such thing, Marcus."

The deep, authoritative rumble silenced the room. Alpha Corbin Rice strode through the debris, his presence filling the cavernous space. He didn't look at the flowers; he looked straight at Steele.

"Alpha Rice," Steele stiffened, adjusting his glasses. "This is an internal Council matter."

"It's a security matter," Corbin corrected, stopping beside me. He radiated a heat that chased away the chill of the damp room. He pointed to the shredded remains of a lily. "Look at the edges, Marcus. That wasn't a fall or a vendor error. Those are claw marks."

Steele squinted, leaning down. "Claws?"

"Unless your Event Coordinator grew fur and claws overnight," Corbin said, his voice dangerously low as he cast a side-glance at Kyla, "this was sabotage. Someone let a shifted wolf into this room."

Kyla’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Oaklyn hugged her bear tighter.

"Sabotage?" Steele straightened up, looking pale. "Here?"

"I suggest you check the security cameras before you fire the best coordinator on the West Coast," Corbin said firmly. He reached out and placed his hand on the small of my back. His palm was large and warm, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my spine. It was a possessive, grounding gesture that claimed me without a word.

"I... yes. Of course," Steele muttered, clearly flustered by the Alpha’s intensity. "Ella, get a cleanup crew. We have four hours."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thank you," I whispered to Corbin.

"Don't thank me yet," he murmured, leaning close to my ear. "Look at the door."

I followed his gaze. Sebastian was standing in the entranceway. He wasn't looking at the destroyed flowers, or his wife, or his child. He was staring at Corbin’s hand on my back. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek, and his eyes burned with a dark, suffocating jealousy that made the air feel thin.

***

By the time the afternoon sun hit its peak, the ballroom was restored, but my nerves were frayed. To "smooth over tensions" and distract the gathered Alphas from the morning's disaster, the Council had ordered a mandatory pre-Gala mixer at the hotel pool.

I wanted to hide in my room, but as the coordinator, I had to be present. I compromised by wearing a high-necked, black cover-up over my swimsuit that reached my knees. I sat at a shaded table in the corner, clutching a tablet like a shield, pretending to check guest lists while the elite of the werewolf world mingled in the water.

"Marco! Polo!"

Oaklyn’s shrill voice echoed off the concrete. She was splashing violently in the shallow end, while Kyla lounged on a poolside chaise nearby. Kyla was impossible to miss. She wore a neon pink bikini that was little more than string and fabric, her oiled skin gleaming under the California sun. She posed, arched, and laughed too loudly, clearly trying to draw the eyes of every Alpha in the vicinity—specifically one.

"Bastian! Come put lotion on my back!" Kyla called out, waving a bottle of sunscreen.

Sebastian stood near the deep end, a drink in his hand. He wore swim trunks, his chest bare, revealing the scars of battles fought and the muscles of a powerful wolf. He didn't move toward her. He didn't even turn his head.

From behind my sunglasses, I watched him. And to my horror, I realized he wasn't ignoring her because he was distracted by business. He was ignoring her because he was watching me.

His gaze was heavy, physical, like a touch I couldn't brush off. He tracked my movements as I reached for my iced tea, his eyes tracing the line of my throat. It wasn't the look of an ex-mate. It was the look of a starving man seeing a feast through a window.

Kyla noticed. Her smile dropped like a stone. She sat up, following Sebastian’s line of sight until it landed squarely on me in my corner of shadows.

I shivered despite the heat. The flowers were just the beginning. I could feel the storm coming, and I was standing right in the center of it.