I spent the first day in a daze, moving through the world like a ghost haunting its own life. Every breath felt surreal—the air too crisp, the sunlight too bright, the sounds too sharp. One week. One week before the engagement party that would never happen. One week before Derek's birthday celebration where I'd discover their betrayal. One week before they murdered me.

My phone vibrated against the nightstand. Derek's name flashed on the screen.

"Selena?" His voice was warm, concerned—the voice that had once made my heart flutter. Now it made my skin crawl. "You didn't answer my texts last night."

I closed my eyes, forcing my voice into the soft, slightly breathless tone he expected. "Sorry, I was just... thinking about the engagement party."

"Still nervous?" His chuckle was familiar, intimate. "Don't be. You're going to be the most beautiful woman in the room."

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. "I know it's all happening so fast..."

"Fast?" He laughed again. "We've been together for over a year, Selena. And I've been planning this since the moment I met you."

Lies. All of it lies.

"I should let you go," I said, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me. "I need to finish some work before the party."

"Of course, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

As I hung up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me wasn't the naive girl who'd trusted Derek with her heart. This woman had died once already.

"Play the game," I whispered to myself. "Let them think they're winning."

I opened my laptop and began to type, creating a document titled simply "Plan." My fingers flew across the keyboard, outlining every step, every move I would make. Derek and Lana thought they were the predators. They were about to learn what it felt like to be hunted.

As I typed, I noticed something strange—faint, ghostly marks on my palms. I traced them with my fingertip, a chill running down my spine. They weren't quite scars, more like shadows of injuries that should have been there. The fall. The impact. Death had left its fingerprints on me, visible only to myself.

"They'll never see it coming," I promised the empty room.

---

The pack's high-end gym gleamed with chrome and glass, the kind of place where even the water bottles were designer brands. I'd chosen it deliberately—Lana always came here on Tuesdays after her shift at the corporate office.

I was stretching on a mat when she entered the locker room, her eyes lighting up with malicious delight when she spotted me.

"Selena!" She approached with that false brightness that made my teeth ache. "Haven't seen you in a while. Been... distracted lately?"

I kept my expression neutral as I reached for my water bottle. "Just busy with work."

"Right." She leaned against the lockers, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the metal. "Derek mentioned you seemed a bit off at dinner yesterday. Everything okay?"

The lie was smooth, practiced—she'd never spoken to Derek about me. But I knew what she was doing. Testing the waters. Seeing if I'd noticed anything.

"I'm fine," I said quietly. "Just preoccupied with the engagement party."

Something flickered in her eyes—disappointment, perhaps, at my calm reaction. She'd been expecting tears, maybe, or confusion. Not this composed acceptance.

"Hmm." She studied me for a moment. "Well, if you're ever feeling overwhelmed, I'm here for you. As a friend."

The word "friend" dripped with venom. I nodded, turning away to gather my things. Inside, my rage burned white-hot, but outwardly, I remained the picture of fragile innocence.

"Thanks for your concern," I said softly.

She lingered a moment longer, clearly unsatisfied with my reaction, before sauntering away. I watched her go, memorizing every detail of her walk, her smile, the way she tossed her hair. All of it would be evidence later.

---

My phone pinged with a notification as I was leaving the gym. Wolf-Gram, the werewolf social media app that kept our community connected while hiding in plain sight from humans.

I tapped the icon, and my stomach dropped.

Lana had posted a photo. Her and Derek at some upscale restaurant, heads close together, laughing at something off-camera. His hand rested on hers on the table, fingers intertwined.

"Some bonds are just stronger," read the caption. "Nothing can break what's real. #TrueLove"

The comments were already flooding in:

"OMG you two are so cute together!"

"Perfect couple alert!"

"When's the wedding? 😍"

I stared at the screen, my vision blurring slightly. Not with tears—with fury. She was flaunting their relationship, daring me to react, to make a scene.

Instead, I took a screenshot and saved it to a private folder I'd created. Evidence. Ammunition.

"Derek's been so sweet lately," read one of her replies to a comment. "Sometimes you just know when someone's your forever."

I closed the app and slipped my phone into my pocket. The photo would be just one piece of the puzzle I was assembling—a puzzle that would eventually reveal the full picture of their betrayal to everyone who mattered.

---

The day had drained me more than I expected. By evening, my limbs felt heavy, my mind fogged with the effort of maintaining my facade. I'd walked farther than I planned, trying to clear my head before facing Derek again.

The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement as I turned down a quieter side street. My vision swam suddenly, black spots dancing at the edges. I stumbled, my ankle twisting awkwardly on the uneven pavement.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

"Careful there," a deep voice said, the accent slightly foreign, rich and resonant.

I looked up into eyes so dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The man holding me was tall—taller than Derek—with broad shoulders and an air of unmistakable authority. Power radiated from him in waves that made my knees weak in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his gaze sharp and assessing.

"Fine," I managed, though my voice wavered slightly. "Just tired."

He didn't release me immediately. Instead, his nostrils flared slightly, as though scenting something. "You smell like... grief," he said quietly. "And rage."

I froze. No one could possibly know what I was feeling—what I had experienced.

"I'm Lucien Blackwood," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And you're Selena Moretti. Derek Vance's fiancée."

The way he said Derek's name made it sound like a threat.

"How do you—"

"You need a ride home," he interrupted, already guiding me toward a sleek black car idling at the curb. "It's not safe for you here."

I should have protested. Should have pulled away. But something in his presence made resistance impossible—not because he was forcing me, but because I suddenly didn't want to fight.

Inside his car was all leather and subtle luxury. He opened the passenger door for me, a gesture so automatic it spoke of ingrained courtesy rather than affectation.

As we drove through the darkened streets, silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.

"You're not what I expected," he said finally, his eyes never leaving the road.

"What did you expect?"

Something almost like a smile touched his lips. "Not this. Not... whatever's happening with you."

I turned to look out the window, watching the city lights blur past. For the first time since waking in this second chance at life, I felt truly seen—as though Lucien Blackwood had looked past the mask of fragility I'd so carefully constructed and glimpsed the fury beneath.

I woke to the unfamiliar scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifting through my apartment. For a moment, panic seized me—someone was in my home. I bolted upright, clutching the sheets to my chest, only to freeze at the sight of broad shoulders moving rhythmically at my kitchen counter.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, my voice raspy from sleep.

Lucien turned slowly, a wooden spoon in hand, his dark eyes taking in my disheveled appearance with unsettling intensity. He looked perfectly at home in my kitchen, as though he belonged there.

"You didn't answer your phone," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "And you nearly collapsed last night. I was concerned."

I frowned, reaching for my phone. Three missed calls from him. I must have slept more deeply than I realized.

"How did you get in?" I asked, pulling my robe around me as I moved toward the kitchen.

"I have my ways." A slight smile played at his lips. "I hope you don't mind. I thought you might need something warm for breakfast."

He gestured to a pot simmering on the stove. Porridge, from the smell of it. My stomach growled traitorously.

"It's nothing special," he said, ladling some into a bowl. "Just something my mother used to make when I was ill."

I accepted the bowl cautiously, our fingers brushing. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking a spoonful. It was perfectly sweetened, with a hint of spice I couldn't quite identify.

Lucien watched me eat, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered for a moment against my neck.

"You have a bit here," he said softly.

The touch should have made me flinch. Instead, I felt a strange warmth spreading through me. His eyes darkened suddenly, pupils dilating as he inhaled deeply.

"What is it?" I asked, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

"Your scent," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's... different."

My heart stuttered. No one had ever commented on my scent before. I'd always been careful to mask it with perfume, especially around Derek.

"Different how?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Like an Omega," he murmured. "A hidden Omega."

The spoon trembled in my hand. He knew. Somehow, he could sense what even Derek had never detected—the Omega genes I'd suppressed since puberty.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, pulling away.

Lucien's eyes met mine, and I saw understanding there—and something else. Something that made my pulse race.

"Everyone has secrets, Selena," he said quietly. "Even you."

---

The conference room at Derek's company gleamed with polished surfaces and pretension. I sat quietly in the corner as executives discussed the upcoming quarter's strategy, my notebook open but untouched.

"And what do you think, Selena?" Derek's voice cut through the discussion, silencing the room.

All eyes turned to me. I hadn't been expecting to be addressed directly.

"I—" I began, but Derek continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"Actually, never mind. This is probably too complex for you to grasp." He smiled thinly. "Your job is to look pretty on my arm at the engagement party, not to understand business matters."

Laughter rippled around the table. My cheeks burned, but I kept my expression placid.

"Derek makes a good point," one of the older Alphas commented, not unkindly. "Business can be confusing for those without the right background."

I nodded meekly, lowering my eyes as if embarrassed. Inside, rage boiled like magma. The naive Selena would have been crushed by this public humiliation. The reborn Selena cataloged it alongside every other slight, every betrayal.

"Just focus on planning our wedding," Derek continued, his voice dripping with false affection. "That's more your speed."

More laughter. More pitying glances.

I smiled and nodded, the perfect picture of submission. Let them think me weak. Let them underestimate me. It would make what was coming all the more devastating.

---

The elevator was crowded with employees heading to lunch when Lana stepped in beside me, her designer heels clicking against the metal floor.

"Selena," she greeted with false warmth. "I love your shoes! Where did you get them?"

Before I could answer, she shifted her weight, stepping deliberately onto the back of my right heel. I felt the strap snap as my ankle twisted painfully.

"Oh!" she exclaimed with theatrical concern as I stumbled. "I'm so sorry! Someone should really fix these elevators—they're so uneven."

I grabbed the handrail to steady myself, pain shooting up my leg. The broken heel dangled uselessly from my foot.

"It's fine," I said through clenched teeth. "Just an accident."

Lana's eyes gleamed with malice as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.

"These things happen to people who don't belong," she murmured. "Maybe you should take the hint."

The elevator doors opened, and she swept out, leaving me to hobble after her on my broken shoe.

---

I limped through the lobby, each step sending jolts of pain through my ankle. Outside the building, the bright afternoon sun made me squint after the dimness of the elevator.

"Miss Moretti."

I turned to find Lucien leaning against his sleek black car, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a simple button-down—he radiated authority.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying not to wince as I put weight on my injured foot.

"I was in the neighborhood," he said smoothly, though I knew it was no coincidence. He straightened, his gaze dropping to my broken heel. "What happened?"

"Accident in the elevator," I said dismissively.

Lucien's jaw tightened as he reached into his car and pulled out a small shopping bag. "Elias picked these up for you."

I peered inside to find a pair of simple but elegant flats in exactly my size.

"How did you—"

"I pay attention," he said simply, handing me the bag. "May I?"

He gestured to my ankle. After a moment's hesitation, I nodded.

His touch was gentle as he examined the injury. "Not serious," he murmured. "But it will bruise."

He looked up at me then, his eyes intense and dark. "You shouldn't have to endure this, Selena."

Something in his tone made my breath catch—a promise, perhaps. Or a threat.

---

That evening, I followed Lana through the city streets, keeping my distance as she made her way to an unmarked door in a discreet corner of the entertainment district.

The Moon's Den—one of the city's most exclusive werewolf clubs, where pack members could let their wolves run free without human interference.

I hesitated at the entrance, knowing my fake press pass was a risk. But Lucien's words echoed in my mind: "You shouldn't have to endure this."

"ID?" the bouncer demanded, his eyes glowing slightly in the dim light.

I handed over the pass I'd created, my heart pounding. He examined it carefully, then nodded. "Through the door, down the stairs. Rules are posted inside."

The club was dimly lit, smoky, and pulsing with bass. Wolves in various stages of transformation mingled with fully human patrons, the air thick with pheromones and excitement.

I spotted Lana immediately, her bright hair unmistakable as she made her way to a secluded booth in the back.

And there was Derek, waiting for her, his hand reaching for her the moment she approached.

I pulled out my phone, my hands surprisingly steady as I activated the camera. Moving closer, I positioned myself where the lighting was best.

"Did you miss me?" Lana's voice carried clearly as she slid into the booth beside him.

"Every second," Derek murmured, pulling her against him.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, his hands tangled in her hair, her legs parting to allow him closer. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn.

I zoomed in, making sure their faces were clearly visible before recording a short clip. The video was grainy in the dim light, but unmistakable.

Evidence. The first piece of many.

As I slipped away, Derek's voice followed me: "Soon, Selena will be out of the picture for good."

The pack gathering buzzed with forced cheerfulness and underlying tension. Crystal glasses clinked, expensive perfume mingled with natural wolf scents, and I stood alone by the bar, nursing a champagne I had no intention of finishing.

Derek had barely acknowledged me since we arrived. Now he was across the room, leaning too close to a redhead from the marketing department, his hand resting on her lower back in a gesture that was unmistakably intimate.

"Selena Moretti," a slurred voice drawled behind me. "All alone?"

I turned to find Marcus Thornfield, one of the younger Alphas from a neighboring pack. His eyes were glassy, pupils dilated with alcohol and something darker—aggression.

"Excuse me?" I kept my voice polite but cool.

"I said," he stepped closer, invading my space, "you're all alone. Your Beta boyfriend seems busy." He gestured toward Derek with his drink, sloshing amber liquid onto the floor. "Why don't you come hang out with a real wolf?"

The stench of whiskey and entitlement rolled off him in waves. Before I could respond, his hand closed around my wrist, tight enough to bruise.

"I'm not interested," I said firmly, trying to pull away.

His grip tightened. "Don't be like that. Everyone knows you're just Derek's little trophy. Bet you've never been with a real Alpha."

I opened my mouth to respond, but a low voice cut through the ambient noise.

"I believe she asked you to let go."

Lucien materialized beside me, his presence suddenly filling the space. He wasn't touching Marcus, wasn't making any threatening moves, but the air around us seemed to thicken with his Alpha aura.

Marcus's eyes widened slightly as he registered Lucien's scent. "Blackwood," he muttered, his grip on my wrist loosening.

Lucien's arm slid around my waist, pulling me against his side in a gesture that was unmistakably possessive. "The lady isn't interested," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "I think you should move along."

It wasn't an Alpha command—not quite—but there was enough steel in his tone that Marcus took an involuntary step backward.

"Didn't mean any harm," he mumbled, backing away. "Just being friendly."

Lucien's arm remained around my waist as he turned to me, his dark eyes searching my face. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, surprised by how steady I felt with him beside me. Across the room, Derek was watching us, his jaw tight as he took in Lucien's protective stance.

---

"Did you see his face?" I laughed, the sound light and genuine as Lucien and I sat at a quiet corner table later that evening.

Lucien's lips curved into a rare full smile. "Priceless," he agreed. "You should have seen how quickly he backed down."

I took a sip of water, watching Derek over the rim of my glass. He was still talking to the redhead, but his attention kept drifting toward us.

"Here," Lucien said, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. "Let me show you something."

He pointed to a spot across the room where Derek stood with his back to us, now talking to a small group of executives.

"Watch his shoulders," Lucien murmured. "See how they're tensing? He's trying not to look this way, but he can't help it."

I studied Derek's posture, seeing the subtle signs of agitation Lucien had noticed. "He's jealous," I realized with surprise.

"Territorial," Lucien corrected. "There's a difference."

I glanced up at him, catching something in his eyes—a hint of satisfaction that made my pulse quicken. "And which are you?" I asked softly.

His gaze held mine for a moment too long before he answered. "Both."

---

The werewolf forums were ablaze with speculation by the time I checked them the next morning.

"SPOTTED: A certain Beta heir getting cozy with someone who isn't his fiancée."

The anonymous post was simple—just a heavily blurred photo from the video I'd taken at the Moon's Den. The image was grainy, but unmistakably showed Derek with his arms around Lana, their faces close together.

Comments were already flooding in:

"OMG is that Derek Vance? With Lana from accounting?"

"Thought he was engaged to that sweet girl from marketing..."

"Knew something was off about that relationship..."

I scrolled through the responses, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. This was just the beginning—a small taste of what was to come.

My phone buzzed with a text from Derek: "Gym. Now."

---

"What the hell is this?" Derek thrust his phone in my face as I walked into the gym.

The screen displayed the forum post, now with hundreds of comments and shares.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, widening my eyes in confusion.

"Don't play dumb," he snapped, his voice rising enough that other pack members turned to stare. "This is exactly your kind of pathetic attention-seeking."

I let my lower lip tremble as I stared up at him. "Derek, why would I do something like that? I'm your fiancée."

"Because you're jealous and insecure," he hissed, grabbing my arm. "Admit it. You posted this crap to get back at me."

Tears welled in my eyes—real tears, but not for the reason he thought. They were tears of rage, carefully channeled into a performance of hurt innocence.

"I would never," I whispered, pulling away from him. "You're hurting me."

Around us, other gym members were openly staring now, their expressions shifting from curiosity to discomfort as Derek continued to glare at me.

From across the room, I caught Lucien's eye. He was working out in the corner, his gaze never leaving Derek as he watched the scene unfold. The ghost of a smile played at his lips as he observed Derek's public meltdown.

---

The nightclub pulsed with energy—strobe lights cutting through darkness, music vibrating through the floor beneath our feet. I'd dressed carefully tonight: a simple black dress that hugged my curves, hair loose around my shoulders.

Lucien looked devastating in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down that emphasized his broad shoulders. When he offered me his hand and led me toward the dance floor, I didn't hesitate.

"May I?" he asked formally, one hand settling at my waist.

I nodded, placing my hand on his shoulder as his other hand found mine.

We moved together as if we'd been dancing for years. His body was warm against mine, strong and sure as he guided us through the crowd. I could feel eyes on us—the Alpha and the Beta's fiancée, dancing too close, too intimately.

"I think we're being watched," I murmured against his ear.

"I'm counting on it," he replied, his breath warm against my neck.

I glanced toward the bar where Derek stood with Lana clinging to his arm. His face was a mask of barely controlled fury as he watched us.

"Is this what you wanted?" Lucien asked softly. "To make him jealous?"

I turned back to face him, studying his dark eyes. "Is that what you think this is?"

His hand tightened slightly at my waist. "Isn't it?"

Instead of answering, I let my body respond, pressing closer to him as the music slowed. My fingers traced patterns on his shoulder, and I felt his pulse quicken under my touch.

"Selena," he breathed, his voice rough with something that wasn't quite restraint.

I smiled up at him, aware of Derek's burning gaze from across the room. "Dance with me, Lucien," I whispered. "Let them watch."

As we moved together in the pulsing lights, I felt something shift between us—something that had nothing to do with Derek or revenge, and everything to do with the dangerous Alpha whose arms held me like I was precious rather than a pawn.