That night, I returned home alone.

As I stepped onto the porch, the motion-sensor light flickered to life.

Inside, the house felt like a haunted mausoleum.

Every room was veiled in a hazy fog.

Nothing except for the guest room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

That room held a tangible presence, a lingering scent of Alice .

Even after she'd moved out, my mother would often say,

"We should keep it ready for when Alice comes back."

Three days later, as the sun began to set, the doorbell shattered the eerie silence.

Frankson stood under the porch light.

Behind him, Alice cowered, clad in a cream-colored trench coat.

As Alice lifted her eyes, droplets clinging to her lashes.

The last time I'd seen her before my coma, she'd clutched the velvet hairpin Frankson gave me, her voice sickly sweet: "Olivia, this color suits you so well."

"She just got discharged. There's trouble in her neighboring mansion," Frankson pulled Alice protectively behind him. My gaze locked onto the pale pink scar on her knuckles-a relic from the museum collapse three years ago.

I remember how Alice had swung that fire axe, the blade narrowly missing her ankle as it buried itself in the rubble.

Her crescent-shaped scar pulsed beneath my stare, a mocking reminder of the bond they'd forged in my absence.​

My mother offered Alice a pair of slippers-my size.

"She has no family," my father's sigh was a death knell.

The dining room table groaned under the weight of Mexican chili burritos, Buffalo wings drowning in spicy sauce.

The pungent aroma of cayenne and habanero slammed into me like a physical blow, triggering a violent coughing fit. My sensitive wolf stomach churned, memories of Frankson hovering over the stove, carefully preparing mild pasta dishes for me-now replaced by the sight of him deftly slicing a juicy ribeye for Alice.​

"Easy, love. No one's going to steal your meal," he cooed.

Blood-red juices oozed from the steak.

My mother piled avocado salad onto Alice's plate, her voice brimming with affection: "I asked the cook to spend hours perfecting that smoky paprika dressing you adore."

She even forgot my chili allergy.​

When Alice choked on a piece of steak, Frankson dropped to one knee behind her, massaging her back.

As his wrist flashed, I caught a glimpse of the silver bracelet I'd given him before my coma, the delicate engraving of "O.L." glinting mockingly.

The way he held the glass of water to Alice's lips, his thumb gently tilting her chin-it was an exact replica of the countless nights he'd nursed me back to health.​

I set my fork down.

The burning sensation of capsaicin seared my throat.

In the ornate floor - length mirror at the stairwell corner, the silhouettes of three figures huddled around Alice, their forms a grotesque mockery of a loving family.

Three years ago, trapped in the rubble of the collapsed museum basement, the crackling static of the walkie - talkie had been louder than Frankson's labored breaths.

It was Alice who had been the first to breach the cordon, her claws shredded and her fingertips raw as she frantically pulled at the twisted steel bars.

Friends later told me that in his delirious state, Frankson had clung to Alice's hand, calling out my name with each ragged breath.

But when she pressed his blood - stained palm against her cheek, his eyelashes had fluttered, and a single drop of blood had landed on the crescent - shaped scar on her leg.

I sat in the darkness of my room.​

On the bedside table, a framed photograph mocked me with its innocence.

In the image, Frankson's arm was wrapped protectively around my shoulders.​

From downstairs, the clatter of cutlery and the soft, melodious laughter of Alice drifted up the stair.

Reaching under my pillow, I retrieved my phone.

As the screen flickered to life.

There was Frankson, standing before a majestic ancient Roman sculpture in the museum.

Little did I know then that the very same museum would crumble around us, trapping Frankson in its ruins and making me a vegetable for three years..

And when he was finally pulled from the debris, the first face he saw was Alice's.

The door to my bedroom slammed open, and Frankson's alpha presence filled the room.

"Things have been crazy lately. I forgot about your favorite cold - smoked salmon," he murmured"Tell me what you want, and I'll make it up to you."​

"I want her out of this house."

The warmth of his embrace vanished in an instant.

"There was a murder near her place. She's terrified. She needs someone to look after her right now."

He pressed a kiss to my ear, but it felt like a bite.

"Stop being difficult..."​

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from the living room.

Frankson and I both snapped our heads up.

There stood Alice at the top of the stairs.

Shards of a broken glass glistened at her feet like a spider's web, and tears welled up in her eye.

She turned and fled into the rain, wincing as her injured foot slammed into the door frame.

Frankson's grip on me disappeared in a blur.

His trench coat button popped off as he bolted after her, landing at my feet with a hollow click.​

Back in college, when he'd broken his leg during a basketball game, I'd stayed by his bedside, sobbing.

He'd wiped away my tears and promised, "Little crybaby, I'll take you to Rockefeller Center for cheesecake once I'm better."

Back then, he'd worn the silver bracelet I'd given him, the one with a single "O" engraved at the end.​

Now, as I watched him sprint into the downpour after Alice, it hit me like a tidal wave.

He wasn't afraid of Alice seeing us together. He was terrified of losing her.

Dawn broke.

Frankson hadn't returned.

I clutched my phone, dialed his number again and again.

It wasn't until the afternoon that the truth came crashing down.

Alice had been in an accident.

A car with malfunctioning brakes, destined to strike Frankson, had instead plowed into her.

For half a month, Alice recuperated in the hospital, and for half a month, Frankson never once set foot back in our home.

Finally, driven by a masochistic need for closure, I found myself outside Alice's hospital room.​

Before I could enter, I caught a glimpse through the half - open door.

Alice, her head swathed in bandages, clung desperately to Frankson's waist.

"Frankson," she sobbed.

"I've been your substitute willingly," she cried.

"I'd give my life for you without hesitation!"​

"If Olivia hasn't waken up, would you have loved me?"

The seconds ticked by.

Then, finally, Frankson's lips parted.

"Yes,"

The thermos flask slipped from my trembling fingers, crashing to the floor with a deafening bang.

Rich, steaming cocoa splattered across the cold linoleum.

I bolted towards the fire escape.

Frankson burst through the door.​

Suddenly, a grip closed around my wrist.

"Olivia, it's not what you think."

He pinned me against the cold steel handrail.

Alice's mournful sobs drifted down the corridor.

"She just finished her psychological evaluation. The doctor said she can't be stressed-"​

"Is that why you said yes?"

"She saved my life twice, Olivia," he pleaded, his grip on my wrist tightening.

I stared into his eye. The man who'd promised to never let me go.

Just then, Frankson's phone buzzed urgently.

His face paled as he listened to the nurse's panicked voice on the other end.

"Alice fainted again."

Instantly, his hold on me slackened, and he was already halfway down the stairs.

Watching his retreating figure vanish into the elevator, I felt my phone vibrate in my palm.

A voice message from Mom crackled through the static.

"How's the dizziness? The doctor said you need more sunlight during the last checkup."

When I'd emerged from my three-year coma, she'd sobbed into my hand, whispering,

"All I want is for you to be alive." But now, there was an unfamiliar hesitancy in her tone.​

"Fine. No problems."

Dad coughed on the other end. "Your mother means-"​

"Could you. keep your encounters with Alpha Frankson private when Alice is around?"​

"Alice has suffered enough these past three years," Dad's words made my vision blur with rage.

"We're begging you," Dad's voice softened.

In the days that followed, Alpha Frankson seemed like a completely different person.

Today was my birthday.

As the salty wind whipped through my hair on the beach, Alpha Frankson presented me with a strawberry cake box.

My gaze fell on the silver bracelet he'd started wearing again.

The "O" charm glinted in the setting sun, but all I could see were the delicate pink sakura ribbons that had been tangled in the chain last week-ribbons that matched the ones in Alice's hair.​

"No more running," he murmured, caging me in his arms.

His chin rested on the top of my head.

In the distance, a swarm of drones began to form a heart-shaped pattern, their lights twinkling like the fireworks he'd once set off to spell "LOVE."

I remembered how his palms had sweated as he held the ring box, how his knee had thudded against the sand when he'd proposed.​

Our birthday dinner was set at a cliffside restaurant, the flickering candlelight casting a romantic glow over his profile as he sliced into his steak.

Then, as he excused himself to the restroom, his phone vibrated on the tablecloth.

When the screen lit up, the contact name-a single letter "A".​

Alice's voice poured out of the speaker as I watched the waves crash against the rocks outside.

"I won't let any more boys walk me home, I promise!"

Memories flashed back to two days ago, when the housekeeper had reported seeing Alpha Frankson waiting outside the hospital, and Alice sporting a thick, masculine scarf around her neck.

That was the day he'd started acting like the loving mate I'd once known.​

He snatched the phone away, his fingertips grazing my hand.

"Since when do you think you can snoop through my things?"

"Or how else would I know you only came back to me because you fought with Alice?"

The drone show raged on, thousands of lights forming a spinning heart against the night sky.​

"Stop being irrational," he growled.​

"Look at me!"

I wrenched my arm free.

"Tell me you're here for me, not because some wolf walked Alice home. "​

"Why are you obsessed with her?" he roared.​

In the distance, the drones began to form new words: "Happy birthday."

"There's nothing between us," he insisted.​

"Then why won't you answer me?"

Alpha Frankson's phone blared its emergency tone.

It was my mom Laura.

"Alice collapsed again at the hospital. "​

Alpha's face drained of color.

"I shouldn't have lashed out."

"Alice... she took a bad fall down the stairs."​

"Next time, I'll make it up to you."

He pried my fingers off his arm.

I watched him sprint towards the parking lot.​

In that moment, as if mirroring my shattered heart, the entire drone display flickered and died.

The first crack of thunder shattered the sky as the smoldering wreckage of the drones still hissed on the sand.

Deep into the night, my phone vibrated .

Alice's message popped up.

In the photo, Alpha Frankson lay slumped over her hospital bed.​

"I told him to go home," her voice message trembled with a feigned sob.

"Alice,"

"that pearl bracelet on your wrist? It's my grandmother's heirloom, passed down through true - blooded heir."

"Everything you've stolen by mimicking me,"

"will slip through your fingers the moment you stop playing my shadow."​