Elara POV:

I watched a pair of polished shoes enter my peripheral vision. The voice floated down from above, rich and measured, the voice of a wolf who had spent years learning to weaponize his words.

"Elara. Congratulations on your freedom."

If those words had come from anyone else, I might have managed a response. But from Leo's mouth, they were ash and vinegar.

My oldest friend. The boy from the orphanage who had fought off the older rogues who tried to steal my rations. The wolf who had pressed his forehead to mine when we were children and sworn, "No one will ever hurt you. Not while I'm breathing. That's a promise."

He had kept that promise—right up until it became inconvenient.

Leo Hayes. The pack's prodigy. The youngest wolf to ever be appointed to the Pack Council's legal tribunal. The first case he took, fresh out of his apprenticeship, was Isabella's defense.

He had come to my holding cell the night before the trial. He had taken my hands through the bars. His wolf's eyes had been soft, pleading, the amber ring around his pupils bleeding with false warmth.

"Elara. Isabella is fragile. She's never known hardship. She wouldn't last a week in Silverpine. But you—you've always been a survivor. Take the plea. Do this for her. Do this for me."

Isabella was fragile.Isabella couldn't survive.

And me? I was already broken in. I had been surviving since the day I was born.

We had grown up together. Two orphans, two wolves without territory, clinging to each other in the cold. He had promised to become a lawyer to fight for the powerless. He had become the wolf who protected the guilty and buried the innocent.

Sending the Alpha's blood daughter to Silverpine had made Leo's career.

Five years ago, fresh out of his legal apprenticeship, he had still carried the eager, hungry nervousness of a young wolf trying to prove himself.

Now, he was the pack's most celebrated legal strategist, every strand of his dark hair perfectly in place, every line of his suit cut to intimidate.

A long silence stretched across the dirt road，the click of the door unlocking was loud in the sudden silence.

I pulled the door open and slid inside, turned my head, and looked straight at Ethan.

"You said we were going home," I said. "Let's go."

Leo's face turned a deep, blotchy red. Shame and fury warred in his eyes. "You're making a mistake, Elara."

Of course, I know this is a wrong decision.

I originally planned to stay away from Vance's territory once I got out of prison, so they would never hear my name again. I also wouldn't try to compete with Celia for love that never belonged to me in the first place.

Because these five years in prison taught me one thing: when you have no power, no influence, and no one to rely on, the only way to survive is to find ways to minimize the harm you suffer.

I thought I could ignore all of this, but seeing he with my own eyes still made me feel sad about the unfair treatment I endured.

Instead of enduring it all, it's better to take matters into your own hands and invade the enemy's territory.

Ethan slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the Bentley shot forward like a bullet, carrying me home to a place that had long ago stopped being one.

But to my surprise, a Porsche was chasing closely behind. It was Leo—he hadn’t given up.

The Porsche accelerated, pulling up alongside us，the window slid down, his jaw set with determination.

"Elara!" he shouted over the wind and the engines. "Come with me! I'll get you out of here!"

I didn't turn my head. I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, on the blur of trees lining the highway. He was nothing. A ghost from a past I had buried.

His face fell, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. He didn't give up. He turned his attention to my brother. "Ethan, stop the car!"

Ethan laughed, a short, ugly sound. "On what authority? A pack lawyer who owes his entire career to my father's charity?"

The insult hit its mark. Leo's face tightened, but he swallowed his pride, his eyes pleading with me. "Elara, please. I was wrong five years ago. Just give me a chance to make it up to you. To compensate you."

Compensate.

The word was a spark on dry tinder. A tremor, invisible to anyone else, ran through me. It was the effort of holding back a tidal wave of rage.

Slowly, I turned my head. For the first time, I looked at him. I let him see my face.

There was no pain in my eyes. No longing. No forgiveness. There was nothing he could recognize. Only a vast, frozen tundra where a girl's heart used to be.

Ethan, sensing the shift in drama, eased his foot off the gas, slowing the car slightly. He was enjoying the show.

Hope flared in Leo's eyes. He mistook my attention for consideration. "I know you don't trust me, but I can explain everything. I-"

"Leave," I said.

The word was quiet, but it cut through the noise of the wind, the engines, everything. It was not a request. It was a dismissal.

All the prepared speeches, the justifications, the pleas for forgiveness, died on Leo's lips. He just stared, his mouth slightly open.

A loud, barking laugh erupted from Ethan. It was pure mockery, a celebration of Leo's humiliation.

Leo's face turned a deep, blotchy red. Shame and fury warred in his eyes. He wrenched his steering wheel, a reckless attempt to swerve into our lane, to force us to stop.

Ethan's amusement vanished. His eyes went cold. He stomped on the accelerator.

The Bentley's powerful engine roared to life. We surged forward, leaving the Porsche behind as if it were standing still.

I watched in the side mirror as Leo's car became a smaller and smaller speck, his desperate chase futile.

"Still have them wrapped around your finger, I see," Ethan said, his voice laced with a new, grudging curiosity.

"If you want to leave me with him, you can stop the car now," I replied, my voice flat.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The thought of me choosing Leo, even as a lesser of two evils, clearly irritated him. The competitive streak of an Alpha's son was a predictable thing.

He shot me a scrutinizing look. "You hate him?"

"I don't hate anyone," I said, turning my gaze back to the road ahead. "I just don't want to see another hypocritical face."

The words hung in the air, a double-edged blade that cut him as well.

He didn't reply. The silence returned, but it was different now. It was filled with his confusion.

I had defied his expectations. He had probably assumed I would leap at the chance to escape with Leo, to grasp at any straw of salvation. My cold, absolute rejection of my former friend, my choice to remain in the car with my enemy, was something he couldn't process.

It made me an unknown quantity. For the first time, he was looking at me and seeing a stranger, not just the family disgrace.

The Porsche was long gone.

I leaned my head back against the leather and closed my eyes. The brief, intense confrontation had drained the last of my meager energy reserves.

The real battle was still to come.

Elara POV:

After everything returned to calm,the familiar scent hit me first, a cloying sweetness that made my stomach churn. Gardenia.

It came from a small, elegant diffuser hanging from the rearview mirror.

Isabelle's favorite.

Of course. Even in Ethan's personal space, her presence lingered, a constant, suffocating reminder of who held the favored position in this family.

My hand moved, almost of its own accord, to the window controls. I lowered the glass just a crack, enough for a sliver of cold, clean air to cut through the perfumed cage.

"What, Isabelle's scent bothers you?" Ethan's voice was sharp, laced with accusation.

I didn't answer. I just watched the manicured lawns and imposing houses of the pack's elite flash by. They were supposed to be symbols of home, of safety. To me, they were just walls of a more luxurious prison.

My silence was a clear enough answer for him. "Ungrateful," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. "Isabelle chose that herself. You will show her respect."

His tone hardened. "Listen to me, Elara. Tonight is important for the family. Don't you dare cause a scene."

I finally turned to look at him, my expression unreadable. "I thought tonight was my 'welcome home' party."

The sarcasm was subtle, but it landed. He flinched. "It is. For you," he said, his voice stiff. "So you'd better act grateful, not like you're attending a funeral."

A small, humorless laugh escaped me. "Grateful for what? That you all finally remembered I exist?"

That did it.

He slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt just outside the main gates of the Vance estate.

He turned in his seat, his body radiating fury. The air in the car grew heavy, thick with a pressure that pushed down on my chest. His Alpha aura. A cheap trick to assert dominance.

"Drop the attitude," he snarled, his words low and dangerous. "Isabelle has felt guilty for years about what 'happened' to you. The last thing she needs is you hurting her with your bitterness."

Isabelle's guilt. The idea was so absurd, so grotesquely false, that a chill, sharp and clear as ice, shot through me.

I met his oppressive gaze. My lungs struggled for air, but I didn't look away. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"She's guilty?" My voice was soft, a stark contrast to his barely controlled rage. It was a genuine question, laced with the kind of irony only I could understand. "What could she possibly have to be guilty about?"

He stared at me, momentarily stunned. He had expected fear, submission. He had not expected this. He had not expected the look in my eyes. It wasn't weakness. It was a chilling mix of mockery and... pity?

Why was I looking at him with pity? The confusion warred with his anger.

The slow creak of the wrought iron gates swinging open broke the standoff.

Ethan seemed to deflate. He turned back to the wheel, his anger momentarily diffused by a strange unease. "Just... play the part," he said, his voice strained. "A repentant sister who needs her family's protection. That's all you have to do."

I said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

He drove through the gates. The long, winding driveway opened up to reveal the main house, ablaze with light. The lawn was crowded with people, their silhouettes moving against the bright windows. Music and laughter drifted on the evening air.

This wasn't a hastily arranged welcome. This was a full-blown gala.

Any tiny, foolish ember of hope that might have survived in some dark corner of my soul was finally, completely extinguished. It turned to cold, hard ash.

The Bentley pulled up to the grand entrance. A valet immediately rushed to open Ethan's door.

No one came to my side.

I pushed the heavy door open myself and stepped out onto the stone porch. My bad leg throbbed in protest. I stood there for a moment, a ghost in worn-out clothes at a feast for the living.

Ethan glanced back, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "You can't go in like that. There is a side porch over there. Mother has prepared a spare dress in the guest room area. Come with me. Go there and find a decent dress to wear. Be careful not to let the guests see you. "

Say that finish, he turned and walked forward, without waiting for me, and without reaching out his arm, he just went straight to the huge oak door, like a prince returning to his castle. I tried to keep up with the pace. But every step will make my spine feel a sharp pain.

By the time I realized it, he had disappeared. So I decided to slow down and go by myself. As a result, several guests found me when they passed by.

A woman in a sapphire dress stopped talking. She has that contemptuous expression peculiar to a noble lady on her face. Her eyes shifted from my face-gaunt and strange-to my clothes-worn out and completely out of place. There was a look of shock and disgust on her lips.

"Good heavens," she gasped. "Is that ...?"

The man beside her turned around. His eyes narrowed slightly. There was a flash of recognition, and then it became cold again.

"Elara Vance," he said loudly, so that all the guests around him could hear him. "Well, they finally let you out."

These words are like a stone thrown into the calm lake water. Ripples then spread. People are looking back. The conversation was also temporarily interrupted.