The next day, I headed straight to the Scribe's Hall. After Theodore rejected me ninety-nine times, my heart was a tangled mess with nowhere to turn. So, under the pen name "Moonsinger," I poured my longing into words. My romance novel, Spear and Fallen Crown, took Sylvoth Town by storm, a wildfire of a story. In its pages, Theodore and I weathered countless trials to find our happy ending. But in reality? We're a pair of wolves bound by resentment, snarling at each other's throats.

Before my death, someone offered a hefty sum to adapt my novel into a play. Today, I was here to settle that deal.

As I stepped inside, my eyes landed on Theodore and Cordelia standing nearby. Cordelia spotted me, her voice dripping with honey. "Daphne, what a coincidence."

I didn't answer.

She kept talking, all sweetness. "Don't get the wrong idea. Theodore's only here because I was chosen as this year's Starlight Feast 'Weaver Maiden.' He's buying the rights to that hit novel, Spear and Fallen Crown, to turn it into a play for me."

Her words sounded like an explanation but reeked of gloating. I glanced at Theodore. So, he was the one buying my story.

His icy gaze met mine, his brow furrowing. "Daphne, what are you doing here?"

"I-" I started, but Cordelia cut in with a soft laugh. "Theodore, she probably heard you were here and followed you."

Her words painted me as a desperate stalker. Theodore's face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist, dragging me outside. His voice hit like a thunderclap, cold and sharp. "Daphne, your constant clinging is exhausting."

My throat burned with bitterness. "I didn't follow you," I said, voice tight. "I'm here for personal business."

He scoffed. "Personal business? For three years, you've done nothing but trail me like a shadow or hole up in your room with your smutty sketches. What 'business' could you possibly have?"

His accusations cut deep, slicing my heart open. I'd all but lost myself trying to be what he wanted.

My chest ached, but I kept my voice low. "Theodore, if you hate me this much, let's break the bond. From now on, we go our separate ways."

The air froze. Theodore stared, stunned, like he couldn't believe I'd said it. In the misty rain, my face must've looked ghostly pale, a far cry from the vibrant, clingy she-wolf he knew. Something flickered in his eyes-irritation, maybe-but it vanished, replaced by a cruel smirk. "Separate ways? You schemed and clawed your way into this bond, ruining my chance with Cordelia. So, no, Daphne. We'll keep fighting, keep hating, until it destroys us both."

His words hit like a sledgehammer. I'd known he hated me, but I hadn't realized it ran so deep, carved into his very bones. The pain in my chest was a thousand tiny needles, stealing my voice.

Cordelia stepped out. "Theodore, it's raining. Take me home?"

He turned, grabbing an umbrella from a servant and helping her into a carriage. I stood there, rain soaking my dress, each drop a fresh wound to my heart.

Love and indifference-it was all laid bare.

I pushed down the hurt and went to meet the hall's manager. I sold the rights to my novel but insisted on changing the ending. That perfect, happy conclusion was just another obsession tying me to Theodore. If it was wrong, I'd fix it.

After settling the deal, I stepped into the courtyard. A gaggle of young she-wolves chattered nearby, their voices like a rising tide. "Heard Cordelia's the Weaver Maiden for the Starlight Feast," one said. "No wonder Theodore had ice jade shipped from Taldira to carve a moon lantern for her. He's pulling out all the stops for his true mate."

"Such a shame," another sighed. "Those two were meant to be, until that troublemaker Daphne tore them apart. I hope she gets what's coming to her-dead in a ditch somewhere."

I forced a weak smile. I had died. Brutally.

A few days later, it was my mother Isobel's birthday feast. I'd prepared her gift before my death, but I hesitated. My parents probably didn't want to see me, but this was my last chance to say goodbye. I dressed carefully and headed out.

At the gate, a gilded carriage from the Ashford estate waited. Theodore's voice came, flat and cold. "It's Isobel's birthday. We'll go together."

Since we'd bound ourselves, he'd never once joined me for a visit to my family. But now, with Cordelia back, he was suddenly eager. I knew who he was really going to see.

Half an hour later, we arrived at House Sinclair. The feast was in full swing, laughter and music spilling everywhere. I stepped into the hall, forcing a smile. "Father, Mother, I'm back."

I bowed and offered Isobel her gift. "Wishing you health and endless blessings, Mother."

The warm atmosphere turned to ice. My father, Jonathan, glared. "You ungrateful pup, showing your face here? Why don't you keep faking your illness-or your death-so we don't have to bury you ourselves?"

Isobel's face was all disappointment. "Daphne, you're beyond reckless."

I opened my mouth to explain, but how do you describe dying and coming back? I had died.

Cordelia stepped forward, looping her arms through my parents'. "Daphne's return is a blessing," she said softly. "Let's not dwell on dark things today." Then she turned to Theodore, all warmth. "Will you help me cut Mother's longevity cake?"

"Of course," he replied, his expression softening as he joined her.

My parents' faces lit up with smiles. My own flesh and blood, and the wolf meant to be my mate, stood there laughing with Cordelia, while I was the odd one out.

Alive or dead, I was the one who didn't belong.

I didn't want to intrude on the cozy "family" scene, so I handed my mother's gift to a servant and slipped away to my old bedroom. The room still carried the faint scent of my girlhood. On the wall hung a painting from my tenth birthday, commissioned by my father, Jonathan. It captured the three of us-me, him, and Isobel-before Cordelia came to House Sinclair. My smile in the portrait was bright, unguarded, and my parents' eyes sparkled with pride and love.

I stared at it for a long time, tears welling up. With a deep breath, I pulled out an empty box to pack away these remnants of my past. As I sorted through my things, I realized most of it was tied to Theodore. Eighty-eight gifts I'd given him, all returned. Ninety-nine letters, unopened. A silk pouch I'd pricked my fingers ten times to embroider for him. A luminous glass lantern I'd hunted down. A nine-stringed zither I'd waited ten days in Taldira's royal court to acquire. Each item screamed of how fiercely I'd loved him.

My cold heart stung, like it had been dipped in boiling water. But I packed them all away. If I stopped clinging to these delusions of redemption, those stubborn obsessions couldn't hold me anymore.

When I finished, I left the room. Passing the main hall, I heard the same cheerful chatter. I meant to slip out unnoticed, but then I caught sight of a figure bowing deeply. "Jonathan, Isobel, I'm Killian Crowhurst, here to wish you a happy birthday."

His voice hit me like a thunderbolt, freezing me in place. That voice-it belonged to the rogue leader who'd tortured me for three days, ripping out my fingernails. I could still feel the chains biting into my wrists and ankles, his dagger lifting my chin. "House Sinclair's prized she-wolf," he'd sneered. "Soft as silk but tougher than a brothel girl."

I'd never forget that voice or the searing pain of his blade slicing my skin.

My face drained of color, my body trembling uncontrollably. The box in my hands crashed to the floor.

The laughter in the hall stopped dead. All eyes turned to me. Jonathan's face darkened. "Daphne! Skulking around like that-what trouble are you stirring now?"

I stared at Killian, my voice hoarse. "It's him. He's the rogue who kidnapped me."

"Nonsense!" Isobel snapped, her face twisted with anger. "Killian is Cordelia's friend. How dare you slander him?"

Cordelia's eyes flickered with panic before she masked it with concern. She stepped toward me. "Daphne, you must be exhausted. Let me help you to your room."

I yanked my arm away, ready to confront Killian, but Theodore's iron grip clamped onto my wrist, nearly crushing it. His face was a storm of frost. "Daphne! It's your mother's birthday, and you're still playing these ghostly games? Enough!"

Every word was a dagger, piercing my heart. The pain choked me, and I looked at the four of them-Jonathan, Isobel, Cordelia, Theodore-my lips trembling, unable to form another sound.

I'd almost forgotten: no one here would believe me. No one cared if I lived or died.

In a daze, I clutched the box and fled, like a wounded animal running from a trap.