Emelia's POV:

The wind whipped my silver-white hair across my face, cold and sharp against my skin. Below, the sea churned, a dark, angry gray, crashing against the rocks.

My mind was empty. A vast, white nothingness. I wasn't planning to jump. I wasn't planning anything. I was just... here. Drawn to this wild place by a restless ache I couldn't name.

Then, I heard voices.

Faint, carried on the wind from a cluster of trees nearby. Pack guards, talking amongst themselves, thinking they were alone.

"...heard the Alpha's already chosen his real Luna up north..."

"...some Sinclair girl. Powerful family."

"...this one's just for show. A political bargain."

The words struck me like a physical blow. They twisted the knife already lodged in my chest. My composure, already fragile, shattered completely.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. The world tilted. The small, loose stone under my boot gave way.

A gasp escaped my lips, swallowed by the wind.

My body pitched forward. There was a moment of weightlessness, of pure, terrifying silence.

And then I was falling.

The impact with the water was a brutal shock. Ice-cold liquid enveloped me, a crushing weight that forced the air from my lungs. Darkness pressed in. I thought, This is the end.

I didn't fight it. I let the cold take me.

Just as my consciousness began to fade, strong arms wrapped around my waist. They were powerful, pulling me from the crushing depths and up toward the distant, shimmering surface.

My head broke the water. I coughed, sputtering, my lungs burning.

Through a blur of saltwater and fading vision, I saw a face. Anxious, kind, and unfamiliar. A gentle, deep voice spoke near my ear, urgent but calm.

"Hold on! Just hold on."

Then, nothing.

I woke up to the crackling of a fire.

I was in my own bed. The familiar scent of lavender and old wood filled my senses. My mother, Clara, sat in a chair beside me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her expression was as cold and brittle as ever. My father, Julian, paced anxiously near the fireplace.

I tried to move my fingers. They responded. My body felt weak, bruised, but it didn't have the deep, settled ache of years of neglect—only the rawness of the present.

"I... what happened?" My voice was a raw croak.

My father rushed to my side, his face a mask of fear and relief. "You foolish girl! What were you doing on that cliff?"

My mother handed me a glass of warm water, her movements stiff. "Mr. Case Reeves saved you. He was passing by."

Case Reeves?

The name echoed in my mind—a blank. I had never heard of him before. No one by that name had ever crossed my path. It was odd, but I was too dazed to dwell on it.

I took a sip of water, my hand trembling. My gaze drifted to the nightstand. To the calendar.

My heart stopped.

The date printed in neat, black letters was six years in the past. Six years before my wedding—the wedding that kept being postponed, the wedding that might never happen.

I sat bolt upright, a wave of vertigo making the room spin. "No."

I snatched the silver hand mirror from my bedside table.

The face that stared back at me was mine, but not. It was the face of a twenty-one-year-old. The cheeks were full, the skin unmarred by sleepless nights. The eyes, my eyes, were clear, without the shadows that had haunted them in recent months.

This was me before all the waiting, the humiliation, the slow erosion of hope.

And then—a cascade of images flooded my mind. Not memories of a past life, but visions of what was yet to come. I saw my mother's quiet grief, my brother's tragic end, and the cruel machinations of a woman I had once trusted. I saw Brenda—my father's mistress—and her lover, plotting against me. I saw the "accident" that would befall me years from now, if I let things run their course.

It was as if the fall had torn a veil, and I could now see the threads of fate.

A tidal wave of shock and fierce determination crashed through me. I gripped the mirror, my knuckles turning white.

I was back to six years ago, the time when I first fell off a cliff. The time when I first heard about that conspiracy.The icy lake water took me back to six years ago.

I could change it all. I could save my mother. I could save my brother. And I could stop Brenda before she ever struck.

My gaze, which had been dazed and confused, sharpened into something as hard and lethal as a shard of glass.

My mother noticed the change. "Emelia? Are you alright? You look..."

"I'm fine," I whispered, then took a deep, shuddering breath. I had to be careful. I couldn't reveal what I now knew—not yet.

I let the mirror fall from my hand onto the soft duvet. I looked at my father, arranging my features into a mask of weakness and terror.

Recalling the memory of my first fall from the cliff six years ago, I said in a trembling voice, "Father... before I fell... I think I saw Aunt Brenda."

I let the name hang in the air.

"She was with a man," I continued, my voice barely a whisper. "They were arguing... I didn't mean to listen, I was just walking, and then... then my foot slipped."

I didn't accuse. I didn't point a finger. I just painted a picture. I planted a seed.

My father's face, which had been etched with worry, turned to stone. Brenda had sworn to him she had ended things with that man.

He turned on his heel, his voice a low growl of command to the guards outside the door.

"Find Brenda. Bring her to my study. Now."

Emelia's POV:

The guards "escorted" Brenda into the study.

She saw my father's face, dark as a thundercloud, and a flicker of panic crossed her features. She quickly smoothed it over with a practiced, cloying sweetness.

"Julian, darling, what is it? I heard about Emelia, the poor thing..."

"Where were you this afternoon?" My father's voice was ice. It cut right through her performance.

Brenda's eyes darted nervously. "I was... shopping. In the town square."

My father tossed a photograph onto his mahogany desk. It was a grainy security image, but clear enough. Before Brenda arrived, my father had already retrieved the surveillance footage to verify the truth of my words."Really? Because your car was parked at the estate all afternoon."

Her face went pale. "Oh, that. I lent it to a friend. She needed to..."

The excuse died on her lips.

I appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on my mother's arm. I was the picture of fragile convalescence, my face pale, my movements slow and deliberate.

Brenda saw me, and for a split second, I saw it all in her eyes: venom, fear, and a flash of raw hatred. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a mask of syrupy concern.

"Oh, Emelia, you poor dear! You're alright! Thank the Goddess!"

I didn't look at her. I kept my gaze lowered, focusing on the intricate pattern of the Persian rug, letting my perceived weakness be my shield.

My mother's hand was a firm, steady pressure on my arm. Her eyes, cool and assessing, flicked from me to Brenda and back again. She didn't trust Brenda, but she wasn't entirely convinced by me either. She was watching. Waiting.

"Emelia says she saw you at the cliffs," my father pressed, his voice dangerously low. "With a man. Who was he?"

"That's absurd!" Brenda's denial was instant and loud. Tears welled in her eyes. The performance was masterful. "She's always disliked me! She's making it up to cause trouble, Julian! You know how she is!"

She started to sob, painting herself as the victim of a jealous step-daughter-to-be. For a moment, my father wavered. It was true; I had never hidden my disdain for her.

A cold smile touched my lips, but I kept it hidden. I knew her weak point. I knew the exact key to unlock this lie.

I let out a small, weak sound. "Father..." I began, my voice raspy. "I... I couldn't see the man's face clearly. It was all so fast. But I remember... he had a tattoo. On his wrist. A scorpion."

Brenda's sobbing stopped.

It was as if someone had hit a mute button. Her body went rigid.

That single detail was the fatal blow. I saw the recognition flash in my father's eyes—he had seen that tattoo before, on one of the stable hands. The fury of a deceived Alpha radiated from him, palpable and suffocating. I could feel it pressing against my skin.

He turned to the guards at the door, his voice a low growl. "Get Rick from the stables. Now. And lock down the estate—I want a full account of everyone's movements this afternoon."

Brenda crumpled. She sank to the floor, her face the color of ash. It was over.

My mother's grip on my arm tightened. As we turned to leave the study, she leaned in close, her voice a low whisper meant only for me.

"Are you certain about what you saw?"

I met her gaze. My eyes, clear and unwavering, held hers. "I'm certain, Mother."

A flicker of something—surprise, respect, perhaps even fear—passed through her cool expression. She fell silent. In that moment, she understood. Her daughter, the quiet, pliable girl she had known, was gone. In her place was someone... else. Someone stronger. Someone she didn't recognize.

She didn't ask any more questions. She simply helped me back to my room, leaving my father to deal with the wreckage.

She tucked me into bed, the movements efficient but still distant. The ice wall between us hadn't melted, not yet.

"Rest," she said, her tone clipped. "Don't involve yourself in this any further. I will handle it."

I knew I had a long way to go to earn back her trust. My weakness had always been a constant source of disappointment for her.

But as I watched her leave, I saw the first crack appear in that wall of ice.

It was a start.