Julianna POV:

I pushed open my bedroom door and twisted the lock behind me. The click echoed in the silent room.

For a moment, I just stood there, my back pressed against the wood, the image from the study burned into my mind. Then, a cold fury washed over me, extinguishing the last embers of pain.

Action. I needed action.

I strode into my walk-in closet and yanked two sturdy duffel bags from the top shelf. They landed on the plush carpet with a soft thud. I threw them open on my bed and started pulling drawers open, my movements jerky and efficient.

Passports, a hidden stash of cash I kept for emergencies. My hands trembled as I shoved the bills into a side pocket, a few hundred-dollar notes fluttering to the floor. I ignored them.

I went to the intercom on my nightstand and pressed the button for the staff quarters. "Martha," I said, my voice low and steady, betraying none of the chaos raging inside me. "I need you. Now."

The static hiss of the speaker was the only reply before I released the button.

Seconds later, a frantic knock sounded at my door. I unlocked it, and Martha, my personal maid and the closest thing I had to a friend in this gilded cage, rushed in. Her eyes widened at the sight of clothes strewn across the bed and the open bags.

"My lady, what—"

"No questions," I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Go to the underground garage. Get the black SUV ready. The keys are in the usual spot. Do it quietly."

Martha's face was a canvas of confusion and worry, but loyalty won out. She gave a single, sharp nod and hurried out, her soft-soled shoes making a frantic patter down the hallway.

I turned back to my packing. A few warm sweaters, durable pants. The zipper on one of the bags snagged. Frustration, hot and sharp, flared through me. I yanked it hard. The pull-tab snapped off in my hand.

Cursing under my breath, I abandoned the broken bag and moved to my jewelry box. Not for sentiment. For capital. These were my escape funds.

A different sound from the hall-running footsteps, much clumsier than Martha's. My door burst open without a knock.

It was Chloe, one of the junior maids, her face pale and her chest heaving.

"Miss Julianna," she gasped, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "The guards... they've doubled the patrol in the east wing. And... and Miss Ana's personal maid, she's watching everyone."

A chill, colder than any winter night, snaked up my spine. My hands stilled over a diamond necklace.

I walked to the heavy velvet curtains and pulled them aside just enough to peer down at the manor's rear gate.

The powerful security floodlights illuminated the driveway. Two massive, hulking figures stood there, werewolves from Cameron's personal guard. They were rolling a spiked barrier into place, completely blocking the vehicle exit.

This wasn't just an affair.

This was a coup. Ana hadn't just seduced my mate; she had planned to trap me here.

My breath hitched. I let the curtain fall and moved from my bedroom into the adjoining private study. There had to be another way out. The original architectural plans, they showed service tunnels.

I pulled at the drawer of the antique desk where they were kept. Locked.

I scanned the desk for the key, my eyes frantic. It wasn't there. Panic began to bubble in my throat. I grabbed the heavy brass paperweight, a miniature wolf howling at the moon, and brought it down hard on the lock.

Wood splintered. The lock gave way. I tore the drawer open and rummaged through the files.

The folder labeled 'Blueprints' was there.

But it was empty.

Someone had taken them.

At that exact moment, across the manor, I felt a new wave of agony lance through my chest, ten times sharper than before. It wasn't just rejection anymore. This was a severing.

I doubled over, clutching my heart, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Cameron was doing it. He was actively, formally, trying to break the bond.

Chloe rushed forward. "Miss!"

"Stay back!" I snarled, an unconscious wave of alpha energy pushing her away. She stumbled back and fell onto the sofa, her eyes wide with fear.

I would not collapse. Not now. I gritted my teeth against the waves of spiritual pain, my vision tunneling. I forced myself to stand straight, my spine rigid. From the bottom of the broken drawer, my fingers closed around the cold, familiar hilt of a small dagger, its blade etched with silver runes. The sting of the silver against my skin was a welcome distraction.

My private phone buzzed. A secure message from Martha. SUV compromised. Garage exit blocked. They are waiting.

Every conventional path was cut off. I was a prisoner.

I looked at Chloe, who was trembling on the sofa. "Go back to your room," I commanded, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Lock the door. Do not come out, no matter what you hear."

She scrambled to her feet and fled without a word.

I slipped the silver dagger into the inner pocket of my coat. I took one last look around the room that was supposed to be my sanctuary, now the heart of my prison. With my one small, remaining backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked out of the study.

My only chance was the greenhouse on the west side of the estate. The outer wall was high, but climbable.

I stepped into the hallway.

And all the lights went out.

The corridor was plunged into absolute darkness, thick and suffocating.

From the shadows ahead, I heard a low, guttural growl. Then another, answering it from the other end of the hall.

The hunt had begun.

Julianna POV:

I pressed myself against the cool glass of the greenhouse wall, using the faint moonlight to navigate through the maze of exotic plants. The humid air, thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth, felt heavy in my lungs.

My bare feet made no sound on the stone path, but a dry twig snapped under my heel. The sound was like a gunshot in the night. The chirping of crickets abruptly ceased.

A blinding beam of light sliced through the darkness, hitting me straight in the eyes. I threw an arm up, momentarily blinded, spots dancing in my vision.

Three shapes materialized from the shadows, huge and menacing. They were Cameron's warriors, their forms blocking the only path to the outer wall.

And then, a figure stepped out from behind them.

Ana.

She was wearing a flowing silk robe, completely out of place in the damp greenhouse. The sharp click-clack of her heels on the flagstones was the sound of a predator approaching its cornered prey.

"Sister," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Going somewhere?"

The time for words was over.

I didn't answer. I pulled the silver dagger from my coat. The blade caught the moonlight, flashing with a cold, deadly promise.

The warrior in front flinched, taking an instinctive step back. The fear of silver was bred into our bones.

Ana's sweet expression hardened into a vicious sneer. "Get her."

Two of the warriors roared, their features shifting in a partial transformation. Claws extended from their fingertips as they lunged.

I twisted, dodging the first swipe. The claws raked the air where my throat had been a second before. I brought the dagger around in a low arc, slicing across the back of the second warrior's arm.

He screamed, a high-pitched sound of agony as the silver burned his flesh. The acrid smell of seared skin filled the air.

The sound enraged his partner. He didn't attack from the front. Instead, he kicked out, his boot connecting squarely with my spine.

The force of the blow sent me flying. I slammed into a wrought-iron potting shelf, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Pain exploded in my chest, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

Before I could even try to get up, Ana was there. She raised her foot, the stiletto heel of her shoe poised over my right hand, the one still clutching the dagger.

She brought it down.

A sickening crunch echoed in the greenhouse, followed by a wave of white-hot agony that shot up my arm. A choked gasp was torn from my throat as my fingers went numb. The silver dagger slipped from my grasp and skittered into the shadows of a fern.

Ana leaned down, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. Her face was inches from mine, her eyes gleaming with triumphant hatred.

"I'm not just taking Cameron," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper. "I'm taking everything. Your name, your title, your life."

Pain lanced through me, but my defiance burned hotter. I gathered the blood and saliva in my mouth and spat it directly in her face.

Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into slits of pure fury. She wiped the spittle away with the back of her hand and snatched an electric stun baton from the belt of a nearby guard.

She swung it hard against my left arm. A jolt of electricity seized my muscles, and another crack of bone signaled the end of my ability to fight back.

Just then, heavy, purposeful footsteps sounded at the greenhouse entrance.

Cameron.

He stood there, silhouetted against the dim lights of the manor, a long, dark coat draped over his shoulders. His face was a mask of thunderous rage.

For one stupid, insane second, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest. He's my mate. He'll see the truth.

The hope died the moment his eyes met mine. He looked at me like I was something vile he'd found on the bottom of his shoe.

Ana immediately transformed. Her vicious expression melted away, replaced by one of terror. She scrambled into his arms, sobbing.

"She tried to kill me, Cameron!" she wailed, pointing a trembling finger at the silver dagger lying in the dirt. "She came at me with silver! She's gone insane with jealousy!"

Cameron's gaze shifted to the dagger, its blade stained with the warrior's blood. His expression turned murderous. He truly believed her. He believed I, his fated mate, would try to murder my own sister.

He strode toward me, his presence suffocating. He stood over my broken body, a judge about to deliver a sentence.

"You have attacked a member of this pack with silver," he declared, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion. "You have committed the highest treason. I strip you of your name and your standing."

I started to laugh, a broken, gurgling sound that turned into a fit of coughing. Blood splattered onto the white rose petals at my feet. "Are you blind?" I choked out.

He ignored me. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a long, slender blade. A silver hunting knife, reserved for executing traitors.

"This is for Ana," he said, his voice flat. "To protect her."

He raised the knife.

The silver blade sliced through the air with a terrifying whistle.

It came down on my right shoulder, where my arm met my body.

The pain was absolute. It was a fire that consumed my entire being, a white-hot agony that burned away thought, sound, and sight. A scream was ripped from my soul, raw and animalistic.

Blood gushed from the wound, a hot torrent that soaked my clothes and pooled on the ground, turning the white roses to a sickening crimson. My body convulsed, my vision blurring into a grey haze.

Through the fog, I saw him wipe the blood from his blade with a handkerchief. He turned, wrapped his arm around Ana's shoulders, and walked away, leaving me to die in a puddle of my own blood.

The guards followed, their footsteps receding into the night.

I was alone.

My life was draining out of me, seeping into the cold earth. I stared at their retreating backs, the image burning into my dying mind. The despair, the pain, it all melted away, leaving behind a single, pure emotion.

Hate.

It was the last thing I felt before the darkness swallowed me whole.

There was no pain. Nobody. Nothing.

Only a cold, silent darkness that stretched on for eternity. I was floating, a disembodied consciousness adrift in a sea of nothing.

Then, images began to flicker at the edge of my awareness, memories playing out like a disjointed film.

I saw Martha, my loyal Martha, trying to create a diversion for me. I saw Ana's guards catch her. I saw them beat her, her life ending on the cold stone floor of the servants' quarters because of me. A silent scream of grief and rage echoed in the void that was my soul.

Another memory surfaced. A blizzard, five years ago. The wind howled, and the snow was a blinding white curtain. I was wearing a heavy red cloak and a bronze tusk mask to hide my identity. I was dragging a half-dead Cameron through the snow, his blood leaving a dark trail behind us. I had just saved him from a pack of feral rogues, his body a dead weight against mine.

I saved him.

The regret was a poison, more painful than any silver blade. I had saved the man who would one day murder me. I had brought this viper into my life.

A pinprick of light appeared in the vast darkness. It grew, expanding into a soft, silver glow. A voice, ancient and powerful, whispered in my mind. It was not made of words, but of feeling-of warmth, of sorrow, and of a second chance. The Moon Goddess.

A powerful force suddenly yanked me downward. I was falling, tumbling through the darkness, the sensation of gravity returning with a nauseating rush.

I gasped, a real, lung-filling gasp, and my eyes flew open.

I shot up, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was in a bed. My bed.