I watched my sister float across the room like a ghost herself, her silver gown catching the chandelier light as she moved toward Father. The crowd was still buzzing from his toast, champagne glasses clinking in celebration of Ivy's perfect future. But something in her expression made my spectral form drift closer.

"Dad," Ivy's voice was soft, barely audible above the party chatter. She placed a delicate hand on Father's arm, her eyes wide with what looked like genuine concern. "Don't say those things about Harper. What if something really happened to her?"

Father's expression softened immediately. He'd always been putty in Ivy's hands—we all had been. "Sweetheart, you know how your sister is. She's probably holed up somewhere feeling sorry for herself."

"But what if she's not?" Ivy's voice trembled with the perfect amount of worry. She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. "Maybe I should text her? You know Harper and I have always been close. She might answer me even if she won't answer Conner."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with being dead. Close? When had we ever been close? But the guests around them were nodding approvingly, murmuring about what a sweet sister Ivy was.

Father squeezed her shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, princess. But don't let her drama ruin your special night."

Ivy's thumbs moved across her phone screen with practiced ease. I drifted closer, peering over her shoulder at the message she was typing. The words made my spirit recoil in horror:

*Those rogues fuck you good? Party's amazing, thanks for not showing. Wish you'd just die already.*

My sister—my baby sister who I'd protected from bullies, who I'd helped with homework, who I'd covered for when she snuck out—had just typed those words. But before I could process the full impact, she deleted the message with quick, efficient swipes.

Then her fingers began typing again, this time crafting something entirely different:

*Harper, are you okay? We're all so worried about you. If you're mad at Dad or Conner, take it out on me instead. Please just come home. I love you.*

She turned the phone toward Father, letting him read the message before she sent it. "See? I'm trying to reach out."

"That's my girl," Father said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Always thinking of others."

Ivy hit send, and somewhere in the wine cellar, my phone buzzed against the cold stone floor next to my lifeless fingers. The sound was swallowed by the thick walls and the noise of the party above.

Mother appeared at Ivy's other side, her Luna presence commanding even in the crowded room. Diana Mills was everything a pack leader's wife should be—elegant, composed, fiercely protective of her family. Her dark hair was streaked with premature silver from years of pack politics, but it only made her look more distinguished.

"What's wrong, darling?" Mother asked, immediately sensing Ivy's distress.

"I texted Harper, but she's not responding," Ivy said, holding up her phone to show the delivered but unread message. "I'm just worried something might have happened to her."

Mother's arms wrapped around Ivy instantly, pulling her close in a protective embrace that I'd rarely received in life. "Oh, sweetheart. You're always so good to her, even when she doesn't deserve it."

"But what if—"

"No." Mother's voice was firm. "This is exactly what Harper wants. She wants us all worried, wants to steal attention from your big night. Well, I won't let her manipulate us anymore."

I watched my family comfort each other over my supposed selfishness while my actual corpse lay rotting in the basement. But it was Ivy's performance that truly chilled me. The way she leaned into Mother's embrace, the perfect tremor in her voice, the concerned furrow of her brow—it was all so convincing.

Because I was starting to remember.

The memory came back in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror slowly fitting together. This morning—was it really just this morning?—I'd been in my room, getting ready for something important. Something I'd been looking forward to for weeks.

The Crescent Medal ceremony.

It was the pack's highest honor, awarded only every two years to the member who'd shown exceptional service and dedication. At seventeen, I would have been the youngest recipient in pack history. All those late nights helping with pack security, mediating disputes between younger members, organizing supply runs to neighboring territories—it had all led to this moment.

I'd planned to slip away quietly during Ivy's party, accept the medal in a small ceremony with the pack elders, then return before anyone noticed I was gone. I didn't want to overshadow Ivy's Luna announcement. I never wanted to overshadow Ivy.

But I'd never made it to the ceremony.

Instead, three rogues had been waiting for me in the garage. They'd grabbed me before I could shift, dragged me kicking and screaming into the house through the back entrance. Down the stairs to the wine cellar, where no one would hear my cries over the party music.

I remembered their leader—a scarred wolf with yellow eyes and breath that reeked of cheap whiskey. He'd smiled when he saw my fear, showing teeth filed to points.

"Nothing personal, kid," he'd said. "Just business."

Business. Someone had paid them to kill me.

And now, watching Ivy's perfect performance, I remembered something else. Something that made my spectral form feel like it was drowning in ice water.

The rogues' leader had pulled out a set of keys while his companions held me down. Car keys, house keys, and hanging from the ring like a trophy—a small silver wolf charm. Ivy's charm. The one she'd worn on her keychain since she was twelve, the one she claimed was her good luck piece.

I'd seen those keys in his hand right before everything went dark.

My sister. My baby sister who was currently accepting sympathy and praise for her "concern" about my disappearance. She'd hired those rogues. She'd arranged my murder.

The perfect daughter, the beloved princess, the future Luna—she'd wanted me dead.

And she'd gotten her wish.

Three hours earlier, I'd been standing in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing down the soft gray-blue fabric of my dress. It was simple, understated—nothing that would draw attention away from Ivy's big night. The Crescent Medal ceremony was supposed to be a quiet affair anyway, just me and the pack elders in the small meeting room behind the main hall.

My hands trembled slightly as I fastened the silver bracelet Mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday. The irony wasn't lost on me—in a house where I was constantly overlooked, I was about to receive the pack's highest honor. At seventeen, I'd be the youngest recipient in history.

Downstairs, I could hear the catering staff setting up for Ivy's party. The clink of champagne glasses, the rustle of tablecloths, the low murmur of early arrivals. My sister's Luna announcement was the event of the year, and rightfully so. She deserved this moment.

I checked my phone—6:47 PM. The ceremony was at seven. I'd slip out through the back, accept the medal, and return before anyone even noticed I was gone. Perfect.

That's when I heard the crash downstairs.

Glass shattering. The back door splintering off its hinges. Heavy boots on the kitchen tile.

"She's here," a rough voice called out. "Second floor, end of the hall. Just like she said."

My blood turned to ice. Three sets of footsteps thundered up the stairs, moving with purpose. Not random break-in. Not opportunistic theft. They were here for me.

I lunged for my phone, but the bedroom door exploded inward before I could reach it. Three men filled the doorway—rogues, their scent wild and unwashed, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger.

The leader was massive, scarred from countless fights, his teeth filed to sharp points. "Harper Mills," he said, like he was checking my name off a list. "Right on time."

"What do you want?" I backed toward the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Nothing personal, sweetheart." He pulled something from his pocket, dangling it in front of my face. Keys. Car keys, house keys, and hanging from the ring like a accusation—Ivy's silver wolf charm. The good luck piece she'd worn since she was twelve.

My world tilted. "How do you have those?"

His smile was all teeth and malice. "Don't worry about that. Worry about this—nobody's coming to save you. Your whole family's downstairs celebrating your sister's big night. Nobody gives a shit where you are."

I tried to scream, but one of his companions was already moving. A hand clamped over my mouth, another grabbed my arms. I thrashed wildly, my dress tearing as they dragged me from the room.

"Careful with the merchandise," the leader laughed. "We need her conscious for the photos."

Photos. My stomach lurched as they hauled me down the back stairs, past the kitchen where catering staff worked obliviously, down into the wine cellar where the party music was just a distant thrum overhead.

They threw me against the stone wall, and pain exploded through my shoulder. The leader pulled out his phone, the camera flash blinding in the dim basement light.

"Smile, princess. Your sister wants proof."

Rage gave me strength. I lunged at him, claws extending, but I was still human-form and they were ready. The second rogue backhanded me across the face, splitting my lip. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and warm.

"Feisty," he chuckled. "I like that."

They took turns. Hitting me, photographing the damage, making crude comments about what the "spoiled little rich girl" looked like now. I fought back with everything I had, but three against one in an enclosed space—the math was simple.

During one desperate struggle, I broke free for a split second. Scrambled toward the stairs, toward help, toward life. But the leader caught me by the hair, yanked me backward with such force that I flew across the room.

The wine rack rushed up to meet me. The sharp corner of the wooden frame caught me just above my left ear, and the world exploded into white-hot agony. Blood poured down my face, warm and sticky, pooling on the stone floor beneath me.

"Shit," one of them whispered. "That's a lot of blood."

"Is she dead?" The youngest rogue sounded panicked.

The leader knelt beside me, checking my pulse with rough fingers. I was conscious but barely, my vision swimming in and out of focus. "Still breathing. But we need to go. This wasn't supposed to get this messy."

They fled, their footsteps echoing up the stairs and out through the broken back door. I heard a car engine roar to life, tires squealing on asphalt. Then silence, except for the distant sound of laughter from Ivy's party.

I lay there in the spreading pool of my own blood, my head throbbing with each heartbeat. The gray-blue dress was ruined now, soaked crimson. My phone had fallen from my pocket during the struggle, skittering across the floor just out of reach.

Using every ounce of strength I had left, I dragged myself across the cold stone. My fingers were slick with blood, making it hard to grip anything. But somehow, I managed to pull the phone closer.

The screen was cracked but functional. With my tongue—my hands too shaky to work properly—I managed to swipe to my contacts.

Mom first. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Diana Mills. I can't come to the phone right now..."

I tried Dad next. One ring, then nothing. He'd declined the call.

Conner. Please, Conner. My big brother who'd always protected me when we were kids, before everything changed.

The call went straight to voicemail, but a text popped up immediately: *Again with the fake emergency bullshit? We're done playing your games, Harper. Dad, Mom and I already cut our pack bond with you. Stop being such an attention whore.*

Pack bond. Cut. The words hit me harder than any physical blow. They'd severed their connection to me—no wonder no one had sensed my distress, my pain, my terror.

I was truly alone.

With trembling fingers, I scrolled to the last contact. The one I'd been avoiding for weeks, the one that hurt most to see.

Ryker. My fated mate. The Alpha who'd rejected our bond the moment he realized his political future lay with Ivy, not me.

The phone rang once. Twice.

"Harper?" His voice was sharp with irritation. "What the hell do you want?"

"Ryker," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Blood was filling my throat now, making it hard to speak. "Help me. Please. I'm dying."

A long pause. Then a disgusted sigh.

"Harper, cut the dramatics. Today is Ivy's Luna announcement. Your attention-seeking has got to stop. I told you I'd get you a graduation present later, okay? We can talk then."

"No, you don't understand—" I tried to explain, but the words came out as a gurgle.

"I understand perfectly. You're jealous of your sister and you're acting out. Well, I'm not falling for it anymore. Grow up."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone screen until it went dark, my reflection ghostlike in the black surface. Above me, the party continued. Laughter. Music. The sound of people celebrating while I bled out in the basement.

My lips curved into something that might have been a smile. How fitting. Even dying, I was still the family disappointment.

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the stone. My vision was fading now, darkness creeping in from the edges. But I could still hear them upstairs—my family, my pack, my fated mate—all of them celebrating the future that would never include me.

Ninety-nine days until my eighteenth birthday.

I'd never see eighteen now.

I ended the call and slipped my phone back into my jacket pocket, irritation still coursing through me. Harper's dramatics were getting worse by the day. *I'm dying.* The words echoed in my mind with their theatrical desperation. Three years of being her fated mate, and she still hadn't learned that manipulation wouldn't work on me.

The grand ballroom buzzed with celebration around me, crystal chandeliers casting warm light over the elegant crowd. Pack leaders from three territories had come to witness Ivy's Luna announcement, and the air thrummed with political possibility. This was where I belonged—among the powerful, the influential, the ones who shaped our world.

Not in some basement listening to Harper's latest cry for attention.

"Ryker?" Ivy's voice was soft as silk, drawing me back to the present. She stood beside the champagne fountain, her silver gown catching the light like moonbeams on water. Even surrounded by the pack's most beautiful she-wolves, she outshone them all.

I moved to her side, automatically adjusting the delicate beaded shawl that had slipped from her shoulder. The gesture was natural now, practiced from months of public appearances together.

"Ryker哥哥," she said quietly, using the pet name that always made something warm unfurl in my chest. Her dark eyes searched my face with genuine concern. "Harper是不是又打电话来闹了？"

I couldn't help the frown that creased my brow. "She said she was dying. Same old tricks." The words came out harsher than I intended, but the frustration was real. "I honestly don't know when she'll finally grow up."

Ivy's eyes immediately filled with tears—not the crocodile tears Harper was famous for, but real emotion that made her look fragile and heartbreaking. "Don't blame姐姐," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "She's just so lonely. All she's ever wanted in this life is to be loved."

Her hand found my arm, fingers resting lightly on my sleeve. The touch was natural, comfortable—everything my bond with Harper had never been. Where Harper's presence felt like chaos and demands, Ivy was peace. Understanding. Everything an Alpha needed in a Luna.

"You're too good to her," I murmured, covering her hand with mine. "Always defending her, even when she doesn't deserve it."

"She's still my sister." Ivy's smile was sad but beautiful. "I just wish she could be happy for me, you know? This is supposed to be the best night of my life, and she's..."

"Hey." I turned to face her fully, my hands settling on her shoulders. "Don't let her ruin this for you. Tonight is about your future. Our future."

The words felt right in a way that talking about Harper never did. Ivy and I made sense—politically, socially, emotionally. We moved in the same circles, understood the same pressures, wanted the same things. A strong pack, a stable future, a partnership built on mutual respect and shared goals.

Not the messy, complicated tangle of obligation and resentment that defined my relationship with Harper.

I thought about all the times Harper had called me over the years, always needing something. Help with pack politics she didn't understand. Comfort after another fight with her family. Support for dreams that would never align with pack needs. And every time, I'd promised to be there later, to make it up to her, to give her the attention she craved.

But there was always something more important. A treaty to negotiate. A border dispute to resolve. Ivy's schedule to accommodate.

Harper never seemed to understand that being Alpha meant making hard choices. It meant prioritizing the pack's needs over personal desires. It meant choosing the mate who would strengthen us, not the one who would constantly demand emotional labor I didn't have time to give.

"You're thinking about her again," Ivy observed, her thumb brushing across my knuckles where our hands were still joined. "I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm thinking about you," I corrected, and it was true. "About how perfect you look tonight. About how proud I am to stand beside you."

Her smile was radiant, transforming her face from merely beautiful to absolutely luminous. "Dance with me?"

I led her onto the dance floor as the quartet began a slow waltz. She moved like liquid starlight in my arms, every step perfectly synchronized with mine. Around us, the crowd watched approvingly—the future Alpha and his chosen Luna, everything a pack could want in their leaders.

This was what mattered. Not Harper's tantrums or her desperate attempts to reclaim a bond we'd both known was wrong from the start. The Moon Goddess might have marked us as mates, but fate could be overruled by wisdom. By choice.

By love.

Because as I spun Ivy across the polished floor, her laughter bright as silver bells, I realized that's what this was. Not the desperate, clawing need Harper called love, but something deeper. Steadier. Built on foundation instead of chaos.

"I love you," I whispered against her ear as the music swelled around us.

Her breath caught, and when she pulled back to look at me, her eyes were shining with unshed tears of joy. "I love you too."

The words sealed something between us that had been building for months. This wasn't about pack politics or arranged marriages anymore. This was about choosing each other, again and again, despite what fate had originally decreed.

The song ended, and we remained in each other's arms for a moment longer than necessary. The applause around us felt distant, unimportant compared to the perfect bubble of contentment we'd created.

Then Ivy's phone buzzed against her purse.

She glanced at it briefly, her expression shifting to something I couldn't quite read. "Excuse me for just a second?"

I nodded, watching as she stepped toward the edge of the dance floor. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen, and I caught a glimpse of an image before she deleted whatever message she'd received. Her face remained perfectly composed, that same serene smile never wavering.

"Everything okay?" I asked when she returned to my side.

"Of course." She slipped her phone back into her purse and raised her champagne glass toward the crowd. "Just some spam. Now, shall we make that toast?"

I lifted my own glass, pushing aside the nagging feeling that something had just shifted in the air around us. Tonight was about celebration, about the future we were building together.

Not about whatever game Harper was playing now.