Rhea

For years, I had been the subject of ridicule. Five years of being engaged without a wedding turned me into the pack’s favorite joke. The members of the Silver Hollow Pack murmured behind my back, their laughter laced with disdain.

But one night changed the course of everything. It was after the Full Moon Festival—I had been drinking, the night spinning into a blur. The next morning, I woke tangled in Alpha Draven’s sheets, my limbs sore and my thoughts hazy. And when our families discovered us together, entangled in those satin covers, the gasps of shock and horror were enough to decide my fate.

The marriage that followed was swift and loveless. The ceremony lacked warmth, and Draven’s resentment was palpable, hotter than any fire a mating bond could produce. He loathed me—blamed me for forcing him into a union he never desired. In my past life, I spent every waking moment trying to earn his affection, to prove I was worthy of the Luna title. But his heart had never been mine to win. It belonged to someone else.

This time, I wouldn't repeat those same desperate efforts.

That’s why I found myself in this grand auction hall now, surrounded by elites—rich wolves, noble-blooded Lycans, and commanding Alphas. My focus was locked on a single item displayed in a glass case.

A thin, intricately crafted silver bracelet, adorned with a softly glowing moonstone. My mother’s bracelet.

Two years before I died, I lost her. Her belongings had been seized, sold off, or lost. This was all that remained of her, the only physical memory I could reclaim.

I stepped forward, ready to place my bid. But then I caught a scent I knew too well.

Draven.

My body went rigid, instinct urging me to turn and vanish before he saw me—but it was too late. He was already at the front, scanning the room with that usual commanding presence.

And beside him stood Mirielle.

She clung to him sweetly, her expression wide-eyed and curious, like the entire event was a delightful storybook brought to life. As if she hadn’t stolen the life that should’ve been mine—piece by piece, lie by lie.

Clenching my hands at my sides, I stepped up. “Alpha,” I called out, keeping my tone calm though my chest churned with emotion.

He turned toward me, an eyebrow arching in momentary surprise before his expression returned to its usual cold neutrality. “Rhea.”

I didn’t hesitate. “That bracelet belonged to my mother. I want it returned to me.”

His lips twisted into something that resembled a smile, but the cruelty in it was sharp. “Mirielle has taken a liking to it.”

His words landed like a slap.

Of course. Why wouldn’t she? She had always desired what I had. And Draven? He gave her everything without question.

“There are plenty of other things up for bidding,” he added casually. “Choose something else.”

“I’m not interested in anything else.” My voice came out colder, firmer. “That bracelet is not just an ornament. It holds meaning. It was my mother’s—”

“She wants to experience moments like this,” he said, interrupting me softly, his voice turning gentle as he glanced at her, his gaze tender and affectionate. “She deserves these experiences.”

Something inside me cracked. I turned my back to him, forcing down the bitterness rising in my throat. If it was a battle he wanted, then he would get one.

The bidding began. I immediately raised my paddle, my offer clear and unwavering. For a brief moment, it felt like victory was within reach. The room didn’t seem interested. No one else made a move.

Then Draven placed his bid.

My stomach twisted into knots.

I raised mine again.

He followed suit.

Back and forth we went, the numbers rising, the crowd beginning to murmur in excitement. My heartbeat was a drum in my chest, my breaths coming shallow.

But in the end, I was outmatched. Draven’s final offer exceeded my limit.

He won.

As the bracelet was handed to him, a flicker of hope still remained in me. Perhaps—just perhaps—he’d offer it to me. Maybe a part of him still understood what it meant to me.

Instead, he turned to Mirielle and gently placed the jewelry in her eager hands.

Her face lit up with joy as she fastened it onto her wrist, her fingers admiring the gleaming metal. But she was reckless. Careless.

With a loud snap, the moonstone split. The silver links snapped apart. The bracelet collapsed, fragments scattering onto the floor.

I froze.

The world around me faded into a blur.

Mirielle gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth in alarm. “Oh no… Rhea, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to break it—”

I turned my back on her words. Kneeling, I gathered the shattered remains with trembling fingers and pressed them against my chest.

I left without a word.

I didn’t shed tears—not when I stepped outside that lavish hall, not when I arrived home at the packhouse. Not even when Mirielle, remorseful and weeping, fell onto the cold marble tiles and begged for forgiveness.

“I swear I didn’t mean to destroy it,” she whispered. “Please, Rhea. Let me make it right.”

I ignored her.

And when, in a desperate attempt to display how sorry she was, she knelt on coarse salt until her skin burned and bled, pleading again and again for my forgiveness—I remained silent.

Then the rains came. Thunder roared and wind howled as the storm drenched her. Still she knelt there, her thin body soaked and shaking.

I didn’t flinch.

That night, I slept deeply.

The next morning, shouts woke me. I stepped out to find a crowd gathered around Mirielle’s collapsed figure, unconscious from exposure.

I felt nothing.

But Draven did.

He stormed toward me, his rage barely contained. “Are you satisfied now?” he shouted. “Is this what you wanted, Rhea? You watched her kneel all night and did nothing!”

I met his furious gaze, noting the loathing in his eyes—as if I were some heartless monster.

And all I could think about was my former life.

A slow smile tugged at my lips.

Leaning in close, my voice was low, cutting, “Tell me, Alpha… who do you think is more heartless between the two of us?”

Rhea

The flames danced wildly, consuming every last remnant of the life I had once desperately clung to.

Elegant gowns, ornate jewels, luxurious fragrances—tokens from my engagement to Alpha Draven—now vanished in a blaze. Not because I held sentiment for them, but because they were meaningless. Each gift had been a formality, a transaction devoid of affection. Draven never picked them himself; his parents orchestrated every detail, feeding the illusion of a fairy-tale bond while he hardly even acknowledged me.

I used to be naïve. I truly believed that even if love wasn’t there from the start, maybe time would change that. That perhaps loyalty would bloom into something deeper.

But affection cannot take root where resentment is the only soil.

I stared into the fire, watching the last silk strip curl into ash, the scent of burning memories heavy in the air. Of all the things I discarded, one remained untouched.

The heirloom of the Silver Hollow Pack.

A pendant of age and power, inscribed with the crest of the pack—meant to adorn the neck of the Luna. A role I would never fill.

My fingers curled around it tightly. This was never meant for me. And now, I would return it.

With the pendant gripped in my hand, I turned and moved toward Draven’s quarters.

The corridor leading to his room was dim, torchlight flickering across stone walls and casting trembling shadows. My steps were silent. I was a ghost in the halls, guided only by instinct and purpose.

The door was slightly open.

Voices slipped through the crack, low and tense. I froze, breath caught in my lungs. Mirielle was inside.

I didn’t have to look. I could picture it already—her small form tucked into his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt as he held her, whispered to her, comforted her. Just as he always had.

My grip on the pendant tightened. I remained in the shadows, listening.

“I-I’m frightened,” came Mirielle’s trembling voice, thick with emotion. “What happens to our child if… if Rhea ends up pregnant after the mating rites? What will we do then?”

My body went still.

A child?

My heart pounded as I waited for Draven’s response, barely daring to breathe.

“She won’t,” he said quietly, his voice steady, assured.

“But what if—” she began again.

“I’ve taken precautions,” he cut in, calm and resolute. “She’ll never carry my heir. The potion’s ready. She won’t taste it in her drink, but it’ll make her barren—permanently.”

My entire world reeled.

Sterile. Permanently.

He had never once considered a life with me. I wasn’t even a possibility in his future. To him, I was something to eliminate—an inconvenience. A means to an end that he intended to cut off, quietly and cruelly.

All this time, I believed his coldness was due to indifference. That he didn’t love me, that he couldn’t. But I had never imagined this level of calculated malice. That he would go so far as to destroy my ability to have children just to preserve his life with her.

I should have felt fury. I should’ve burst into that room, flung the pendant at his feet, confronted him with every ounce of betrayal.

But I didn’t.

I did the opposite.

I stepped away, quiet as moonlight, and disappeared down the corridor.

Back in my room, I opened my bedside drawer with steady hands and pulled out a second phone, the one I hadn’t touched in months. My fingers moved with certainty, dialing a number etched into my soul.

The line connected after a few rings.

“Rhea?” my father’s voice rumbled on the other end, familiar and firm.

I closed my eyes, voice low but unwavering. “I’m coming back, Father.”

A pause stretched between us before he replied, “The ceremony… did something happen?” His voice softened slightly. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure,” I answered without hesitation.

His exhale came through the line, laced with both relief and something more—perhaps understanding. “Then come home. We’re waiting.”

I felt something inside me loosen, as if a great burden had finally begun to lift. But just as I was about to end the call, another notification flashed on the screen.

An incoming call. Alpha Damon.

I paused only for a second, then answered.

“Rhea,” his voice was smooth and self-assured. “Everything is in place. Just give the command, and your mating ceremony with Draven will be nothing but ashes.”

Rhea

Two days before the mating ceremony.

I should’ve been finalizing details for my Luna coronation, relishing the last hours of freedom before I officially took on the role beside Alpha Draven. But instead, I stood motionless, staring at the angry red mark on my palm—raw, blistered, and pulsing with pain.

It wasn’t normal. Wounds healed fast for werewolves. Even deep cuts and burns vanished within hours. Yet this one refused to close. It lingered, sore and inflamed.

Was it because of the way I died before?

I had perished in flames. That night, fire had devoured me—engulfed my body until only ash remained. My final moments were filled with unbearable heat, excruciating pain, and the devastated look in the eyes of those I once called my pack as they watched everything burn.

Now, even a small burn lingered like a curse.

My jaw tensed as the nurse gently applied a salve, the sting dull compared to what I’d endured in that other life.

“You’re lucky it didn’t go deeper,” she murmured as she wrapped my hand in fresh gauze, her touch delicate.

Once the treatment was done, I stepped into the corridor, stretching my fingers slightly beneath the tight bandages. They hid the wound—my secret vulnerability.

That’s when I spotted them.

Draven and Mirielle, standing outside the obstetrics wing of the hospital.

Draven’s arm rested protectively across her back, his body angled toward her as if to shield her from the world. The second they noticed me, both went rigid.

Draven stepped forward instantly, moving to obscure her from sight. His gaze flashed with something alarmingly close to panic.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, voice tense.

I raised my wrapped hand with a crooked smile. “Caught a burn.” Then I nodded toward the sign above the door behind them, bold silver letters spelling out their location. “What about you, Alpha? You singed something too?”

His jaw ticked with restrained anger.

Mirielle shrank behind him, fingers twisting into her dress, face pale and mouth pressed in a thin line.

Draven gave a brittle laugh, completely lacking humor. “She wasn’t feeling well after standing in the storm. I brought her in to get checked.”

I hummed thoughtfully, crossing my arms. “Oh, at the OB-GYN?”

Silence dropped like a stone.

Neither spoke. Draven’s eyes narrowed, his irritation barely restrained, while Mirielle blinked rapidly, looking for an explanation she couldn’t form.

Then Draven recovered. “Just a precaution. Wanted to make sure she’s fine in every way.”

Just a precaution.

I looked between them, chuckling quietly. “Of course. Nothing serious at all.”

Without waiting for their response, I brushed past, their eyes burning into my back as I walked away.

That evening, the packhouse was steeped in tension. Dinner passed under a heavy silence that clung to every corner of the room.

I had prepared everything myself—set the table, arranged the dishes, and most importantly, filled every glass with freshly pressed juice. When I placed Mirielle’s drink before her, my fingers tingled faintly.

“Drink up,” I said, my voice pleasant, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to me with caution. Draven gave her a reassuring nod, so she slowly lifted the glass.

I took a sip from my own. One by one, the rest followed suit. It was quiet. Still. Until—

A gasp tore from Mirielle’s throat.

Her body jerked, trembling violently. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as a choked sound escaped her. A bright flush spread across her cheeks. Her breathing turned ragged, uneven.

“Draven…” she croaked, eyes wide with fear.

Draven stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. He rushed to her, catching her before she collapsed.

“Mirielle?” he called out, his voice laced with panic.

She clutched at him, pressing her heated body against his, her hands curling in his shirt. “I feel… burning. Something’s wrong…”

Draven’s golden gaze found me. And it burned.

“You,” he hissed, voice deadly with accusation. “What did you do to her?”

I blinked innocently. “What are you suggesting?”

His lips pulled back in a snarl. “You drugged her drink.”

I let out a short laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve done it before!” he snapped. “After the Full Moon Festival—you drugged me, didn’t you?!”

The words struck something deep, but I kept my expression neutral.

I remembered that night well—how he’d been drunk, how we woke tangled in the same bed, how our furious parents burst in. He’d held it against me ever since, convinced I’d tricked him into this union. But I knew the truth. I hadn’t drugged him. He’d drowned himself in wine and poor decisions.

I met his furious gaze calmly. “I didn’t touch her drink, Draven.”

He didn’t believe me. His silence said it all.

But that didn’t matter.

He carried Mirielle upstairs, leaving me at the table, the room cloaked in lingering suspicion and quiet judgment.

The following morning, he confronted me again, jaw tight, face unreadable.

“It was a false alarm,” he said coldly.

I raised a brow. “Was it?”

“She’s alright now,” he went on. “Nothing serious.”

“How comforting,” I replied dryly, the corner of my mouth twitching.

Mirielle stepped out from behind him, looking ashamed.

“I just… I want to apologize,” she began softly.

I regarded her silently.

“As a peace offering,” she continued, “I repaired your bracelet. The moonstone one.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

My heartbeat slowed. She held out the bracelet—once shattered, once sacred. The last keepsake from my mother.

But the moment I examined it, my chest hollowed.

It wasn’t the same.

The original fragments—those precious shards I’d gathered with trembling fingers—were gone. Replaced by something new. Foreign.

“You did what?” My tone was even, but dangerously quiet.

Mirielle’s smile wavered. “I threw away the broken parts and used a new moonstone. I wanted to make it beautiful again.”

Everything stopped.

She had discarded it. The final connection I had to my mother—gone like trash.

Before I could stop myself, my hand struck her cheek with a sharp slap. The sound echoed.

Mirielle stumbled back, gasping, her hand flying to her face in stunned silence.

“You had no right,” I whispered, every word trembling with fury. “None.”

Draven immediately stepped between us, golden eyes ablaze. “Rhea!” he barked.