After My Sister Stole My Mate, His Twin Rescued Me

I woke up on the floor again.

The cold marble pressed against my cheek, and for a moment I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. The Alpha suite bed loomed above me, sheets tangled and empty. My body ached in that specific way that told me he'd been here during the night—the mysterious presence that came to me in the dark, all heat and possession and a scent that made my wolf purr even in her half-dead state.

Pine. Storm-charged earth. Something wild and clean that wrapped around my bones and made me feel, for those brief hours, like I wasn't completely alone.

I pressed my face into my forearm and inhaled. The scent clung to my skin, faint but unmistakable. My wolf, Luna, stirred somewhere deep inside me—a flicker of awareness she rarely showed anymore after three years of whatever poison was slowly killing her.

Mate, she whispered, the word barely audible even in my own head.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms. The nausea hit immediately, rolling through my stomach in waves. I'd been waking up sick for two weeks now, but I couldn't afford to think about what that might mean. Not today. Not with the Moon Festival starting in a few hours and a hundred tasks still waiting for the Alpha's glorified servant to complete.

The bathroom door opened. Tristan walked out, already dressed in his formal black suit, and the wrongness of it slammed into me like a physical blow.

Artificial cologne. Sharp and chemical, nothing like the scent I'd just been breathing in. And underneath it, unmistakable—perfume. Floral and cloying. A woman's scent that wasn't mine.

He looked down at me still on the floor and his lip curled. "You're still here? I thought I told you to start on the pack house floors an hour ago."

I stared up at him, my mind trying to reconcile the man standing in front of me with the presence that had claimed me in the dark. They wore the same face. They had to be the same person. But nothing else matched—not the scent, not the way he looked at me like I was something stuck to his shoe, not the cold contempt in every word.

"I—" The nausea surged again and I had to swallow hard. "I'll start now."

"You look like hell." He adjusted his cufflinks without looking at me. "Try not to embarrass me in front of the guests. Your sister's coming home today, and I won't have you making the pack look weak."

Katie. Of course. The golden child returning from her convenient three-year absence, right when the pack's wealth was finally secured and the Luna title was worth having again.

Tristan's boot connected with my hip—not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make his point. "Move."

I moved.

Two hours later, I was on my knees in the foyer, scrubbing marble that was already clean. My hands were raw and chemical-burned from the harsh soap they made me use—the kind that stripped skin as efficiently as it stripped grime. The cramping in my abdomen had gotten worse, sharp enough that I had to pause every few minutes and breathe through it.

Stress, I told myself. Just stress.

The main doors opened and I didn't look up. I'd learned that lesson early—eye contact was a privilege I hadn't earned.

"Oh my God, is that Bella?"

Katie's voice. Bright and delighted, like she'd just spotted an old pet she'd forgotten she owned.

I looked up.

She stood in the doorway backlit by afternoon sun, wearing a silk dress that probably cost more than I'd seen in three years. Her hair—our hair, the same shade of honey-brown—was styled in perfect waves. Her skin glowed with health and expensive skincare. She looked like everything I used to be before I became this.

"Katie." Tristan's voice changed completely, warm in a way I'd never heard directed at me. He crossed the foyer in three strides and pulled her into an embrace that lasted too long, his hand sliding down to the small of her back in a way that made my stomach turn.

She laughed and pressed closer, her fingers playing with his collar. "Miss me?"

"Every day."

I was still on my knees. Still holding the scrub brush. Still invisible.

My parents appeared in the doorway behind Katie, and they rushed past me without a glance—my mother's designer heel actually stepped over my hand—to embrace their returned daughter.

"Darling, you look wonderful!"

"We've missed you so much!"

"Tell us everything about Paris!"

The cramping in my abdomen sharpened into something that felt like claws. I pressed my free hand against my stomach and felt Luna stir again, stronger this time.

Protect, she said, and I didn't understand what she meant.

Katie finally looked down at me, and her smile was perfect. Warm. Sisterly. Absolutely empty.

"Bella, you poor thing. You look exhausted." She turned to Tristan, her hand still on his chest. "You work her too hard."

"She's exactly where she belongs," Tristan said, and the way he looked at me made it clear what he meant.

On her knees. On the floor. Beneath notice.

The Moon Festival was going to be a very long night.