Because my father's childhood sweetheart's daughter was accidentally burned, my father was angry and locked me in the fire house where werewolf criminals were punished.

The Beta of the pack, my father, looked at me with disgust written all over his face: "I don't have such a cruel daughter. You'll stay here and reflect on what you've done."

I begged loudly for mercy, admitted my mistake, pleading for him to let me out. All I got in return was his merciless command.

"Unless she's dead, no one is to release her."

The fire house stood isolated at the edge of the territory. No matter how much I screamed for help, no one could hear me.

He assigned the housekeeper to set the room to spray fire every 2 hours. The burns were excruciating, my werewolf healing barely keeping me alive between sessions.

Ten days later, he finally remembered he had a daughter and decided to let me out.

But what he didn't know was that I had already died in that fire house, never to wake again.

1

Because my father's childhood sweetheart's daughter was accidentally burned, my father was angry and locked me in the fire house where werewolf criminals were punished.

He assigned the housekeeper to set the room to spray fire every 2 hours. The burns were excruciating, my werewolf healing barely keeping me alive between sessions.

Ten days later, he finally remembered he had a daughter and decided to let me out.

But what he didn't know was that I had already died in that fire house, never to wake again.

……

"How is that rebellious she-wolf doing? Does she know she's wrong now?"

In the vast Beta's villa, my father's question rang out like thunder on a clear day. The pack members nearby tensed visibly, their eyes lowered to avoid his gaze.

The pack housekeeper answered tremblingly, her hands clasped tightly together: "Sir, Miss Scarlett is still in the fire house."

My father's fingers, tapping impatiently on the mahogany armrest. His jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.

"I've been too lenient with her all along. That's why she's become so lawless, daring to burn Amber using her gun. She needs to learn her lesson."

The housekeeper still felt some compassion and said, her voice barely above a whisper, "But the fire house is used to punish werewolf criminals, and the fire inside is too intense. Even the strongest wolf will feel pain... will Miss Scarlett..."

"Ha, pain?" My father stood abruptly, causing the housekeeper to step back. "That's exactly what she needs to feel. Let's see if she dares to treat Amber like that again. Only by experiencing the heat herself will she stop doing such things."

His eyes flashed yellow – a sign of his wolf rising close to the surface. "She is my daughter; I have the obligation to discipline her."

My father's voice was cold, seemingly forgetting that I had already been locked in the fire house for ten days.

The housekeeper wanted to say something more but was impatiently interrupted when my father slammed his fist against the wall.

"Enough! Do you think no one's been secretly closing the fire and bringing her healing herbs? She's fine. She won't die."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but laugh, though no one could hear my voice.

Because I was already dead.

I had been dead for five days already.

Since then, my spirit had been following my father, watching his cruelty and indifference.

"Thank you, Dad. Please don't be angry anymore. Let's free Scarlett now. The fire in the fire house was too intense; she must be suffering terribly."

From the bedroom, from what used to be my room, Amber emerged wearing a flowing cream dress, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. My father's eyes instantly softened, showing a tenderness I had never seen before.

"Sweet Amber," he murmured, all traces of anger vanishing from his face.

Amber came downstairs and sat beside my father, her presence seeming to calm him instantly. She placed her hand over his, and he accepted the gesture with a smile.

"Forget about her. You're just too kind," he said, voice gentle now. "She burned you on purpose with her toy gun, causing your wolf to become so weak now. She deserves to be punished."

Amber's face showed concern. "It might have been an accident..."

"No," my father cut her off, his tone hardening again. "I know my daughter. She was jealous of you. Always has been."

When speaking of me, my father's eyes were as cold as if he were talking about an enemy.

But why? Wasn't I his daughter? Hadn't I earned his love?

In the mansion, the housekeeper walked to the kitchen, muttering quietly to the cook, "He'd sacrifice his own blood for that girl. Acting like Scarlett means nothing to him. It's not right. Not right at all."

Amber's eyes glistened with tears. "Thank you, Dad. You're so good to me. I wish you were my real father." She choked up a bit, leaning on my father's shoulder.

My father wrapped an arm around her, his expression softening impossibly further. "Silly girl, as long as you want, I can be your father."

A woman appeared, none other than the love of my father's life, Elise.

Her silhouette stood in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun. My father's breath caught audibly at the sight of her.

"Donovan," Elise said, her voice like silk. "I heard shouting."

Before she entered our lives, I had always believed the woman my father loved most would be my mother.

I remembered how he used to look at Mom—with respect, with fondness, but never with the raw hunger I now saw in his eyes as they devoured Elise.

But everything changed after Mom passed away.

The funeral had barely ended when Elise started appearing at our house. First for "condolences," then for "pack business," and finally, she didn't need excuses anymore.

Today, I find myself somewhat grateful that Mom died from illness and never witnessed this heartless side of the man she loved her entire life.

Mom thought she had married a loyal wolf. How wrong she had been.

I guess I'll be seeing Moon Goddess soon. Maybe I will see mom there too. In my next life, I'll never be father's daughter again.

"Donovan, a small punishment is enough. Scarlett is still your daughter," Elise said, her voice honeyed with false concern.

She stepped closer, placing a manicured hand on his forearm. My father relaxed under her touch, his rage subsiding like a tide.

"She hurt Amber," he growled, but with less conviction.

"My daughter will heal," Elise whispered. "Family is precious, Donovan. You know that."

Mother and daughter played their parts perfectly, posing as the compassionate ones. But if they were truly good people, they wouldn't have watched me locked in the fire house for ten days and nights.

Not once had either of them brought water, food, or medicine. Not once had they argued against my punishment. Only now, with an audience of pack members, did they pretend to care.

The most ironic part? The fire house had been renovated under my father's orders just before I was punished there. He had wanted a more "humane" facility for pack criminals.

"A pack that treats its criminals with dignity is strong, not weak," he had declared at the opening ceremony. I had been so proud of him then.

Now it had become my tomb.

I died curled in a corner, as far from the fire jets as possible, but there was no true escape. My wolf had tried to heal me between burnings, but eventually, even she gave up.

2

Twenty years ago, Elise broke up with my father and obediently married a wealthy, powerful Alpha from another pack, following her family's arrangement.

They had been childhood sweethearts, but her family considered my father beneath them. "A Beta's son will never be enough for our daughter," they had told her.

As time passed, fortunes changed. The wealthy man lost his status, while my father—once just a poor wolf—married my mother and transformed into a successful Beta.

My mother's family had connections, intelligence, and loyalty. With their help, my father rose through the ranks, becoming the pack's esteemed Beta.

Everything was so dramatic. Then my mother died from illness, and Elise divorced her husband.

The timing wasn't coincidental. Elise had been circling, waiting for her moment to reclaim what she felt was rightfully hers.

For my father, these were two pieces of wonderful news.

He didn't even try to hide his joy. The day after Mom's funeral, I caught him smiling at his phone, texting Elise as if Mom had never existed.

And so, Elise and my father rekindled their relationship. Mother and daughter moved into our house, stealing everything that was mine.

My food, my clothes, my toys, my room, and finally, they wanted to steal my father too.

Ten days ago, Amber returned home excited, saying she had been practicing shooting and wanted a gun that could fire special fire bullets.

My father immediately offered to buy her one, but after a moment's hesitation, she said with feigned shyness: "I think that silver handgun in the weapons cabinet looks really nice."

I coldly replied: "That gun was a gift from my mother before she died. If you want one, ask your father to buy it. Don't you have your own father?"

That gun was the last thing my mother gave me before she left this world. She had placed it in my hands and whispered, "Protect yourself, Scarlett. Not everyone in this pack has your best interests at heart." At the time, I didn't understand her warning. Now I did.

I thought my father would understand its significance to me, but his next words shattered that illusion completely.

"It's just a gun, Scarlett. If Amber likes it, just give it to her. You have other weapons, why fight with Amber over this one? Just give it to her."

Hearing his words, I suddenly realized my father was no longer the man who once loved me. He had become someone else entirely—someone I didn't recognize.

Still, I refused to surrender my mother's last gift. I gripped the gun tighter and backed away, shaking my head.

My father's eyes flashed yellow with anger. He signaled to the guards, who approached me cautiously.

"Take it from her," he ordered.

In desperation, I raised the gun, not to shoot but to keep them at bay. The guards hesitated, looking to my father for instruction.

"Now!" he barked, and they rushed me.

In the struggle, knowing I would lose, I made a split-second decision. Rather than let Amber have my mother's gun intact, I quickly removed a critical firing pin and swallowed it. The guards wrenched the weapon from my hands, but I smiled knowing it was useless now.

My father was livid. "Fix it," he demanded of the pack's gunsmith. Within hours, the gun was repaired and presented to Amber as a gift.

She cooed and thanked my father profusely, handling the weapon with inexperienced fingers.

Three days later, disaster struck. Amber was studying the gun in her room—my old room—when it accidentally discharged. The fire bullet hit the curtains, igniting them instantly. The flames spread rapidly, trapping her inside.

The smoke alarms blared throughout the house. Pack members rushed to help, but the fire was intense, fueled by the special ammunition.

Before losing consciousness, Amber managed to call my father. Father, without regard for his own safety, shifted into his wolf form and charged through the sea of flames to rescue Amber.

The pack's emergency response team arrived minutes later, extinguishing the fire and treating the injured. Fortunately, Amber had only suffered minor burns on her arm. Father had a few singed patches of fur but was otherwise unharmed.

When Amber regained consciousness in the medical wing, she immediately played the victim.

"It was an accident," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "I must have made a mistake using it. I know Scarlett wouldn't tamper with the gun to hurt me."

Her words, seemingly defending me, were designed to do the opposite. And they worked perfectly.

My father, standing at her bedside, turned to me with a rage I had never witnessed before. His entire body trembled with it, his eyes fully yellow now.

"You did this," he growled, his voice barely human. "You tampered with the gun, knowing she would use it."

"No!" I protested. "I would never—"

Before I could finish, his hand struck my face with such force I crashed into the wall behind me. The pack members present looked away, unwilling to intervene.

"Donovan…" Elise, still in the room, moved between us. " Maybe she didn't mean it."

" She must have! " my father roared.

He father was beyond reason. He dragged me from the medical wing to the basement where I'd been forced to live after Amber took my room.

From a hidden compartment, he withdrew something I'd only heard about in pack horror stories—a silver whip. Silver, the one substance that could prevent our wolves from healing.

"You need to learn," he hissed, raising the whip.

The first lash tore through my shirt and into my flesh. I screamed as the silver burned into my skin, my wolf howling inside me. The second lash crossed the first, creating an X of fire across my back.

After the tenth lash, I could no longer stand. I collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath me.

"Take her to the fire house," my father commanded the housekeeper who had been watching in silent horror. "Two-hour intervals. For at least a week."

I was dragged, half-conscious, to the isolated building. The stone walls absorbed my cries as the first spray of fire rained down from the ceiling.

My wolf, already weakened by the silver whip, could not protect me. With each subsequent burning, her presence within me grew fainter.

The scent of burned fur and flesh filled the small space. Between burnings, I begged anyone who might hear for water, for mercy. But no one came.

By the fifth day, I felt my wolf go first.

And then I followed.

Now, ten days after being locked in the fire house, five days after my death, I watch as my body decomposes in the heat.

The fluids from my corpse seep through the cracks in the stone floor, creating a dark stain visible from outside.

Pack members walking past wrinkle their noses at the strange odor but say nothing. No one dares question the Beta's orders.

3

That night, after everyone in the mansion had gone to sleep, the housekeeper made his way to the fire house.

His shoulders were hunched with worry, a flashlight trembling in his aged hand.

Even before he reached the stone building, he could smell the unbearable stench.

"Dear Moon Goddess," he whispered, his eyes watering.

The closer he got, the stronger the odor became. Unknown fluids had begun to seep under the door, already attracting flies and maggots.

A terrible premonition formed in his mind.

I stood before him, though he couldn't see me, my spectral form blocking his path.

"Go back now, Edward," I said, though my voice couldn't reach his ears. "Don't look. It's truly revolting. If you see it, you'll never be able to sleep well. Save yourself this memory."

The housekeeper was a good man. He had once tried to plead my case, but his position was too lowly, and he needed this well-paying job too much to be of any real help.

Perhaps my invisible warning had an effect. The housekeeper backed away several steps, then turned and left without looking back.

Early the next morning, my father was in an excellent mood. After breakfast, he took out an elegantly wrapped gift box from a cabinet.

When Amber wasn't looking, he placed the box in front of her.

"Amber, happy birthday. Take a look at your gift."

Amber's face lit up with surprise, her blue eyes widening. "Thank you, Dad! You remembered!"

She eagerly tore through the wrapping to find a sleek black case inside. Opening it revealed a brand new custom pistol, silver with gold inlays and her initials engraved on the grip.

More expensive and much more deadly than the gun he had taken from me to give to her—the one that had caused so much trouble.

"Scarlett's gun was old anyway. Hand-me-downs are beneath you," my father said, puffing out his chest proudly. "I had this specially designed. Silver bullets for rogues, standard rounds for practice, and even some fire bullets for emergencies."

Amber lifted the weapon reverently, testing its weight in her hands. Her smile turned predatory as she aimed it at an imaginary target across the room.

"I love it! It's perfect."

The housekeeper approached at that moment, seeming to suppress something as he spoke: "Sir, isn't it time to release Miss Scarlett from the fire house?"

My father frowned with displeasure: "Edward, you're being unusually talkative today."

"Sir, today is the tenth day. The fire house is so hot, no person could endure it for this long."

Yesterday's smell had led the housekeeper to guess the truth. He must be tormented inside, knowing that just a few hundred yards away lay a decomposing corpse. Imagine how sickening that knowledge must be.

"Yes, Dad," Amber chimed in. "Scarlett must have reflected on her mistakes by now. Please let her out."

Hearing Amber's words, my father's expression softened immediately. "Very well, if that's what you want."

He turned back to Edward, his tone dismissive. "When she comes out, inform her that I've canceled her cards. She can get a job and earn her own money from now on. I don't have room in this house for such a cruel daughter."

How laughable. Truly ridiculous.

Everything he now possessed—the mansion, the pack position, the business empire—had come from my mother's family connections and inheritance.

Strip away his identity as a father, and he was nothing but an ungrateful man who had married up, then betrayed his wife's memory before her body was even cold.

Now he had added another identity: murderer.

Given the command, the housekeeper immediately led several servants to the fire house.

After fermenting overnight, the stench of death was even more pronounced, making the entire area unbearable.

Everyone covered their noses. Some even started vomiting on the spot.

"What is that smell? It's horrific!"

"Did someone die in there?"

My father and Elise, with Amber between them, walked at the rear of the group. Even they wrinkled their noses at the stench. But seeing the servants' undignified reactions, my father's sense of superiority kicked in.

"What's all this noise about? Is this how you behave?"

"It must be Scarlett's smell. In this heat, locked up for ten days—of course it stinks! After you get her out, have this place cleaned thoroughly. I can't stand looking at it."

"Hurry up and open the door! Get her out now, or you're all fired!"

My father barked orders, and several servants had no choice but to approach, fighting their nausea. One of them unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open.

In the center of the scorched floor lay not a human form, but the charred, twisted remains of a wolf—my wolf—curled in a defensive position.