His Mistake, My Revenge: A Second Chance

Scarlett

The lake water was so cold it felt like liquid fire in my lungs.

I was sinking, my limbs heavy as lead, the surface growing dimmer with each passing second. The pack's laughter still echoed in my ears—cruel, mocking sounds that followed me even into the depths. Killian's words cut deeper than the icy water: "You want to be with your own brother? That's disgusting."

The portrait I'd spent weeks painting lay in shattered pieces on the funeral hall floor. Rosalie's funeral. My stepsister, who everyone loved, who everyone mourned. Everyone except me, apparently. Because I was the freak who'd fallen for her stepbrother. The pathetic girl who couldn't tell the difference between family and mate.

My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside, but even she was too weak to fight anymore. The bone marrow transplant had taken everything from me—my strength, my hope, my will to keep going. And when Killian destroyed that painting, when he looked at me with such disgust, something inside me finally broke.

I remembered being twelve, scared and alone when Mom remarried into the Gates pack. Killian was the only one who didn't treat me like an outsider. He taught me to shift, helped me with my homework, made me feel like I belonged.

I remembered being sixteen, cornered by ten rogue wolves in the forest. Killian appeared like an avenging angel, his massive black wolf tearing through them to reach me. He'd been bloodied and exhausted afterward, but he'd held me close and whispered that he'd always protect me.

I remembered being eighteen, my wolf's voice clear as crystal for the first time: "Mate. He's our mate."

But mates weren't supposed to feel disgust when they looked at you. Mates weren't supposed to shatter your heart into a thousand pieces and leave you drowning in a frozen lake.

The water pressed against my chest, stealing what little breath I had left. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges. Maybe this was better. Maybe—

A blinding flash of light exploded behind my eyelids.

I gasped, my eyes flying open. White. Everything was white—sterile white walls, white sheets, white fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit me like a physical blow.

I was alive. I was in a bed. And standing beside me, his face a mask of barely controlled desperation, was Killian.

"Please, Tessa," he was saying, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Donating blood isn't a big deal for you, but without it, Rosalie will die."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. Rosalie. The blood donation. This conversation—I remembered this conversation. But that was impossible. Rosalie was already dead. I'd attended her funeral. I'd painted that portrait that Killian destroyed. I'd thrown myself into the lake because—

My heart hammered against my ribs as the truth crashed over me. I was back. Somehow, impossibly, I was back to the day Killian first asked me to donate blood for Rosalie.

He looked exactly as I remembered—tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair disheveled from running his hands through it, his green eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights at Rosalie's bedside. He wore the same gray sweater, the same desperate expression.

"The doctors say she needs a specific blood type," he continued, unaware that I was staring at him like he was a ghost. "Your blood type. You're the only compatible donor in the pack."

My body felt weak, hollow. The bone marrow transplant had been three weeks ago—I'd given everything I had to save a pack member who'd been dying of leukemia. The doctors had warned me that my immune system was compromised, that I needed time to recover. Another blood donation so soon could be dangerous. Could be fatal.

Last time—in my previous life—I'd said no. I'd been too weak, too scared. And Killian had left my hospital room with such disappointment in his eyes. Rosalie had died two days later, and the entire pack blamed me. Called me selfish. Heartless.

Killian had never forgiven me. And eventually, that lack of forgiveness had curdled into something much worse.

"Tessa?" His voice was softer now, uncertain. "I know you're still recovering, but—"

"I'll do it."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Killian's eyes widened, his prepared arguments dying on his lips. He'd clearly expected me to refuse again, had probably rehearsed a dozen different ways to convince me.

"You—what?"

I struggled to sit up, my muscles protesting. The IV in my arm tugged uncomfortably, but I ignored it. "I said I'll do it. I'll donate the blood."

Relief flooded his features, so intense it was almost painful to watch. This was what love looked like on Killian Gates—not the romantic love I'd dreamed of, but the fierce, protective love he felt for his sister. The love he'd never felt for me.

"Thank you," he breathed, stepping closer to the bed. For a moment, I thought he might reach for my hand. "Tessa, I can't tell you what this means—"

"But this is the last time."

He froze, confusion replacing relief. "What?"

I met his gaze steadily, my voice calm despite the storm raging in my chest. "This is the last debt I owe the Gates family. After this, we're even. I don't want anything from you, and you don't get to ask anything from me. We're done."

"Tessa, what are you talking about? You're family—"

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "I'm not family. I never was. I was just the awkward stepsister you tolerated because you had to."

Killian's jaw tightened. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" I shifted in the bed, every movement sending waves of exhaustion through me. "After Rosalie recovers, I'm leaving the pack. I'll find somewhere else to go."

"You can't just leave—"

"Watch me."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and broken dreams. Killian's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his wolf probably pushing against his control. But I was beyond caring about his comfort.

I'd died for this family once. I'd given everything—my blood, my bone marrow, my heart, my life—and it had never been enough. This time would be different.

This time, I'd save Rosalie because it was the right thing to do. But then I'd walk away before Killian could destroy me again.

"I'll call the doctor," he said finally, his voice strained. "Get everything set up."

He turned toward the door, then paused. "Tessa... why are you doing this? Really?"

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of my previous life pressing down on me like the lake water that had filled my lungs.

"Because," I said quietly, "everyone deserves a second chance. Even people who don't deserve it."

I wasn't sure if I was talking about Rosalie or myself.