At the cocktail party before the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, Draven arrived late—with Rowan plastered to his side.

Her lips were swollen, and fresh, red scratches were stark against his collarbone.

People nearby exchanged smirks. The air was thick with their mingled pheromones, telling a story I didn't need to hear.

They'd been at it in some corner, no doubt.

In my past life, I would have stormed over, ripped their deceitful masks off, and demanded to know why they’d dare humiliate me at my own ceremony.

Now? I shot them a single, dismissive glance and looked away, treating them like dust on my shoe.

Draven caught that flash of contempt. He reached out, shielding Rowan behind him.

When I didn't flinch, he grew agitated. Then he let out a low, insidious laugh. "What's wrong, Lyris? Playing the saint now because you're scared I won't choose you? Don't be silly. Tell you what…"

He leaned in, his voice low, his eyes raking over me. "After the ceremony, come to my penthouse suite. Don’t wear a thing. If your body is worthy, maybe I'll let you crawl into my bed."

Rowan pouted, tugging on his sleeve. "Draven, how could you say that? You think her body's better than mine?"

Draven chuckled, pinching her cheek. "Of course you're better. A thousand times better. That suite? It's yours. I even had your favorite aromatherapy prepared. Just waiting for your ankle to heal."

Rowan's eyes lit up, and she shot me a triumphant little look.

The guests around us roared with laughter—whistles and lewd jokes flew like daggers.

The sound hit me like a switch. Memories of my past life flooded back.

He’d done this before—humiliated me in front of everyone. Treated me like a toy.

I had trembled with rage. He had just laughed, saying my shame turned him on.

Someone had tried to defend me. Draven had shut them down, branding me a whore desperate for his status.

Pathetic.

I turned to leave—and his hand clamped around my wrist.

"Still playing pretend?" His grip tightened, digging into my bones. "A woman like you can't fake what you really are."

I ripped my hand away, my knuckles white. "Watch your mouth."

He sneered. "Respect? Didn't you put the entire Hawthorne Design firm's future on the line just to bond with me? You're going to crawl into my bed one way or another, so why act so pure now?"

"Who said I was going to choose you?"

Silence fell like a knife to the throat.

Then—laughter. Loud, ugly, and everywhere.

Draven laughed the hardest. "Not bonding with me? Then who? Everyone knows you'd die for me. What—Blaze?"

He snorted. "Blaze's been rotting in the shadows of Eastern Europe for years. Everyone says he's gone feral. He reeks of blood and gunpowder."

"You plan to bond with him? Are you hoping to get torn to shreds by his enemies sooner rather than later?"

"What, nothing to say?" Draven taunted. "You were so fiery a moment ago. Or are you finally scared?"

Rowan chimed in, her voice sickly sweet. "Lyris must've just remembered the stories about Blaze."

She tugged lightly on Draven's sleeve, but her eyes were fixed on me. "If she really bonds with him, she probably won't even know how she died."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. A few young heirs whistled.

In my past life, I might have lunged at Rowan and torn her hair out. But this time?

It was different.

"Who I choose is none of your business," I said, my voice calm and steady—surprising even myself.

Rowan’s smile faltered for a second. Then she clutched her chest and started to cough, her shoulders shaking violently.

"Lyris, don't be like that," she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. "I'm just worried about you… you did take the blame for that design project to protect Draven's reputation, remember?"

I turned to walk away.

Her gasp came first.

Then her wine glass slipped from her fingers as she stumbled toward an important clan elder.

The next thing I knew, she was staggering backward as if I’d shoved her, collapsing with a dramatic cry as red wine drenched the elder’s robes.

"Lyris!" Rowan’s shriek cut through the air, tears blurring her face. "Even if you hate me, you can't push me! Not in front of the elders!"

Draven’s face darkened. He shielded her like a protective wall, fury rolling off him. "Really, Lyris? This jealous already?"

He helped her up as if she were some rare treasure, his eyes filled with pain. "She's your sister!"

Rowan was only my distant cousin, but after she moved in, everyone assumed otherwise.

From behind him, Rowan peeked out—smirking.

I couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't even touch her."

"Still lying?" Draven grabbed my wrist. His voice carried the weight of an Alpha command, pressing down on me.

"The whole clan knows you're jealous of Rowan. If you hadn't clung to me back then, I never would have even noticed you."

I felt a mental pressure, and my legs grew weak.

Rowan tugged on his arm, her voice trembling. "Draven, don't. Lyris's probably just… upset. She always thought you'd choose her."

Gentle words. Sharper than claws.

The whispers started again—just like before.

About me forcing a bond, hiding behind my father's name. About how I couldn't even handle my own "sister."

The rumors were filthy and clung like tar, impossible to wash away.

Draven’s anger flared. "You'd better behave. If you shame the Hawthorne name again, I'll have the Grimwoods cut all ties with your family's firm."