ELINOR POV:

"Elinor, apologize."

The command was cold, impatient. It came from Braxton Porter, the man the Moon Goddess had decreed was my mate.

My gaze drifted past his broad shoulders. Bree Bailey sat hunched in a chair, a perfect picture of a damsel in distress—the human girl Braxton had brought back from outside. Ever since he took her in, he had given almost all of his attention to her. She held up her wrist, which was slightly pink, her big blue eyes welling with tears.

She looked at Braxton, a silent plea for protection.

The air was thick with the smell of coffee and Bree's cheap, sweet perfume. It made my stomach turn. A sense of déjà vu washed over me, a suffocating feeling that I had lived this humiliating scene countless times before. And I had always been the one to back down.

To apologize.

"Didn't you hear me?" Braxton's brow furrowed, the oppressive presence of a Gamma warrior pressing down on me. "Bree's hand is burned because you weren't watching where you were going!"

A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. I wasn't watching? It was Bree who had stuck her foot out, tripping me and sending the coffee splashing. The burn on her wrist was nothing compared to the red mark on my own arm where I'd hit the counter.

If this had been the Elinor of my past life, I would have been gutted by the undisguised disgust in his eyes. My heart would have twisted into a painful knot.

But now, my heart was a flat, calm sea.

"Apologize," he repeated, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. It was his signature tell, the final stop before his temper exploded.

I finally lifted my head. My eyes met his, and I saw the fire in them, the protective rage he felt for her.

Bree let out a small, perfectly timed sob. "Braxton, it's okay... maybe Elinor didn't mean to. It just hurts a little..."

Her voice was just loud enough for the few Pack members lingering by the kitchen door to hear.

My own voice, when it came, was quiet, but it sliced through her whimpering.

"Why should I apologize?"

Braxton froze. He clearly hadn't expected a question. He hadn't expected anything but my immediate, tearful submission.

Bree's crying hitched. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at me, reassessing the situation.

I ignored them both. I walked over to the stove where a kettle of water was boiling, the pot rumbling with a low gurgle.

"Elinor, what are you doing now?" Braxton's voice was laced with suspicion.

I lifted the silver stainless steel kettle. The heat seeped into my palm, a grounding sensation. I turned and walked, step by deliberate step, toward Bree.

The fragile, innocent look on her face evaporated, replaced by a flicker of genuine panic. She instinctively shrank back in her chair.

I stood over her, a cold smile touching my lips. "You said you were burned, didn't you?"

My voice was a soft whisper, like a devil's promise. "But I don't think the injury looks convincing enough."

In the reflection of her widening, terrified eyes, I saw my own resolve. I grabbed the wrist she had been cradling.

"Ah—! What are you doing? Let me go!" Bree shrieked, her act finally cracking.

I tilted my hand.

The boiling water streamed down, hitting the back of her hand with precision.

Her scream turned raw and piercing. Her skin turned a violent red almost instantly. She tried to pull her hand away, but my grip was iron.

The kitchen fell silent. The onlookers at the door stared, their mouths agape.

I let her go. The now-empty kettle hit the table with a loud clang, shattering the silence.

I turned to Braxton. He was frozen, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Now," I said, my voice a tone he had never heard from me before—as cold and hard as winter ice. "Her injury looks much more convincing. Should I help her make the other hand match?"

His expression shifted from shock to pure fury. His chest heaved, and his brown eyes blazed with a fire that promised to tear me apart.

I knew I had pushed him over the edge.

And it felt so damn good.

I didn't look at him again. I gave one last, cold glance at Bree, who was now a sobbing, terrified heap on the floor. "Next time you put on a show, try to be more professional."

Then I turned my back on them.

With my spine straight, I walked out of that disgusting kitchen, leaving the sound of Braxton's ragged, furious breathing behind me.

ELINOR POV:

I made it back to our so-called home—Braxton's quarters, a standard suite for a Gamma warrior—and locked the door behind me.

The click of the lock was a shield, shutting out the roars I knew were coming.

My back slid down the cool wood of the door until I was sitting on the floor. The strength that had held me up in the kitchen vanished, leaving me trembling.

My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear, but from the electrifying thrill of a new beginning.

I held out my hand, staring at the small, crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on my wrist. This was my body. Young, whole, unbroken. It felt like an impossible miracle.

A sharp, soul-deep pain lanced through me. Bloody, fragmented images flashed in my mind—how in my past life, I had loved Braxton too much to ever speak a word against him, no matter how close he grew with Bree. I had lived like a decoration in the corner of his world, small and silent and desperate for scraps of his attention.

Then one day, while Braxton was away on a campaign, Bree led me to a cliff. She told me we could see the warriors marching out from there. When I stretched on my tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse of Braxton among the warriors below, a silver blade plunged into my back. I felt it pierce straight through my heart. And as Bree's triumphant laugh rang in my ears, she pushed me off the edge.

My spirit drifted back to our home after I died. I watched Bree tell Braxton that I had fallen off the cliff by accident—that I was just being foolish and careless. He believed her, of course. He always believed her. My death was dismissed like it meant nothing, my body left on the rocks below for the vultures to pick clean.

Braxton's back as he held a triumphant Bree. And Bree... in his arms, she had given me a victorious, vicious smile.

Were they remnants of a nightmare, or a warning from the Moon Goddess herself?

I couldn't be sure. But the bone-deep chill of betrayal was real. It screamed at me that if I continued to be the submissive fool I once was, those images would become my reality.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the horrifying pictures away. No. I would not let that happen.

I had shed enough tears in my last life to fill an ocean. From this day forward, Elinor Mercado would not cry for anyone.

My goals were clear.

First, complete the Rejection ceremony with Braxton Porter.

Second, leave this suffocating Pack.

Third, start my own life.

According to Pack law, a Rejection required either mutual consent or a ruling from the Alpha. Braxton would never agree to it now. His pathetic male pride wouldn't allow him to be the one who was "dumped."

So, I had to force him.

I pushed myself up from the floor and surveyed the room. It was filled with Braxton's things, his presence overwhelming. My few clothes were crammed into the far corner of the closet, as if I were a guest who had overstayed her welcome.

I walked to the bed, the one I had once desperately longed to share with my mate. It looked like a cruel joke now.

In those days, I cleaned this room spotless, laid out his clothes, and waited on him like a servant.

And he, in return, would spend half the month finding excuses to "help" Bree, staying out all night. Our bond, the sacred tie between mates, meant nothing to him.

I went to the closet, yanked it open, and began pulling out his clothes, tossing them onto the floor in a heap.

Then, I took out my own meager belongings and spread them across the bed, a small act of claiming my space.

I was no longer the pathetic Elinor who begged for his affection.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached, followed by a key fumbling in the lock.

The door flew open. Braxton stood there, his face a thundercloud of rage. Behind him, Bree peeked out, her face a mask of false concern.

His eyes landed on the mess on the floor, then on my clothes spread across the bed. His fury escalated.

"Elinor! What the hell are you doing now!"

I ignored him, slowly and deliberately folding one of my old shirts.

My cold indifference enraged him more than any shouting match could have. He strode into the room and grabbed my wrist.

"I'm talking to you!" he roared, his grip so tight I thought the bones might snap.

I didn't struggle. I just looked up at him, my gaze as flat and empty as if I were looking at a stranger. "I heard you. So what?"

My calmness threw him off. He was used to my tears, my pleading. He had no idea how to handle this new, unfamiliar version of me.

With my free hand, I began to pry his fingers off my wrist, one by one.

"Let go," I said, my voice cold. "You're hurting me."

It wasn't a plea. It was a command.

ELINOR POV:

My words were like ice water poured over his burning rage. For a second, Braxton just stared, stunned.

He unconsciously loosened his grip. A clear red circle was already forming on my skin.

From the doorway, Bree saw her chance to perform. She rushed in, grabbing Braxton's arm. "Braxton, don't be angry. It's all my fault, I shouldn't be here..."

As she spoke, she shot a triumphant, sidelong glance at me, as if to say, See? He still cares about me first.

Braxton took the lifeline she offered, taking a deep breath to rein in his anger. But his eyes didn't go to Bree. They were locked on me, filled with a confused, probing intensity.

"Elinor, what do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "You were never like this before."

I smoothed the wrinkled sleeve of my shirt. "What was I like before? Like a fool, watching my 'mate' fool around with another woman and then cleaning up the mess of your 'pure friendship'?"

I deliberately used the word "mate." In the werewolf world, it carried immense weight. Coming from my lips now, it was pure sarcasm.

The word "mate" is sacred. It's a bond blessed by the Moon Goddess, a promise of a shared soul. He had tarnished it.

Braxton's face turned ugly. "Bree and I are innocent! I just treat her like a sister!"

"A sister?" I let out a short, humorless laugh. "What kind of brother abandons his own home at night to take care of a grown, healthy 'sister'? What kind of brother points a finger at his own mate and demands an apology because his 'sister' got a little scratch?"

Every word was a knife, aimed precisely at his flimsy excuses.

Bree's face paled. She hadn't expected me to lay everything out so bluntly.

Braxton was speechless. His lips moved, but the only defense he could muster was, "Bree is all alone with her daughter, Cassie. It's not easy for her..."

The same old excuse. I'd heard it a thousand times in my past life.

"So her hardship has to be paid for with my pain?" I took a step forward, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Braxton Porter, you are my fated mate, witnessed by the Moon Goddess. But have you ever, for a single day, fulfilled your duty as a mate?"

My intensity made him take half a step back. The retreat wounded his pride, and he lashed out in anger. "How have I not fulfilled my duty? I let you live here, I give you food and clothes. What more do you want?"

"What more do I want?" I looked at him and felt a profound sadness, not for myself, but for him.

He truly didn't understand. He thought a mate bond was about providing shelter and food, like keeping a pet.

I shook my head, losing the will to even argue with him. I turned away and went back to packing my things.

My silence, my refusal to engage, made him more uneasy than my anger ever had.

He watched me pack, and a sudden, dawning comprehension spread across his face.

"I get it," he said suddenly.

I paused, raising an eyebrow. I was morbidly curious to hear what his pathetic brain thought it "got."

A self-satisfied smirk twisted his lips. "You've been causing all this trouble, hitting people, starting fights... you're just trying to get my attention, aren't you?"

I just stared at him, saying nothing.

He took my silence as confirmation. "What? You saw me being cold to you, so you decided to play hard to get? You think these little games will make me look at you again?"

Bree, hearing this, visibly relaxed. "That's right, Elinor. We all know you love Braxton, but this is not the way to do it..."

I looked at these two self-absorbed, delusional people and felt that every word I spoke to them was a waste of my precious, new life.

Braxton, believing he had regained control, stepped toward me. He looked down at me, his tone dripping with condescending arrogance. "Alright, stop it. As long as you behave from now on and stop causing trouble for Bree, I can consider... treating you like I used to."

As he spoke, he reached out his hand, intending to touch my face in a gesture of pacification, a reward.

I watched that hand approach, and my gaze turned to ice.