FAITH POV:

I stood in the shadows of the upstairs landing, looking down at the gathering below. The room glittered with jewels and silks. Benson Haynes's tall frame was easy to spot among the crowd.

He was talking to another lord, a confident, arrogant smile on his handsome face. His cold gray eyes swept the room with an air of ownership.

My stomach churned. It was a physical reaction, a memory of sickness from a lifetime of his abuse. My body remembered the pain even if this younger version of me had not lived through it yet. I forced myself to look away.

"Don't stand there cowering like a village girl," Matron Price hissed behind me. "You're an embarrassment to the Haynes name."

I ignored her. My eyes scanned the servants moving through the hall, searching for one familiar face.

There.

Martha White, my loyal attendant, was holding a tray of wine glasses. Her face was etched with worry for me.

In my last life, Benson had her beaten to death for trying to protect me. This life, I would not only keep her alive, I would make sure her loyalty became part of my plan for revenge.

I had to get to her. Now.

I let my ankle twist, a deliberate, sharp movement. I stumbled forward with a small, choked gasp.

Matron Price yelped, grabbing my arm to steady me. "Clumsy girl!" she cursed under her breath.

This was my chance. I leaned against her, my voice weak. "Matron Price, I think I've twisted my ankle. It hurts. And... my chest feels so tight. The dress..."

Her face hardened instantly. A problem at the Mating Ceremony was a scandal of the highest order.

She hesitated, her jaw tight with annoyance. Finally, she steered me into a small, nearby sitting room. "Wait here. I'll fetch the physician."

I nodded meekly. As soon as she bustled out of the room, a cold smile touched my lips. The delay was secured.

I turned to the other servant standing guard at the door. "Please, could you find my personal attendant, Martha White? I need her help."

A moment later, Martha rushed in, closing the door behind her. "My lady, what is it? You look so pale."

I grabbed her hands, my voice low and urgent. "Martha, listen to me. I'm fine. This is part of a plan. I need you to do something for me, right now."

Martha stared, confused, but the unwavering intensity in my eyes made her nod. "Anything, my lady."

From the inner lining of my gown, I pulled out a small, simple earring, one engraved with the Parrish family crest. It was a cheap thing my foster mother had given me years ago.

"Take this. Leave the Haynes estate immediately and go to the Parrish manor. Give this to my stepsister, Alondra."

I leaned closer, my voice a whisper only she could hear. "Tell her this: 'Lady Faith collapsed just before the ceremony. She keeps calling your name, saying she has something of the utmost importance she must give you in person, or she cannot die in peace.'"

Martha's eyes widened in shock. She couldn't understand why I would summon Alondra, of all people, especially on the day of my Mating Ceremony.

"My lady, Lady Alondra... she..." Martha trailed off, knowing full well the animosity Alondra held for me.

I squeezed her hand tighter. "Martha, trust me. This is the only way to save me. Once you've delivered the message, return here through the servant's passage and stay close. I'll need you before the ceremony is over. "

My gaze was unbreakable. She finally gave a firm nod, tucking the earring safely away. "I understand, my lady. Please, be careful."

She slipped out through a servant's passage. I knew Alondra. Her jealousy and possessiveness were a gaping wound. She would never miss a chance to witness my "downfall" and present herself as a caring savior to Benson.

Just moments after Martha left, the sitting room door was thrown open with violent force.

Benson Haynes stood there, radiating a cold fury. His large body blocked the light from the hallway.

His gray eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto me.

BENSON POV:

I strode into the sitting room and saw Faith Walker perched on the edge of a sofa. She looked pale, fragile, like a lily that was one breath away from wilting.

My inner wolf let out a low, irritated growl. Today was our Mating Ceremony, and she was in here, faking an illness. It was a direct challenge to my authority.

"Faith, what game are you playing now?" I demanded. My voice was colder than I intended. The frustration of waiting had made my palms sweat. I unconsciously slipped the signet ring I'd been toying with from my finger for a moment and hooked it onto a decorative clasp on my belt.

She looked up at me, and her wide green eyes filled with a familiar fear and vulnerability. She looked as if I were a predator about to devour her.

That look immediately soothed my wolf. He rumbled, his anger shifting to a kind of condescending pity. See? She is still afraid of me.

I told myself she was just a weak Omega. These pathetic little dramas were probably the only way she thought she could get my attention. After all, what woman wouldn't want the attention of her mate?

I moved toward her, stepping into her space. My powerful scent—snow-dusted pine and cold steel—filled the small room, surrounding her. I saw her flinch, a tiny, almost imperceptible retreat.

That small act of defiance ignited my wolf's temper again.

Mine! he snarled in my head.

FAITH POV:

Benson's scent wrapped around me like a net, the smell of pine and smoke that haunted my nightmares.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat, hot and acidic. I fought the urge to vomit right at his feet.

My shrinking back had clearly provoked him. His hand shot out, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up.

His thumb moved roughly over my lips, his eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and raw possession. "What are you afraid of?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

I could feel the beast under his skin, restless and violent. In my past life, this was always the prelude to his cruelty.

My body went rigid with remembered terror, but I knew I couldn't pull away. I had to be the frightened little Omega he expected, one who craved his attention even as she feared it.

"I... I'm just so nervous, Benson," I whispered, my voice trembling. I willed tears to well in my eyes. "I'm afraid I'm not good enough for you."

The words worked their magic. The hard line of his jaw softened slightly. The rough motion of his thumb on my lips changed, becoming a slow, almost possessive caress.

"Of course you're not good enough for me," he said with a dismissive smirk, but his tone was laced with satisfaction. "But you were chosen by the Moon Goddess. It is your honor."

He lowered his head, his intention clear. He was going to kiss me, a kiss meant to "soothe" his frightened little mate.

My heart hammered against my ribs, not with anticipation, but with disgust. I could not let him touch me. Not again.

I turned my head at the last second, dodging his lips as I let out a sharp, pained gasp. "Ah!"

Benson's face darkened instantly, thinking I had rejected him again.

I immediately pointed to my ankle, my voice thick with fake tears. "My foot... I twisted it earlier. It hurts so much."

His gaze dropped to my ankle. It was already slightly red and swollen—from where I had pinched it myself just moments before.

His anger subsided, replaced by sheer impatience. An injured mate was a complication he didn't want to deal with on his ceremony day.

He straightened up. "Always causing trouble," he muttered coldly.

Just then, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by a woman's desperate cry. "Benson! Benson, where are you?"

Alondra's voice.

The change in Benson was instantaneous. The impatience and coldness vanished, replaced by an open, unguarded concern.

He didn't even spare me another glance before turning and striding toward the door.

Watching his back, I allowed myself a small, cold smile.

The fish had taken the bait.