"I'm done pretending to be a loser. I want them to know who I really am."

My voice came out steady, but my hands trembled as I clutched the phone to my ear. My eyes were locked on the television screen, the air in my apartment thick with betrayal.

There he was—Alpha Conrad, my boyfriend of five years, kneeling before Celeste Montgomery with a diamond ring glinting under the lights. The cameras flashed. The crowd cheered. And Celeste? She gasped dramatically, hands flying to her mouth before she nodded, letting him slip the ring onto her delicate, undeserving finger.

I felt sick.

"You knew this was coming," my brother Jameson's voice crackled through the phone, his tone sharp. "Don't break character now, Tattiana. We’re so close."

"Close to what?" I shot back, my voice hoarse. "Five years, Jameson. Five years of my life wasted. I was supposed to be gathering intel, not falling in love with the damn enemy!"

My breath hitched as the tears I swore I wouldn’t shed slipped down my cheeks. My body shook as I wiped them away, furious at myself for feeling this much. I should’ve known better. I should’ve known Conrad would never choose me. Not when he had a pristine, well-bred Luna like Celeste waiting for him.

I wasn’t his destined mate. I was just his secret.

"You don’t have the luxury of feelings," Jameson reminded me coldly. "You’re the daughter of Alpha Archibald, the rightful heir to our father’s legacy. And in case you forgot, Conrad’s father put a silver blade through his heart and stole our everything from us."

My stomach twisted at the truth. I could still hear my father’s last breath, the gurgling sound as blood pooled around him. I was only twelve then, hiding in a cellar while my world burned. Now, I was twenty-four and playing a long game of deception, living as Mavy Dawson the ordinary omega girl no one cared about. No one except Conrad, or so I had stupidly believed.

"Justice, Tattiana," Jameson pressed. "That’s what matters."

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. "Then why does it feel like I’m the one losing?"

Jameson sighed, but I didn’t wait for his answer. I ended the call and turned off the television, the image of Conrad and Celeste vanishing into darkness.

I wiped my tears. I had work to do.

The knock on my door the next morning was loud, urgent. I groaned, still curled beneath my thin blanket, my head pounding from the sleepless night. When the knocking didn’t stop, I forced myself up, dragging my feet to the door.

The moment I cracked it open, my breath caught.

Conrad stood there, his dark hair a mess, his golden eyes filled with something dangerously close to guilt.

"Mavy," he exhaled, stepping forward like he wanted to pull me into his arms. I took a step back instead.

"Go away," I said, my voice flat.

"I need to explain," he pleaded, his hands gripping the doorframe. "Last night—what you saw—it wasn’t my choice. My father—"

"Forced you?" I finished for him, my lips curling in bitter amusement. "Save it, Conrad. I know how your father operates. I also know you could’ve said no if you really wanted to."

His jaw tensed. "It’s not that simple."

"Right. Because being an Alpha’s son means duty comes first, right?" My voice wavered, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. His just like his father who had a duty when they murdered mine.

"Mavy, please—"

"You don’t have to explain anything," I cut him off. "We’re done."

I moved to close the door, but his hand shot out, stopping me. His grip was tight, desperate.

"Don’t do this," he begged. "We can still be together."

"Still what?" My voice rose, anger finally breaking free. "Be together in secret? While you play the perfect Alpha mate to Celeste in public?"

His silence was answer enough.

I laughed, but it was hollow, empty. "I see. So that’s your grand offer, then? I get to be your dirty little secret while she wears your ring?"

His golden eyes darkened. "It’s not like that."

"Then tell me what it is, Conrad!" I shouted, my chest heaving. "Tell me how this works! Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I was just a convenient distraction until your father finally decided to marry you off to someone worthy of you!"

He flinched like I had struck him. "That’s not true."

"Then prove it," I whispered, my voice trembling now. "Leave her. Pick me."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

He didn’t answer.

I nodded, my heart shattering all over again. "That’s what I thought."

I wrenched my arm from his grip and stepped back. "Goodbye, Conrad."

This time, he didn’t stop me as I shut the door between us.

But the second it closed, I pressed my back against it, my breath coming in sharp gasps as the weight of everything hit me.

I had been stupid to love him. Stupid to think that, even for a moment, he might’ve loved me back.

But it didn’t matter anymore. No more pretending. Time will come the world knew exactly who I was.

For now, I must continue playing our game of disguise so my brother and I can find justice for our father.

It had been a week since I last spoke to Alpha Conrad. A week of silence. A week of pretending I didn’t exist in his world anymore.

But he hadn’t given up.

Every morning, a fresh bouquet of blood-red roses sat at my doorstep, accompanied by handwritten letters, all filled with the same empty apologies. The first day, I read them. The second, I skimmed. By the third, I tossed them into the trash without opening them.

Today was no different. As I stepped over yet another bouquet, the scent of roses clinging to the crisp morning air, I didn’t spare it a glance. I had more important things to do—like dragging myself through another shift at the diner.

The smell of bacon grease and coffee clung to my uniform as I refilled a customer’s cup. It was the lunch rush, and the place buzzed with noise—clinking silverware, sizzling grills, and hurried conversations.

I liked it this way. It kept me distracted.

“Mavy, table four!” my boss, Lorna, barked from the counter.

I grabbed the notepad from my apron, wiping my hands as I turned—only to freeze mid-step.

The air in the diner shifted, heavy with an unspoken tension. Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire, and then—click. Click. Click.

Camera flashes lit up the room. And there she was. Celeste Montgomery.

Perfect. Beautiful. Drenched in wealth and privilege. The future Luna.

My stomach coiled with unease as our gazes met. A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, and for a moment, I felt…hunted.

I forced my feet to move, ignoring the growing tightness in my chest as I rushed to the kitchen.

But luck was not on my side today.

"Take this to table four," Lorna ordered, setting a tray in my hands before I could protest.

Of course.

With careful steps, I made my way back to the dining area. My palms were sweaty, my grip firm on the tray. I could feel Celeste watching me, feel the weight of the room pressing down on me.

One step. Another. And then—

My foot caught on something—someone?—and the world tilted.

The tray flew from my hands, and in a horrifying second, food rained down onto Celeste Montgomery’s designer dress.

The diner went silent.

A sharp gasp tore through the air before—

Slap!

Pain stung my cheek, my head whipping to the side as Celeste’s hand left its mark.

"You clumsy idiot!" she shrieked, standing, her dress ruined. "Do you have any idea how much this costs?!"

"I—I'm sorry," I managed, heat crawling up my skin.

She didn’t care.

With a forceful shove, she sent me sprawling to the floor. Gasps echoed around us, the humiliation suffocating.

I clenched my fists. I could take this. I could swallow my pride and let her win.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. I reached for the ketchup bottle on the nearest table, popped the lid, and in one swift move—

Splat.

Bright red sauce covered Celeste’s pristine dress and the entire diner went deathly silent.

I stepped back, wiping my hands as if I had just done a great service to humanity. "Oops," I said sweetly. "Guess you’re messing with the wrong girl."

Celeste let out a strangled shriek.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

Yeah, I was definitely getting fired.

That night, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Photos of the incident had gone viral, and Celeste Montgomery’s army of fans was out for blood. My name was smeared across every gossip page, labeled as a ‘jealous omega’ trying to ‘sabotage’ the future Luna.

As if I cared. I tossed my phone onto the couch, sighing. The apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Then—darkness. The power went out.

My pulse quickened. I reached for my phone, only to realize—the battery was dead.

Damn it. A soft click echoed through the apartment. The door.

Someone was inside.

I froze, my heart hammering. Every instinct in my body screamed danger.

Reaching for the small knife I kept in the kitchen, I gripped it tight. My breath was shallow, my ears straining for any sound.

Then I heard a voice. Low. Sinister.

"Come out, little wolf."

Chills ran down my spine. I wasn’t alone.

I pressed myself against the wall, muscles tensed. My mind raced—who? Why? Had Celeste sent someone?

A creak. Footsteps. Getting closer.

And then—

A crash.

A struggle erupted in the dark. Grunts, the sound of fists meeting flesh, bodies colliding. Someone had come to fight.

My brother, Jameson.

Without thinking, I lunged forward, knife in hand. I needed to help.

But just as I swung—

The lights flickered back on. And my heart stopped.

Jameson stood before me, barely holding back the man pinned beneath him. And in my hand? The knife—mere inches from my brother’s throat.

I nearly stabbed him.

Shaking, I stepped back, my breath ragged. My gaze snapped to the man Jameson had caught.

A stranger. Wild-eyed. Reeking of desperation.

Jameson pressed a knee to his chest. "Who sent you?"

The man sneered but said nothing.

Jameson’s fist connected with his jaw. "I won’t ask again."

A beat of silence.

"Alpha Conrad."

My blood ran cold.

Jameson’s expression darkened. "Son of a—"

I swallowed hard, gripping the counter for support.

Conrad sent him? Does this mean he knew something about me and my brother real identities?

I should’ve been dead last night.

If Jameson hadn’t come when he did, that intruder—whoever the hell he was—would’ve had me at his mercy. And the worst part? He claimed Alpha Conrad had sent him.

But the bastard escaped before we could get any real answers.

Now, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the flickering light above me, my stomach twisted in knots. I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the shadow in my apartment, heard the voice whispering in the dark, felt the cold grip of fear tightening around my throat.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

"I want out," I blurted, looking up at Jameson.

My brother stood near the window, arms crossed, his face unreadable. "Out?"

"I don’t want to stay here," I clarified, my voice unsteady. "I can’t. I need to leave, Jameson."

His brows furrowed, his golden eyes darkening. "You’re scared."

Of course, I was scared. I had been playing a dangerous game, pretending to be someone else, trying to get near to the pack that had destroyed our family. And for what? Five years of gathering nothing. No revenge. No justice. Just me, hopelessly entangled with the one person I shouldn’t have fallen for.

"You’re getting emotional," Jameson accused, his voice sharp. "Because of Conrad."

I flinched. "This isn’t about him."

"Isn’t it?" He scoffed. "You let yourself get too close, Tatty. You let yourself believe he loved you. And now, because of that, you’re breaking apart."

I clenched my fists. "I’m breaking apart because someone tried to kill me!"

Jameson exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re not leaving."

I shot up to my feet. "You don’t control me!"

"No, but I know you." He stepped closer, his voice low and firm. "You’re not running because of the mission. You’re running because you still have feelings for him. And that makes you weak."

The words hit deep. I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking away.

Jameson exhaled heavily. "Fine. Take a break. Go back to our old hometown for a while. Clear your damn head. But when you come back, I expect you to remember why we’re doing this."

He turned and left, the door slamming behind him.

I stood there, shaking.

Then, without a word, I started packing.

The knock on my door came just as I zipped up my suitcase.

Alpha Conrad stood in my doorway, his eyes stormy, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was fighting the urge to break something. Or someone.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was low, rough, controlled rage beneath every syllable.

I stared at him, my fingers curling around the handle of my suitcase. "What do you want, Conrad?"

His nostrils flared. "I want to know why you humiliated Celeste in the diner."

I let out a dry laugh. "Oh, you mean the part where she slapped me? Or the part where she shoved me to the floor?"

Conrad took a step closer, his hands flexing at his sides. "You drenched her in ketchup."

"She deserved worse," I snapped. "Are you here to demand an apology for your precious fiancée? Because that’s not happening."

His eyes darkened. "Damn it, Mavy."

He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful, like he was trying to hold onto something slipping away.

But I had already slipped away.

I yanked free. "I’m not your secret girlfriend anymore, Conrad. You don’t get to hold onto me when it’s convenient for you."

Something flickered in his expression—regret? Pain? I didn’t care.

The airport was crowded, but the second I settled into my seat on the plane, a strange sense of peace washed over me.

No Jameson breathing down my neck. No Conrad. No Celeste.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.

Then my phone buzzed. Alpha Conrad.

His name flashed across the screen again and again, call after call.

I ignored it.

Then Jameson’s name popped up.

I hesitated, my gut twisting. But before I could answer—

I lost signal. The plane was taking off.

I leaned back, closing my eyes.

Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

A flight attendant’s voice cut through the calm.

"Attention, everyone," she said, her voice tight with urgency. "We have a security threat on board."

I snapped my eyes open, my pulse spiking.

Murmurs rippled through the cabin. People were looking around, confused. Then, the attendant’s next words sent ice through my veins.

"There is a bomb on this plane."

Chaos erupted.

Passengers screamed, flight attendants scrambled. A baby started wailing somewhere in the back.

My hands shook as I grabbed my phone and turned it back on, desperate for a signal.

And then I saw it.

Jameson’s last message.

[Don’t get on the plane. You’re being targeted. We don’t know by who. Trust no one.]