Rachel’s POV

“I accept your condition,” I said. “I’ll return to the pack… as the heiress.”

I gripped the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, but my voice came out steady. Before I could hear the reply, I ended the call.

Silence blanketed the room.

The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. It vibrated. Like a scream caught between cracked walls, echoing endlessly. I stared at the phone in my hand, the words I’d just spoken ricocheting inside my skull.

A shaky breath left my lips as I turned to face the dimly lit bedroom that had been my prison for eight years. The walls reeked of memories I didn’t want to keep, the bed where I once cried myself to sleep. The windows I stared through, dreaming of an escape that never came.

The faint scent of lavender lingered in the curtains—Amelia’s favorite. It had once calmed me. Now it only made my throat tighten. A cruel reminder of what had been taken.

All for nothing.

Eight years of patience, loyalty, and sacrifice. And what did I have to show for it?

Pain. Betrayal. A life that was never mine to begin with.

I clenched my fists. Not anymore.

The mirror caught my eye. My reflection was thinner, colder, eyes dulled with years of trying to be something I wasn’t. My hair was longer now, cascading down my back like a shadow. The dress I wore shimmered faintly in the muted light, a soft blue silk that clung to me like the past.

Amelia’s dress.

No. It wasn’t hers. Not really.

A sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“How dare you wear my mother’s dress!”

I turned to see Ivan standing at the doorway, his small frame trembling with anger, golden eyes burning with hatred.

I sighed, here we go again.

“You aren’t going to say anything?!” His voice rose, sharp as a dagger.

I didn’t bother responding. It didn’t matter what I said. It never did.

“Go to your party, Ivan,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Your friends are waiting.”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, his little fingers wrapped around the silver mug on the table. Before I could react, he hurled the contents at me.

Pain exploded across my skin.

I screamed as the liquid burned my arms and chest.

Not just hot coffee. Silver-infused.

The scent of burnt flesh filled the air, and my wolf whimpered inside me, retreating from the agony. My vision blurred for a second, and through the haze of pain, I saw Ivan smirking.

“Yes,” he spat. “Serves you right. You can never replace my mother. You killed her with your wicked heart, and now you’re wearing her favorite dress?”

The pain was unbearable, but the words cut deeper.

A maid rushed in, gasping as she saw me scarred and trembling.

“Miss, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Ivan ran off from the guards again.” She grabbed his arm and led him away, his mean laughter ringing in my ears.

I stood frozen, breathing through the pain.

This wasn’t Amelia’s dress.

It was mine. A gift from my late mother before she died. But Amelia stole it just as she'd stolen everything from me. My place in the pack, my title as the Alpha’s mate, my life.

And when she died giving birth to Ivan, they blamed me.

I was labeled bad luck. A cursed wolf, unworthy of love, unworthy of a pack.

But instead of banishing me, Sarah made me stay. Forced me to care for her grandson. To live in the same house as Michael, my childhood sweetheart. The mate who should have been mine.

I obeyed for eight years. I cleaned their wounds, raised their heir, and swallowed my pain.

Because Sarah made a deal.

"Stay until Ivan turns eight. After that, you’re free.

I held onto those words for years. Let them be the chain that kept me going. Endure for eight years. Then leave.

And today… Today was the eighth year.

I stepped into the bathroom, watching my reflection in the mirror. The red, scalding burns stood out against my pale skin.

It would heal. But my scars would remain.

I pulled back the neckline of the dress, inspecting the raw patches where the silver had touched. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them away. Not today. No more tears.

I reached for the first-aid box, hands trembling. Every movement was a battle between pain and necessity. The salve inside smelled like pine and mint, and as I dabbed it over the burns, a sharp breath hissed between my teeth. I gritted my jaw, forcing my hands to steady as the sting met raw skin. Slowly, the relief seeped in.

The silence returned, heavier this time. It clung to the air, wrapping around me like smoke. My mind wandered to the what-ifs, the endless possibilities of a life I might have had if things had gone differently. If Michael had chosen me. If Sarah had accepted me. If Amelia hadn’t existed.

But that life never belonged to me.

I’d played the role of the ghost long enough.

Another memory hit me—Michael cradling Amelia after a training accident, brushing her hair from her face, whispering words I had once longed to hear. I'd stood in the shadows then, watching, wondering how he could turn so easily from one heart to another.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Enough.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

I already knew who it was.

The door opened, and Michael stepped inside. He looked at me, really looked at me for the first time in years. His lips pressed into a thin line when he saw the burns.

“I heard what Ivan did.” His voice was low, almost apologetic. Almost. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just a child. He loves you.”

A bitter laugh slipped from my lips. Loves me?

I turned my gaze to him, meeting his familiar amber eyes. The eyes that once held promises. Now, they held nothing but duty.

“That child doesn’t know the first thing about love,” I murmured.

Michael sighed. “Don’t talk like that.” He took a step closer, reaching for the soothing balm on the nightstand. “Let me help you.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

His fingers brushed my skin as he applied the ointment. Slow, careful movements. Too familiar. Too much like the old days—when his touch made my heart race.

Now it made my stomach turn.

Memories bubbled to the surface. Of our childhood days running through the forest, our secret kisses by the riverbank, the promises whispered under the moonlight. Promises he shattered the day he chose Amelia.

He was good at pretending. Pretending his heart hadn’t once beat for me. Pretending his loyalty to Amelia wasn’t built on guilt and obligation.

I remembered the day he told me it was over—Amelia had claimed him, and Sarah supported the match. His eyes were glassy, his voice tight, as if convincing himself more than me.

“Be patient with him,” Michael whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “With time, he’ll—”

I yanked my arm away, stepping back.

“I have something to tell you,” I said, my voice steady.

Michael frowned. “Can’t it wait? The party has already started.”

I met his gaze, heart beating wildly, but schooled my features to neutrality.

“No. It can’t.”

A slow, deliberate breath.

"Today marks eight years. I want to leave."

Silence.

His brows knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

"Yes."

I had nothing left here.

Michael’s jaw clenched. "And where will you go?"

My lips curled into a knowing smile

"Home."

His expression shifted—shock, realization, and something else. Something dark.

He took a step toward me, voice lowering to a growl.

“You’re returning to them?”

The Royal Pack.

My birthright, my blood. My true home.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his wolf rising to the surface.

“They’ll never accept you,” he said.

I lifted my chin. “We’ll see.”

Another step. I took a step back.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, too tightly.

"You think I’ll let you leave?"

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, sensing the threat in his tone.

I smirked.

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

And with that, I ripped free from his grasp.

This time, for good.

Rachel’s POV

“What nonsense are you saying?” Michael thundered, his voice echoing through the trees like a clap of thunder.

The sky above had dimmed, thick clouds casting a gray pall over the compound, as if even the heavens sensed the storm brewing between us. His face, usually unreadable behind carefully constructed charm, was contorted with anger now. His golden eyes blazed with restrained fury, his energy pressing down on me like an invisible weight, stifling and hot. Still, I didn’t back down.

“It’s the eighth year, Michael. I want to leave,” I stated, voice calm but unyielding.

His features twisted with disbelief, then indignation. “Why are you making a fuss? Ivan is just a child. Don’t take what he did to heart. Today is his birthday. Come along, I’ll punish him later.”

He reached out and grabbed my wrist—not harshly, not yet—but with the kind of practiced insistence that came from years of assuming I’d obey. That I’d fold under pressure. But not this time. I yanked my hand free with a sharp motion, my skin crawling at the contact.

“You said that when he turned eight, I could leave. I’m simply holding you to your word,” I said, keeping my tone level, despite the fire rising in my chest.

Michael’s lips parted, maybe to argue, maybe to lie. But before he could speak, another voice—sharp and familiar—sliced into the moment like a blade.

“Rachel, how shameless can you be? Always stealing the spotlight, even when it’s a child’s special day!”

I turned to see Sarah storming toward us. Her expression was pure disdain, every movement stiff with righteous fury. My stepmother, Ivan’s grandmother. She had aged over the years—lines etched deeper around her mouth, hair silvering—but the venom in her tone hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had fermented, grown sharper with time.

She was the one who’d made the agreement. Eight years. That was the deal. So why was she now acting like I was the one breaking faith?

“I’m not stealing anything, Sarah,” I said firmly. “You were the one who said I could leave after eight years.”

Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Must you talk about it today, huh? On my grandson’s birthday, of all days?”

“It’s fine,” Michael interjected, voice forced into a placating smoothness. “I’m sure Rachel didn’t mean it like that.”

Years ago, that tone might have softened me. It might have made me second-guess myself, believing he was diffusing the situation for my sake. But not anymore. Now I saw it for what it was—manipulation dressed as diplomacy. He didn’t care about me. He never had. He cared about control, about appearances. About keeping me exactly where he wanted me: quiet and compliant.

“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the pack hall, voice low and coaxing. “Let’s go to the party.”

I didn’t resist. Not outwardly. I let him guide me, stepping into the grand hall with my jaw clenched and my thoughts spinning. But inside, something was unraveling, a thread pulling loose with every passing second.

The hall buzzed with the noise of celebration—music, laughter, the soft clink of glasses. The smell of roasted meat and herbs hung in the air. Ivan stood at the center of it all, surrounded by friends, his golden eyes—so like his father's—flashing with joy and pride. The room revolved around him, the youngest prince of this fractured kingdom.

Then he saw me.

His face twisted instantly into a sneer. Contempt, pure and practiced.

“Look, Ivan, your mother is here,” one of the other children said.

Ivan didn’t miss a beat. “She’s not my mother!” he screamed

The words rang louder than any music in the room. I felt the weight of them like a slap, sharp and cold. But I didn’t flinch. I’d expected it. Braced for it.

Michael moved quickly, crouching to Ivan’s level. “We don’t say things like that. Rachel has taken care of you all these years.”

Ivan’s lip curled. “No! She can never be my mother. She killed my real mom.”

Silence. Total, suffocating silence.

Whispers stirred like dry leaves.

“She’s the boy’s aunt, isn’t she?”

“I thought she raised him…”

“Maybe she treats him badly…”

Michael’s jaw tensed visibly. “Apologize, Ivan,” he said, his voice low, warning.

But I raised my hand to stop him. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

And then I turned, walking away without another word, ignoring the dozens of eyes tracking my every step. Let them stare. Let them judge. Their opinions no longer held any weight. Not to me.

In the past, words like that would have shattered me. It would’ve left me crying behind locked doors, begging for understanding that never came. But not anymore.

No matter what I did, no matter how many sacrifices I made, Michael’s heart would always belong to Amelia. And Ivan would always see me as the one who stood in her shadow—a threat, a replacement, never a mother.

Outside, the air was cold. The wind cut against my skin like icy fingers. I barely noticed.

“Why must you create a scene today?” Sarah's voice followed me like a curse.

I stopped. Slowly turned. My pulse thudded in my ears.

“What do you want, Sarah?” I asked, exhaustion creeping into my tone. “I played my part for eight years. I’m done.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You should take care of Ivan like he’s your own. If my daughter were alive, she would have treated him better.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Pity she’s dead, then.”

Her hand moved fast, but mine moved faster. I caught her wrist in midair, tightening my grip just enough to make her wince.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice a whisper, but sharp as a blade. “Not today.”

She yanked her hand back, rubbing at her reddened wrist. “Do what you want, Rachel. No one will ever love you. Not even your father wants to see you.”

I said nothing.

Just smiled—tired, worn, but strangely free.

Eight years. Eight years since I had seen my father. Since the day he sent me away like an unwanted burden after Amelia’s death. I’d stopped hoping he’d look back a long time ago. His silence had taught me all I needed to know.

I remembered the last conversation I had with him before I was taken to Michael's home. He stood by the window, eyes vacant, as though his soul had left with Amelia. When I begged to stay, he merely nodded to the waiting guards, and they took me without another word. That day forged the steel in my spine. I had vowed I would never beg again.

A small noise—almost a breath—pulled me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I got you a gift.”

I turned, startled. Ivan stood there, a wrapped box in his hands, looking small and innocent in the twilight.

My eyes widened. “You didn’t have to.”

He giggled. “I wanted to. Open it.”

I took the box carefully, a cautious smile forming. Maybe... maybe there was hope, after all.

Then I opened it.

A sharp, foul stench hit me immediately. My breath caught in my throat.

Inside was my cat—limp and cold. Lifeless. An arrow pierced its tiny body. Blood had dried along the fur. Its eyes, once bright, were now dull and glassy.

My body went still.

The hall faded. The voices. The wind. All of it dimmed.

Ivan leaned in closer, eyes glittering with sick amusement. “That’ll be you soon,” he whispered, giggling. “If you don’t leave me and my father alone.”

The box trembled in my hands as I inhaled sharply. My fingers curled around the edges until the cardboard crumpled beneath them.

Enough.

This wasn’t just about leaving anymore. It wasn’t about escape.

It was about reclaiming my life.

This time, I wasn’t just walking away.

I was taking back what was mine.

Rachel’s POV

I stared at the lifeless body of Fei Fei, my only companion in this house. In the same way I had taken care of Ivan, I had cherished my pet. And now, he was gone. Killed by the very boy I had protected for eight years.

“Don’t mess with me, and don’t get my father upset with me!” Ivan spat before stomping off, his golden eyes gleaming with triumph.

A bitter laugh escaped me. Fate was cruel. I was the one who had taught Ivan how to wield a bow, and now he had used it against me. My hands trembled as I cradled the box, staring at Fei Fei’s still form. A single tear slipped down my cheek.

“Why are you out in the cold, Rachel? You’ll get sick.”

Michael’s voice reached me before he stepped closer, draping his jacket over my shoulders. I shrugged it off immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, then his eyes landed on the box. His face twisted in slight disgust.

“Your son came to apologize,” I said flatly.

Michael’s frown deepened. “He’s your son, too.”

I scoffed. “He hates me, Michael. He killed my cat.”

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was probably just a prank. He’s a child, Rachel.”

“A child who knows exactly how to hurt me.”

I turned away from him, the snow crunching beneath my boots as I walked toward the edge of the garden. The moon cast long shadows across the trees, and for a moment, I imagined Fei Fei darting through the underbrush, chasing moonbeams like he used to when he was alive.

Michael didn’t argue. Instead, he tried to lead me inside. “Come. You can bury it tomorrow.

I pulled away, carrying the box toward the garden. “I won’t leave him outside for some animal to feast on.”

Michael followed, grumbling about how stubborn I was. Still, he stayed while I buried Fei Fei beneath the full moon’s glow. The cold wind howled through the night, whispering secrets only wolves could understand.

I knelt in the dirt, hands shaking as I covered the small grave. I remembered the day I found him—just a kitten, soaking wet and barely breathing by the riverbank. I had nursed him back to health, hidden him in my room despite the strict house rules. He had grown alongside Ivan, curling up in my lap during the cold winters, purring when my tears fell silently in the dark.

The final handful of soil felt heavier than all the rest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You didn’t deserve this.”

When we returned inside, the party had long ended. The house was eerily silent. I sneezed just as Michael caught my wrist, pulling me toward him.

He sat down, settling me onto his lap. I cringed inwardly.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

Michael sighed. “I’ll get you a new cat.”

“I don’t want a new cat. I want to leave. Tomorrow.”

Michael tensed. “Ivan is a child. I don’t trust anyone else to take care of him. Besides, where would you even go? You have no one.”

I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I have no place here. You’ve refused to make me your Luna after eight years.”

He exhaled sharply. “Rachel, I told you, I can’t take another mate right now.”

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want to be your mate anymore. I just want to leave.”

Michael remained silent for a long moment, then spoke carefully. “Then stay as the mother of my child. Have a pup with me. If you bear my heir, no one will dare question your place in this pack.”

A sad smile crossed my lips. Eight years. I had given him everything, stripped myself of dignity, and still, this was all I amounted to—someone to birth his child and raise his firstborn.

I stood, shaking my head. “I’ve already instructed the maids on how to care for Ivan. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

Michael caught my wrist again, pressing a lingering kiss to my palm. “Sleep on it.”

That night, I didn’t sleep at all. Instead, I packed my things. But even as I folded my clothes, my mind replayed the image of Fei Fei.

I paused beside my dresser, opening the drawer where I had hidden a crumpled photo. It was the only one I had left—of me and my parents, taken before the war tore through the Royal Pack. My mother’s eyes looked back at me, proud and strong. I folded the picture and tucked it into my coat.

I glanced around the room, once a place of confinement and sorrow, now stripped of sentiment. I closed the suitcase and stared at the door.

By dawn, I was ready.

Dragging my suitcase toward the gate, I exhaled, feeling lighter than I had in years. Finally, I was leaving.

But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

A slow clap echoed through the courtyard, followed by a sickly sweet voice.

“Well, well, well.”

Susan leaned against the pillar, smirking. Her red-painted lips curled in satisfaction. “Leaving, are we?”

I sighed. Of course, she would be here to witness my departure. Michael’s mistress. Ivan’s favorite.

I ignored her and continued walking, but she stepped into my path.

“Eight years, Rachel.” She tilted her head. “Eight years of playing house, waiting for a man who never wanted you. And now you’re finally leaving? Took you long enough.”

I met her gaze. “Enjoy it, then. None of this concerns me anymore.”

Susan’s smirk widened. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry. Soon, I’ll be the Luna.”

Before I could respond, the front doors burst open.

Michael stepped out, followed closely by Ivan.

And just like that, Susan changed.

She gasped dramatically and dropped to her knees, clutching my dress. “Rachel, please!” she sobbed, her voice dripping with false desperation. “Please don’t go! Ivan needs you!”

I stared down at her blankly.

“He loves you, he does! He’s just a child. Please don’t abandon him.”

Michael sighed, clearly annoyed. “Enough, Susan. Stop making a scene. I’ll get Rachel another cat.”

I clenched my fists, but before I could speak, Ivan ran to Susan, wrapping his arms around her.

“Stand up, Susan,” he said softly, his tiny hands wiping away her fake tears. Then, he turned to me, his golden eyes filled with hatred. “You killed my mother,” he spat, his voice trembling with rage. “And now you’re trying to hurt Susan too!”

He turned back to Susan, his gaze softening. “Don’t worry. Let Rachel go. I don’t need her.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “I want you to stay. You should be my mother. You should marry my father.”

His words struck harder than any wound.

After eight years, if this was how he truly felt… There was no point in staying.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took one last look at the boy I had raised, the man I had once loved.

Without another word, I turned and walked away.

But just as I reached the gate, a sharp whistle split the air.

And then I felt pain, blinding, searing pain.