What if your nightmares were memories of past lives? Every night, Ethan Laurent dreams of the same girl dying in his arms. Every night, he fails to save her. And every morning, he wakes up with the taste of her blood on his lips and a name he can't remember. As the powerful heir to one of the strongest werewolf bloodlines, Ethan has everything - looks, status, and a reputation that makes every girl at LuxeMount Academy want him. But he's hiding something dark behind that perfect face. Then Lydia Bailey shows up, and suddenly his carefully controlled world starts cracking. There's just one tiny problem: every time they get close, history tries to repeat itself. And this time? They're running out of chances to get it right. Can they break the cycle before it destroys them both? Or were they doomed from the start?
View MoreTo put it nicely, the party was taxing. The music shook the walls, the lights shone too brightly, and everyone seemed to be dancing, chatting, and laughing loudly all at once. Lydia stuck close to Vanessa, her heart racing. This was new. Naturally, Vanessa blended in perfectly. With her clothe fitting her form perfectly, she strode through the crowd like a queen. People turned to look, guys smiled, girls whispered. Lydia? She felt like a shadow trailing behind her. "Relax, babe, Vanessa said, leaning close to be heard over the music. "You look fine. Just stop standing like a statue, yeah?" Lydia tried to smile, but her eyes were already darting around, searching for a familiar face. Him. She did not want to admit it, but her pulse sped up at the thought of seeing Ethan Laurent. A server passed by with a tray of drinks. Vanessa grabbed two glasses without hesitation and handed one into Lydia's hand. “Here,” Vanessa said with a sly smile Lydia looked at the glass like it was a t
Lydia stepped out, and the noise in the corridor grew louder. Students gathered on either side of the hallway like fans at an event, their faces filled with excitement and a hint of fear. Lydia squeezed into the crowd, standing on her tiptoes to obtain a clearer view.And then she saw them.Ethan Laurent walked with a confidence that made it impossible not to look at him. Lydia recognized him instantly. That is him. That is her man.How could a guy she’d only seen in passing now be standing right in front of her? Her heart did this weird flip as she took him in. His dark hair was perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place. His sharp jawline looked like it had been carved by the gods, and his piercing eyes practically dared anyone to challenge him.And then there was the way he carried himself. It was not just walking—it was commanding. Every step radiated authority, as if the room belonged to him and everyone else was just borrowing space. His fashion sense didn’t help either;
Luxemount High looked nothing like anything Lydia had ever seen before. Her old school was all glass and modern design, sleek and new. This place? It was like walking into a castle. Massive brick buildings that looked like they had been standing for centuries. The kind of place where you could just tell - money wasn't new here. It was old. Ancient.Kids walked around like they owned the place. And maybe they did. Perfect uniforms. Expensive bags. The type of confident walk that screamed, "My family has been here for generations."Their movement almost felt choreographed. And then there were the looks. Oh, the looks. Some students did not even try to hide their stares. Those calculating eyes that seemed to measure her worth before she had even spoken a word. Rich kids had a way of doing that—sizing you up in seconds.Rebecca glanced at her. "You good?"Lydia nodded, keeping her face neutral. She had made a promise to herself-her mother had already sacrificed so much, and she did not
The whiskey bottle was half-empty. Half-full. Who the hell even cares?Ethan stared into the glass, his hand shaking slightly. Harper's face kept flashing in his mind. Those last moments. That look in her eyes. "I tried..." she had whispered. And then nothing.He knocked back another drink, wincing at the burn. The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed louder than any sound.His phone buzzed. He ignored it. Probably Riley checking on him. Or worse, someone from the pack.Fuck the pack.Fuck everything.Another drink. The liquid blurred the edges of the memory. But not enough. Never enough. Memories tainted by blood are difficult to erase. They become a part of you as they absorb into your bones, skin, heart and soul. Harper's passing left a scar that would never completely go away.The kitchen light suddenly clicked on. Ethan didn't move. Didn't look up. Just kept staring into the glass, watching the whiskey swirl like the memories he couldn't escape."You're d
Survival isn't about dignity. It's about how low you are willing to bend, how much of your soul you are prepared to sell just to keep breathing.Lydia watched her mom crumble. Not metaphorically. Actually crumble. On the cold, dirty floor, hands clasped together, begging Mr. Miller like he was some kind of god"Please," she whispered to Mr. Miller, her voice a ragged thread of broken hope. "Please. We'll do anything."Anything. The word was out now, impossible to take back, waiting to strangle whatever remained of their pride.Mr. Miller stood there, impeccable in his tailored suit, looking down at her mother like she was some curious insect. Amber stood beside him, her eyes cold. This wasn't just about punishment. This was about power. About showing exactly how little people like them mattered."What do you want?" Mr. Miller asked AmberAmber's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Her scholarship. I want it gone. She shouldn’t be in this school anymore. And I want th
The thing about perfect families is they're anything but perfect.Ethan Laurent knew this better than anyone. From the outside, they looked like the ultimate success story—his father, the most respected alpha in the region, his mother the picture of grace and sophistication. But inside their immaculate mansion? Total disaster waiting to happen.The car's leather seats creaked as he shifted, still buzzing from the earlier confrontation at the police station. His sister, Riley, glanced over, that knowing smirk playing on her lips."So," she drawled, "what do you think Dad's gonna do when he finds out about this?"Ethan snorted. "Who's gonna tell him? You?"Riley raised an eyebrow. "Me? As if." She mimicked their father's stern voice perfectly. "'I wish you would make better choices. I expect more from a Laurent.”They both burst out laughing. It was their favorite game—playing their parents, mocking the suffocating expectations that came with their family name."Speaking of making bette
Pain was nothing new to Lydia Bailey.She'd learned early that some people were born to be prey, and some were born to hunt. For years, she'd been convinced she was the former—a walking target, invisible except when someone wanted to remind her how little she mattered.The bruise on her cheek was still fresh from yesterday. Amber Miller's ring had caught her just right, leaving a perfect crescent of purple and blue that matched the loneliness etched into Lydia's bones. Her mother would notice—she always did—but she'd say nothing. Just another silent look. Just another moment of pretending.Silver-dale wasn't a school. It was a battlefield, and Lydia had never learned how to fight back.The morning was typical. Cold. Gray. The kind of morning that promised nothing but more of the same. Lydia adjusted her worn hoodie, pulling it closer, trying to disappear into the fabric. Her fingers traced the new bruise, a ritual of survival she'd perfected over years of being the girl nobody saw—unt
Pain was nothing new to Lydia Bailey.She'd learned early that some people were born to be prey, and some were born to hunt. For years, she'd been convinced she was the former—a walking target, invisible except when someone wanted to remind her how little she mattered.The bruise on her cheek was still fresh from yesterday. Amber Miller's ring had caught her just right, leaving a perfect crescent of purple and blue that matched the loneliness etched into Lydia's bones. Her mother would notice—she always did—but she'd say nothing. Just another silent look. Just another moment of pretending.Silver-dale wasn't a school. It was a battlefield, and Lydia had never learned how to fight back.The morning was typical. Cold. Gray. The kind of morning that promised nothing but more of the same. Lydia adjusted her worn hoodie, pulling it closer, trying to disappear into the fabric. Her fingers traced the new bruise, a ritual of survival she'd perfected over years of being the girl nobody saw—unt...
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