Chapter 11

After my confrontation with Lucian, the days blur, slipping through my fingers like water. The Eclipse celebration looms ahead, and with it, the unraveling of everything I once called mine.

Both of my mates are wrapped around Rosalina like silk—adoring, attentive, perfect. They argue over dresses and stylists, over whether her curls should fall loose or be pinned in a crown. She’s pampered like the heroine of some saccharine fairytale, a beloved Luna in waiting. I try not to see it. I focus on what I can control.

The preparations keep me grounded. Speeches to draft, guests to charm, gifts to prepare. Each detail is a shield against the slow bleeding of my heart. I cling to the illusion of influence—because while the pack still sees me as Luna, their respect isn’t deep enough to shelter me. Not when the bond they worship pulls in another direction.

They admire me. But not enough to protect me.

And no matter how tightly I cling to duty, one thought keeps breaking through the cracks: the man in the crimson suit.

He shouldn’t matter. Just a flash from my last life—a single memory from that cursed celebration, standing apart from the crowd. Not listed among the guests, not claimed by any pack. I’ve checked the records a hundred times. He doesn’t exist.

But he does. I remember his eyes on me, sharp and amused while the others fawned over Rosalina. I remember how still he was, how aware. I’ve tried to find him again—dug through names, faces, rumors. Nothing.

He shouldn’t matter. But his gaze lingers in my mind like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.

Maybe I’m obsessing over him because it’s easier than facing the truth. Easier than acknowledging Rosalina wearing my clothes, twirling in front of mirrors with my jewelry, parading through the halls like they’ve already crowned her.

Some pack members have started calling her the “true Luna.” Not behind closed doors, not in whispers—but in passing. To her face. Around me.

I ignore it. I have to.

I’ve seen this show before. I know how it ends. And I won’t let myself crumble on the same stage again.

Not this time.

By the time the Eclipse Celebration arrives, I am ready.

My dress is a deliberate choice—crimson silk that clings like sin and spills like blood. It’s a shade I rarely wear, but tonight it suits me. It makes my pale skin glow like porcelain, the dark red a crown around my presence. I chose it, perhaps foolishly, for the man in the red suit. Or maybe because I wanted to remind the world—and myself—that I still bleed.

The silhouette is regal. Dignified. Luna in every stitch.

Let them see what they’re about to lose.

The pack house is brimming. Every member recalled, every hallway dressed in opulence. Gold, silver, and black cascade from the ceilings, shimmer in the light of freshly polished chandeliers. The windows are dressed in velvet, the scent of rose and citrus hanging thick in the air. Soon, the guests will arrive—precisely timed for the last rays of sunlight to pour through the stained glass and flood the great hall in liquid gold.

It’s a coronation, though no crown will be passed. Only taken.

I stand at the top of the grand staircase, the queen of a crumbling kingdom, watching over my domain one last time. Below, Dorothee waits by the great doors, poised for my signal to let the guests in.

They’ll see me first. Not Rosalina. Not them. Me.

“Nara.”

Damian’s voice cuts through the air—cool, clipped, and perfectly expected.

I don’t turn immediately. When I do, I find them exactly as I knew they would be: Rosalina nestled between the twins, all three dressed in matching gold and black. Coordinated. Unified. A perfect little trio.

True mates.

Their outfits shimmer in the candlelight—Lucian in black and gold embroidery, Damian in a matching cut, and Rosalina glowing in silk that mirrors them both. Matching jewelry. Matching smiles. They could have stepped out of a painting.

They also look like decor.

I, in contrast, blaze in red. A single, deliberate stroke of color against their backdrop of metallic conformity. A disruption. A warning. My golden crown gleams in my hair, more commanding than any of Rosalina’s borrowed sparkle. Even my accessories—tasteful, minimal, sharp—make theirs look gaudy by comparison.

I might have had something to do with that. Dorothee’s influence on the color scheme was subtle but effective.

“Alphas,” I greet, my voice frost-tipped.

Damian lifts a brow. He expected sugar, not steel. I was always so gracious. So quiet. So good.

But he isn’t the only one who’s changed.

Lucian, predictably, rolls his eyes, like this entire charade is beneath him. Like I’m a nuisance. An obligation.

That’s fine. Let them underestimate me.

Let them stand there in perfect symmetry.

I’m not here to match.

I’m here to conquer.

Rosalina steps forward and latches onto my hand with both of hers, like we’re old friends and not predator and prey.

“I must say, thank you again for letting me be part of the event,” she chirps, eyes wide with false gratitude. “I can’t believe I get to wear such nice clothes and watch the party from here. It’s all so magical.”

Her voice is syrupy sweet, too polished to be sincere—like honey poured over something rotting underneath.

This time, I don’t bother to smile. Not when I’m standing on the edge of my last chance. If this celebration doesn’t bring me a path out through salvation, I’ll have to carve one myself through solitude and isolation. I don’t need to play the gracious Luna anymore.

I slip my hand from hers, slow and deliberate, peeling back each of her fingers with surgical precision.

“Of course,” I say, tone crisp. “I imagine it must feel like a dream—dressing in another woman’s clothes, living in her home, parading through her life as if it were always meant to be yours.”

Her smile wavers for the briefest second, just enough to see the insecurity twitch beneath the surface.

I tilt my head, voice soft and lethal.

“Do enjoy it while it lasts.”