Chapter 2

I knew he couldn’t hear me.

I knew his eyes held only Sherry.

I knew—had seen with my own eyes—Antony’s steps never faltering, never once hesitating as he walked away.

And yet, jealousy burned like kindling in my chest, devouring every shred of reason until all that left was stubborn, gnawing refusal.

I lunged for him, but my hands closed on empty air.

I blocked his path, but he passed through my body without pause.

I chased after him, sunlight scorching my ghostly skin until smoke curled from me, and I fled back into shadow.

I wrapped my arms around myself and whispered coldly: Natalie, what are you still hoping for?

Hoping he might hear your cries? Hoping he might turn back with sudden regret—to save you instead?

“Antony, look at that slip—it has my name. Your mate, Natalie, buried beneath the glacier!”

My voice dropped like shards of ice into black water, sinking heavy and deep.

Pain carved me raw. Why was I dying here, while they rushed to save Sherry?

She was nothing but a low-ranked Omega, a foster girl my family had taken in out of pity.

And yet she had the audacity to steal my parents’ affection—and my mate.

I bit down hard, spitting the words: Sherry, you filthy, shameless bitch.

I’d known Antony since I was five—we grew up together.

But Sherry, who entered our home at sixteen, stole everything.

Father praised her: “Gentle, graceful, a true lady.”

While I was branded reckless, arrogant, unrefined.

Mother lauded her for studying medicine, for her compassion.

While I was selfish, frivolous, unworthy.

They said Sherry and Antony were fated, a pairing blessed by the Moon—he, a guardian; she, a healer.

And me? I became the spare, the unwanted, the forgotten.

But the truth? They said Sherry suffered because of me—that I crippled her.

That was the story they wove, a lie dressed as tragedy, nailed to me like a cross of shame.

I never harmed her. But who would believe me?

A year ago, when I heard Antony was back, I ran to find him.

Sherry lied, said he was training new-blood wolves, told me not to disturb him.

Then she stole the amusement park tickets I’d bought, and went with him herself.

I waited by the roadside all day, like a discarded toy.

And then she—oh, she was bold—smashed herself against the security gate, scraped her leg, and blamed me.

Said I had triggered it on purpose to hurt her.

Their logic was “reasonable”—I’d been waiting there, hadn’t I? “Plenty of time” to rig it.

But only the Moon knows my innocence.

It was I who was deceived.

I who lost my mate.

And I who bore the brand of a criminal.

No one spoke for me.

Not even Antony—my own mate—who severed our bond with a clean strike.

The emptiness that followed was like cracks in a winter night, swallowing every spark of warmth.

I clutched at every straw—searching for proof, explaining myself endlessly, questioning strangers.

But there were no cameras in the valley. And the one passerby who had seen me chose silence.

Desperate, I walked into the town guardhouse and reported it, praying for truth to surface.

Sherry wept, begging them to let me go. Her tears fell like a performance, each drop glittering with false innocence.

My parents melted at once. Worry in their eyes turned to indulgence.

They stroked her hair, cradled her like a fragile porcelain doll.

That warmth—once mine—was given away.

And then their gazes shifted. No longer embarrassed, but cold. No longer uncertain, but full of disappointment.

Father shook his head.

Mother sighed, her words like ice:

“We know you planned this. Stop disgracing yourself, Natalie. You’re spoiled.”

I laughed bitterly, the truth striking hard: truth never mattered.

The only crime was my failure to make them love me.

My skull throbbed, claws tearing at my mind.

The buzzing in my ears pressed the world into white noise, my heart pounding like a trapped drum.

For the first time, I truly felt it—

I was not the powerful heir of a werewolf line.

I was nothing but a pup stripped of her birthright, caged and abandoned, screaming until my throat bled, with no one to answer.

“Don’t—please, don’t treat me like this, Father, Mother!”

The words broke out of me, trembling.

But my cries were swallowed wholly.

All that remained was me, alone in a hollow room, surrounded by accusations that weighed heavier than stone.