Chapter 3

The torches crackled in the dim pack hall, shadows dancing across the stone walls.

My mother’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock.

“Summer, you said you wouldn’t. A fated bond isn’t a game. I don’t care if you ever become a Luna—I only want you to be happy. Are you certain about this?”

My throat tightened, my eyes stinging.

“I’m certain.” My voice was cold as ice. “Have them prepare the ceremony.”

She hesitated, brushing her hand gently through my hair, her voice heavy with sorrow.

“You and Ethan have been fated mates for seven years. Yet he never once completed the Moon Ritual with you. He wouldn’t even let you appear at simple gatherings. Your father and I knew long ago… you two would not last.”

Her words cut through me like a blade.

So I was the only one who hadn’t seen the truth.

“The Frost Moon Alpha was chosen by us. Pure bloodline, unmatched strength, flawless character. My daughter deserves the best mate.”

I drew a long, shaking breath, forcing the growl in my chest back into silence. “I trust your choice.”

“Do you want to meet him first?”

I shook my head, hardening my tone. “No. Just prepare the ritual.”

The air shifted, charged with something uneasy.

I turned—and froze. Ethan stood at the doorway, a black box in his hand.

He stepped closer, unease flickering in his eyes.

“Summer, I chose this for you.”

He set the box before me and slowly lifted the lid.

Cold steel split the darkness—

A dagger, its blade glowing faintly blue, its hilt wrapped in intricate vine patterns.

My fingers trembled. In our world, a dagger was the deepest vow, more sacred than the bonding ritual itself. It meant offering your very life to another.

And yet I knew. This vow had never been meant for me.

That pattern—it was Olivia’s favorite.

Pain speared through my chest, but I steadied my voice, forcing out three frigid words: “I don’t want it.”

Ethan blinked, stunned. His gaze faltered, desperate. “Why? Haven’t you always wanted a dagger?”

I met his eyes, my lips twisting into a bitter smile.

“The design is too old-fashioned. I don’t like it.”

Relief washed over him. His tone lightened.

“That’s fine. Next time, I’ll forge one myself for you.”

Next time.

It was always next time.

Once, I had clung to those words, treasured them, lived for them.

But now—I had stopped believing.

When he left, I let out a long breath, collapsing back onto the bed, hollow, drained.

Sleep pulled me under before I could think again.

And when I woke, the room was no longer silent.