His Defiant Luna: The Cursed Prince's Ruthless Bride

Celena POV:

Alpha Heir Arlin Carlisle, my fiancé, slapped me in front of the entire Moonlight Gala because I had been found in bed with Prince Dante Carlisle, his crippled royal brother.

A sharp crack echoed, followed by a searing pain across my left cheek.

My head snapped to the side, the force of the blow rattling my teeth. The world swam back into focus, a dizzying blur of gold and crystal chandeliers.

My body felt like it was filled with lead. A heavy, sluggish feeling pulsed through my veins, my limbs refusing to obey. A quick internal scan, the kind of assessment I had performed countless times before I crossed into this body, told me the truth. Before I became Celena McLaughlin, I had been Celena too—a top battlefield doctor and forensic pathologist from a world of advanced technology. I knew the signs of sedation better than most people knew their own heartbeat.

Drugged.

"You filthy whore."

The voice was a low growl, laced with disgust. I blinked, my vision clearing enough to see Alpha Heir Arlin Carlisle looming over me. His handsome face, the one that graced the covers of every pack magazine, was twisted into an ugly sneer. His green eyes, usually so charming, were blazing with fury.

He grabbed a fistful of my silver hair, yanking my head back. Pain exploded at my scalp. I was forced to look up at him, my neck straining.

My gaze swept past him. We were in the grand hall of the Moonlight Gala. Hundreds of werewolves, the elite of the Azure Moon pack, stood frozen, their faces a mixture of shock, pity, and cruel amusement.

They were all staring at me.

I looked down at myself. My silk gown was torn at the shoulder, exposing my skin. I was a spectacle. A broken toy on display.

"Arlin, please, don't!" A softer voice pleaded.

My stepsister, Jaylin McLaughlin, rushed forward, her hands fluttering near Arlin's arm. Tears streamed down her perfectly made-up face. "She didn't mean it! My sister wouldn't do this!"

Arlin shoved her away. "Get out of my sight! This shameless bitch was screwing another man on the eve of our engagement announcement!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The whispers started, a venomous hiss that crawled over my skin. Humiliation, hot and suffocating, choked me. I tried to speak, to deny it, but my throat was sandpaper. Only a dry croak came out.

Then, the memories hit me. Not my memories, but hers. The original Celena. A life of luxury, the pampered daughter of the pack's Gamma, a foolish, all-consuming crush on Arlin.

The last memory was crystal clear. Our maid, Polly Vance, handing her a glass of water. A single sip, and then... blackness.

I understood everything.

This was a setup.

Arlin raised his hand again, aiming for my other cheek. Instinct, honed on forgotten battlefields, took over. I twisted my head, the blow glancing off my hair.

His eyes widened in fury that I dared to dodge.

"You still have the nerve to resist?" he roared.

His foot slammed into my stomach.

The air rushed out of my lungs in a silent scream. I crumpled to the floor, curling into a ball as pain radiated through my abdomen. The impact tore through the last fragile barrier between two souls. The original Celena's terror, shame, and desperate love for Arlin flooded through me, and with them came the brutal certainty of what had happened. She had been drugged, framed, humiliated, and beaten until her soul could no longer hold on. When she died, I woke in her body. Same name. Different world. Different life.

I forced my eyes open, my vision sharp now. I scanned the crowd, memorizing every sneering face, every pair of mocking eyes.

My gaze finally landed on a figure in the shadows, away from the main crowd. A man in a wheelchair. Prince Dante Carlisle. His face was pale, his expression utterly detached, as if he were watching a mildly interesting play.

The original Celena's memories surged again, filling in what my drugged mind did not yet know. Dante Carlisle, the King's second son. Weak. Sickly. Crippled. Wolfless. The royal family's quiet shame. In every version of court gossip, he was harmless. That was why they had chosen him.

Arlin strode to the center of the hall, his voice booming with authority. "I, Arlin Carlisle, hereby announce that my engagement to Celena McLaughlin is void!"

The crowd murmured its approval.

He then turned, his expression softening as he looked at Jaylin. "A pure, kind woman like Jaylin is the only one worthy of being my future Luna."

A triumphant smirk flashed across Jaylin's face before she quickly masked it with a look of worried concern for me.

The pieces clicked into place. Jaylin, the mastermind. Polly, the pawn. Arlin, the arrogant, idiotic weapon.

I tried to push myself up, but my muscles screamed in protest.

Calm down, I told myself. A battlefield doctor doesn't panic. Analyze. Strategize. Survive.

Arlin stalked back to me, his shadow falling over my broken form. He looked down his perfect nose at me. "You were found in bed with that cripple, Dante. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I looked past him, straight toward the man in the wheelchair. I already knew Dante had been the other person in that bed. What mattered now was whether he had been a victim, an accomplice, or something far more dangerous.

For the first time, Dante's stillness changed. His fingers tightened once against the armrest of his wheelchair, and a faint crease appeared between his brows. But he said nothing.

This was more than just a simple frame-up to ruin me. This was a complex scheme, and they had used the most harmless member of the royal family as a tool.

I stopped struggling. I let the guards haul me to my feet, my arms held painfully behind my back. Arguing now was pointless. They had their narrative.

My violet eyes were dry. There were no tears left for this pathetic drama.

Arlin wanted an answer. The entire hall wanted me to beg, sob, or collapse.

I lifted my head, tasted blood on my tongue, and finally smiled.