I spent the first day in a daze, moving through the world like a ghost haunting its own life. Every breath felt surreal—the air too crisp, the sunlight too bright, the sounds too sharp. One week. One week before the engagement party that would never happen. One week before Derek's birthday celebration where I'd discover their betrayal. One week before they murdered me.
My phone vibrated against the nightstand. Derek's name flashed on the screen.
"Selena?" His voice was warm, concerned—the voice that had once made my heart flutter. Now it made my skin crawl. "You didn't answer my texts last night."
I closed my eyes, forcing my voice into the soft, slightly breathless tone he expected. "Sorry, I was just... thinking about the engagement party."
"Still nervous?" His chuckle was familiar, intimate. "Don't be. You're going to be the most beautiful woman in the room."
I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. "I know it's all happening so fast..."
"Fast?" He laughed again. "We've been together for over a year, Selena. And I've been planning this since the moment I met you."
Lies. All of it lies.
"I should let you go," I said, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me. "I need to finish some work before the party."
"Of course, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight for dinner."
As I hung up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me wasn't the naive girl who'd trusted Derek with her heart. This woman had died once already.
"Play the game," I whispered to myself. "Let them think they're winning."
I opened my laptop and began to type, creating a document titled simply "Plan." My fingers flew across the keyboard, outlining every step, every move I would make. Derek and Lana thought they were the predators. They were about to learn what it felt like to be hunted.
As I typed, I noticed something strange—faint, ghostly marks on my palms. I traced them with my fingertip, a chill running down my spine. They weren't quite scars, more like shadows of injuries that should have been there. The fall. The impact. Death had left its fingerprints on me, visible only to myself.
"They'll never see it coming," I promised the empty room.
---
The pack's high-end gym gleamed with chrome and glass, the kind of place where even the water bottles were designer brands. I'd chosen it deliberately—Lana always came here on Tuesdays after her shift at the corporate office.
I was stretching on a mat when she entered the locker room, her eyes lighting up with malicious delight when she spotted me.
"Selena!" She approached with that false brightness that made my teeth ache. "Haven't seen you in a while. Been... distracted lately?"
I kept my expression neutral as I reached for my water bottle. "Just busy with work."
"Right." She leaned against the lockers, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the metal. "Derek mentioned you seemed a bit off at dinner yesterday. Everything okay?"
The lie was smooth, practiced—she'd never spoken to Derek about me. But I knew what she was doing. Testing the waters. Seeing if I'd noticed anything.
"I'm fine," I said quietly. "Just preoccupied with the engagement party."
Something flickered in her eyes—disappointment, perhaps, at my calm reaction. She'd been expecting tears, maybe, or confusion. Not this composed acceptance.
"Hmm." She studied me for a moment. "Well, if you're ever feeling overwhelmed, I'm here for you. As a friend."
The word "friend" dripped with venom. I nodded, turning away to gather my things. Inside, my rage burned white-hot, but outwardly, I remained the picture of fragile innocence.
"Thanks for your concern," I said softly.
She lingered a moment longer, clearly unsatisfied with my reaction, before sauntering away. I watched her go, memorizing every detail of her walk, her smile, the way she tossed her hair. All of it would be evidence later.
---
My phone pinged with a notification as I was leaving the gym. Wolf-Gram, the werewolf social media app that kept our community connected while hiding in plain sight from humans.
I tapped the icon, and my stomach dropped.
Lana had posted a photo. Her and Derek at some upscale restaurant, heads close together, laughing at something off-camera. His hand rested on hers on the table, fingers intertwined.
"Some bonds are just stronger," read the caption. "Nothing can break what's real. #TrueLove"
The comments were already flooding in:
"OMG you two are so cute together!"
"Perfect couple alert!"
"When's the wedding? 😍"
I stared at the screen, my vision blurring slightly. Not with tears—with fury. She was flaunting their relationship, daring me to react, to make a scene.
Instead, I took a screenshot and saved it to a private folder I'd created. Evidence. Ammunition.
"Derek's been so sweet lately," read one of her replies to a comment. "Sometimes you just know when someone's your forever."
I closed the app and slipped my phone into my pocket. The photo would be just one piece of the puzzle I was assembling—a puzzle that would eventually reveal the full picture of their betrayal to everyone who mattered.
---
The day had drained me more than I expected. By evening, my limbs felt heavy, my mind fogged with the effort of maintaining my facade. I'd walked farther than I planned, trying to clear my head before facing Derek again.
The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement as I turned down a quieter side street. My vision swam suddenly, black spots dancing at the edges. I stumbled, my ankle twisting awkwardly on the uneven pavement.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.
"Careful there," a deep voice said, the accent slightly foreign, rich and resonant.
I looked up into eyes so dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The man holding me was tall—taller than Derek—with broad shoulders and an air of unmistakable authority. Power radiated from him in waves that made my knees weak in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his gaze sharp and assessing.
"Fine," I managed, though my voice wavered slightly. "Just tired."
He didn't release me immediately. Instead, his nostrils flared slightly, as though scenting something. "You smell like... grief," he said quietly. "And rage."
I froze. No one could possibly know what I was feeling—what I had experienced.
"I'm Lucien Blackwood," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And you're Selena Moretti. Derek Vance's fiancée."
The way he said Derek's name made it sound like a threat.
"How do you—"
"You need a ride home," he interrupted, already guiding me toward a sleek black car idling at the curb. "It's not safe for you here."
I should have protested. Should have pulled away. But something in his presence made resistance impossible—not because he was forcing me, but because I suddenly didn't want to fight.
Inside his car was all leather and subtle luxury. He opened the passenger door for me, a gesture so automatic it spoke of ingrained courtesy rather than affectation.
As we drove through the darkened streets, silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things.
"You're not what I expected," he said finally, his eyes never leaving the road.
"What did you expect?"
Something almost like a smile touched his lips. "Not this. Not... whatever's happening with you."
I turned to look out the window, watching the city lights blur past. For the first time since waking in this second chance at life, I felt truly seen—as though Lucien Blackwood had looked past the mask of fragility I'd so carefully constructed and glimpsed the fury beneath.
