Chapter 1

Elowen's POV

I saved Theron’s life, and in return, he called his eight grandsons before me. Whoever I chose would be the next Alpha of the Frostvale Pack. My wolf instantly recognized Rhysand—my fated mate. I chose him without a second thought.

But on our wedding night, the moment I touched his arm, he broke out in severe hives and gasped for air. The Pack doctor declared it a severe allergic reaction.

He was allergic to me.

From that day on, I became the laughingstock of the pack. For three years, I shrank into the shadows, terrified to even step near my own husband.

Until three months ago, when he was drugged with a lethal, hidden aphrodisiac.

The doctor said if the poison wasn't purged within two hours, he would die.

To save him, I threw caution to the wind and climbed into his bed. Through a whole night of skin-against-skin contact, there were no hives, no gasping, no rejection whatsoever. His "allergy" had miraculously vanished.

I thought it was our turning point.

But when dawn broke, his ex-girlfriend Linnea walked through the bedroom door. Rhysand looked at me, his cold gray eyes treating me like absolute garbage.

"If Linnea hadn't spent all night helping me purge the poison, I'd be dead."

"Pack your things and get back to your own room. Just looking at you makes me feel sick again."

He gave me no chance to argue and kicked me out of the master suite.

Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.

A tiny spark of hope flickered to life in my dead heart. But fate clearly thought my life wasn't enough of a joke.

The day the East Wing of Hale Manor caught fire, Linnea and I were trapped in the living room. When Rhysand kicked the door down, the thick smoke had me choking and desperately reaching out to him.

He didn't even look at me. He walked straight past and scooped Linnea into his arms.

"Rhys... save me!" I screamed, shielding my stomach and reaching for him.

He heard me.

Those cold gray eyes shifted, tossing me a flat, careless glance.

"You know I'm allergic to you, Elowen. You wouldn't want me to have a reaction right now, would you?"

Then he strode out of the fire with Linnea in his arms. Leaving me and our unborn child behind in hell.

A burst of giggles from the next hospital room snapped me back to reality.

"You just left her to burn yesterday? Aren't you worried your grandfather will lose his mind?" It was Linnea's voice, coy and entirely unashamed.

"She's an idiot."

Rhysand’s usually quiet, low voice was dripping with arrogant mockery. "Three years, and she actually still believes the allergy excuse."

My blood froze instantly.

"Pretending to be allergic to her was the best way to make her terrified to touch me, to keep her far away," he added casually. "Linnea, for years, the only one I've ever wanted is you."

So that was it.

There was no lethal allergy.

Three years of walking on eggshells. Hundreds of days and nights of forced distance. Countless personal belongings thrown into the incinerator. It was all a massive, elaborate lie he spun just to escape the words "fated mate."

I pushed the door open.

The two people on the hospital bed froze.

A flash of panic crossed Rhysand’s eyes, quickly buried beneath his usual haughty demeanor. He raised a hand to rub his neck—that familiar gesture, acting as if my mere presence was suffocating him.

"Good to see you're fine. Linnea was terrified, so I need to take care of her. You know I'm allergic to you. I hope you understand," he struck first, voice cold and full of righteous entitlement.

I stared into those eyes. I suddenly found the whole thing utterly absurd. I laughed.

No questions. No defense.

"Okay," I said, my voice as flat as still water.

Leaving them staring in shock, I turned and walked out of the room. I never looked back.

When I reached the stairwell at the end of the hall, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

"It's me," I said, entirely calm. "Make sure that in seven days, Elowen Mercier dies in a plane crash."