Chapter 2

(Serena's POV)

I splashed cold water on my eyes, waited for the puffiness to go down, reapplied my lipstick.

The woman in the mirror looked gentle and harmless. Makeup perfect, outer corners of her eyes tipped up slightly—the picture of an obedient wife.

Good.

I pulled the door open.

Miles was leaning against the hallway wall. Navy suit cut to fit, making him look lean and tall. That beauty mark under his eye looked tender and innocent in the warm light. In my past life I always thought that mole was attractive—like a tear he'd shed for me.

Now it just made me sick.

He pushed off the wall, smiling, reaching to wrap his arm around my waist.

"What took so long?"

I shifted sideways, pressing my fingers to my temple: "Got a little dizzy in there. I'm fine now."

His hand froze in midair, slowly pulling back. His brow creased, but he didn't press about me dodging his touch.

"The Alpha will be here tonight." His voice dropped, carrying something I'd never noticed in my previous life—a commanding edge. "I need you not to embarrass me."

Clara let out a low growl in my head.

"Bite his throat out. Right now."

I almost laughed out loud.

But I didn't. Too easy for him. Biting through a throat takes three seconds. I wanted him to watch himself lose everything first, then die.

"Embarrass you?" My tone innocent. "You're the man living off his wife's dowry to feed his whole family. That's more embarrassing for me, don't you think?"

Miles's expression froze.

Something twisted across that handsome face—mouth twitching, eyes going dark, like someone had stripped him naked in public.

The old me would never have spoken like that. The old Serena Ashford was sweet and considerate, always protecting her husband's pride.

So right now he had absolutely no idea how to respond.

I flashed him a bright smile: "Relax, I'm joking."

The silence lasted about three seconds.

He took a deep breath, forcing a gentle smile back on.

"What's with you today?" He reached for my hand, thumb stroking the back of it, voice going soft. "Is your period coming? I'll get you something warm later."

Period.

What a convenient excuse. Any disobedience from a woman can be blamed on her period.

I didn't pull my hand away. Because I needed everyone to see us as a loving couple—at least tonight.

"Let's go," I said.

The party was in the east wing of the Pack House. The instant the carved wooden doors pushed open, noise and scent hit me at once.

Hundreds of wolves' scents tangled together, thick enough to sting my nostrils.

Mating Ball. Every Valentine's Day, unmated wolves in the Pack celebrate, searching for their fated partner under the Moon Goddess's gaze.

Mated pairs attend too—celebrating, networking, strengthening bonds.

I scanned the room quickly.

Howard was to the left of the main table, hunched over, all smiles, directing servers arranging glasses. His eyes kept sweeping across the young women in the crowd—picking his prey.

In my past life, it was him.

He noticed I looked like Daisy—the Alpha's dead first love. Then Miles used him as the connection, delivering me like an offering into the Alpha's bedroom.

Right now, he hadn't noticed me yet.

Good.

Miles led me through the crowd and sat us at a round table near the dance floor's edge. A few of his coworkers were already seated—low-ranking wolves from the admin department, wearing their best attempts at respectable suits, ties knotted tighter than anyone else's.

"Miles! Sis-in-law!" A round-faced man raised his glass.

Miles let go of my hand and slipped into social mode—handshakes, shoulder pats, smiling small talk. His voice turned confident and polished, told a joke that wasn't very funny, and everyone laughed along.

I sat quietly at his side, hands folded in my lap, the right amount of smile on my lips.

But my ears were catching something else.

Werewolf hearing is three times sharper than human. My half-blood version is weaker, but when I focus, I can hear whispers from twenty meters away.

Second-floor balcony. The elders' voices leaked through the carved railing.

"...Can't drag this out any longer. The Pack needs a Luna—he has to choose this year."

"Silvercrest sent another letter. Their Alpha's daughter—"

"He won't agree. Last time someone brought it up he nearly flipped the table."

Exactly like my past life.

The elders pressuring marriage. Dominic refusing. This tug-of-war had been going on for nearly a year. A Pack without a Luna is politically incomplete—other Packs see your Alpha as unstable, immature, unchecked.

The old me didn't know any of this. I only knew to sit quietly at the ball and wait for Miles to bring me a glass of champagne.

And what did Miles go do? He went to find Howard.

From the corner of my eye I watched Miles carry two drinks toward Howard. Bowing slightly, posture humble, lips moving, saying something I couldn't quite catch yet.

No rush. I knew what he was saying.

"My wife looks a lot like someone in the Alpha's memory..."

All the lights went out at once.

The violin stopped. Everyone's breath caught for a beat, then—they rose in unison.

I stood too.

When the lights came back on, Dominic was already standing at the entrance to the hall.

He was young—that was my first thought. Twenty-four. Younger than most of the Pack's senior members in this room. But standing there, no one would think he didn't belong.

Six-three. Shoulders wide as a wall. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, showing forearms with a thin sheen of sweat and veins raised across the backs of his hands. Jawline sharp enough to cut, lips pressed into a thin line.

His pheromones were completely unleashed.

Cedar.

Rich, aggressive, crushing cedar rolling off him, like an invisible hand gripping the back of everyone's neck. The round-faced man beside me swallowed, unconsciously bending forward. The entire hall bowed their heads.

But I didn't bow mine.

I looked at those hands, and another memory flooded in at the same time—those hands, gripping my waist, pressing me into the mattress. The bruises his fingers left on my body took three days to fade.

Fear? No. I waited for fear to rise, but it didn't come.

What came was my heart racing. Not fear-racing—that conflicted thing where prey, locked in a predator's sights, wants to run and wants to move closer at the same time.

Clara made a sound—

I didn't know how to describe it.

Like a whimper. Like yearning. She was restless in my chest, wanting to burst out, wanting to get closer to that direction.

Wrong.

I slammed her down.

"Quiet."

"He—"

"Quiet!"

Clara retreated, reluctant, but that restlessness didn't fully disappear—smoldering in my chest like embers.

This wasn't a Mate response. It couldn't be.

In my past life when he marked me—that temporary mark—there was no Bond resonance. No mental link, no shared emotions, nothing. Only pain, and blood seeping from the bite.

If he were my fated mate, the moment of temporary marking would have triggered a full Bond. But nothing happened.

So Clara's reaction was just—instinctive submission to an Alpha's pheromones. Every she-wolf reacts this way to a powerful Alpha.

Just instinct. Nothing more.

I took a deep breath and pulled my attention away from my body's response.

Dominic cut through the crowd toward the head table. People parted for him automatically.

He didn't look at anyone as he walked. Eyes straight ahead, chin slightly raised. This man probably never needed to watch where he was going—the path cleared itself.

Miles appeared beside me at some point.

His hand returned to my waist, fingers tightening once, then loosening.

I turned to look at him.

His eyes were locked on Dominic's retreating back, raw greed buried in them—greed for power.

"Where did you go?" I asked, already knowing.

"Sorry." He murmured to me, tone careless. "Ran into a senior from the department. Chatted for a bit."

After that sentence his hand slid from my waist and he was already turning—taking two steps toward Howard before seeming to remember something and stopping.

"Just... don't wander off. I need to network." He glanced back and smiled.

The old me would've thought: He's socializing. Working hard for our future. He tries so hard.

Now I just found it laughable.

Go on. Go make your filthy deal with Howard. This time I'll let you dig your own grave with your own hands.

Dominic was already seated at the head table.

Elders filed down from the second floor, taking seats on either side. The atmosphere was stifling—like the muggy air before a thunderstorm.

I could see Dominic's jaw clenching tighter and tighter.

He was annoyed.

In my past life at this stage—when the elders' marriage pressure was at its peak—he was volatile, irritable, needing an outlet.

His butler Howard exploited that perfectly. At the moment he most needed warmth, Howard delivered a woman who looked like Daisy.

I picked up the champagne from the table. When his gaze swept casually across the room, I raised my glass to him with a smile.

Mouth barely curved. Eyes softening at the corners. Like holding a secret meant only for him to hear.

This was Daisy's smile.

Before I was delivered to his bedroom in my past life, Howard had given Miles an old photo—"Have your wife practice this expression." The little girl in that photo stood in moonlight, tilting her head with a smile, eyes like crescent moons.

I'd practiced it many times in front of that photo.

So now, when this smile surfaced on my face, it came as naturally as breathing.

Dominic's pupils contracted sharply.

The fingers turning his glass stopped. His entire body went rigid in the chair as if hit with a freezing spell, those sharp eyes nailed to my face.

Only a second or two—then his gaze moved away fast. He raised his glass, tipped his head back and drank hard, throat bobbing.

But I saw it.

His fingers tightened on the glass until his knuckles went white.

I dropped my gaze, lowered my head, becoming again the quiet, obedient wife waiting for her husband to return.

In my last life, I was the drugged prey delivered to his room.

This life, I would make him come to me on his own.