Chapter 2

The ticking echoed through the cellar, each second hammering at my shattered heart.

"One minute, Elara." Dominic's voice was Death's own countdown.

On screen, the scissors had cut through the tube's outer casing. My father's face contorted as oxygen thinned—monitors spiking.

Over the years, no matter what Seraphina did, the harshest punishment Dominic ever dealt was a few days of packhouse confinement or temporarily freezing her accounts.

Since she'd returned from the European packs, my life had completely changed. Every anniversary, every ceremony we planned—Seraphina's calls shattered them. She'd either threaten to run into rogue territory alone or stir up some disaster for Dominic to clean up. He'd tell me "ignore her," but never once failed to bolt to her side immediately.

I was always the one left behind. But each time, his words easily placated me.

"Elara, our parents are gone. I'm her only family—I have to be responsible for her."

"Seraphina may be spoiled, but she's not bad at heart. As her pack, we should be more tolerant."

Until this time—when she killed my mother to stop our mating.

I'd seen her deliberate provocations, her undisguised adoration for Dominic. I'd held back to avoid conflict, never imagining she'd be vicious enough to kill. What gutted me more was that even now, he shielded her without principle.

"Thirty seconds." His voice was rationally cruel.

The masked figure on screen increased pressure. The oxygen tube buckled with a suffocating squeeze.

Watching the video, my tears finally fell.

"Dominic—as you wish. I agree to drop the petition."

I picked up the pen with trembling hands, remembering the first time I'd told my father I wanted to study pack law. The pride in his eyes: "Elara, remember—never compromise your principles for justice."

But now I was betraying his teachings, burying my mother's justice with my own hand. I'd never felt such pain.

Relief flashed through Dominic's eyes. His smile burned.

"I knew you'd be reasonable. The mating ceremony continues in seven days, and I'll keep caring for your father as family."

I didn't respond. I signed the withdrawal papers, enduring the soul-tearing agony. Each stroke felt like carving a fresh wound into my heart.

He took the papers and left almost eagerly. Seraphina's scent—wild roses and something too sweet—lingered behind him.

Their so-called sibling bond. What a filthy lie.

But this time, I wouldn't crumble like before. A cold plan took shape in my mind.

That evening, I saw Seraphina's "Rebirth Party" on the pack's social feed. Champagne raised high, that glittering smile, wearing the diamond bracelet Dominic had commissioned from a Swiss jeweler last month.

Thank you to my guardian angel for giving me chance after chance at new life.

The first to react was Dominic.

My mother had been killed by her. And after forcing me to bury the case, he celebrated with her.

I looked down at the watch on my wrist—his gift the day I passed the pack's legal trials three years ago.

"Use it to measure the time of justice," he'd said. "I'm proud of you, my little advocate."

So his version of justice was nothing but a toy for the powerful.

I sat on the edge of the bed for an hour. Then I picked up my phone and called the human hospital downtown—outside pack jurisdiction.

"I'd like to schedule a termination."

My fingers brushed my belly, where the surprise I'd planned to announce at the mating ceremony had been growing. Now this gift would never be given—like the bond that would never be sealed.

Three days later. My mother's burial.

Pack tradition demanded a moon vigil—the whole pack gathering to howl the departed into the spirit realm. Instead, I stood alone before the grave, holding the urn, rain and tears indistinguishable on my face.

Dominic didn't come. He said he had to accompany Seraphina to her therapist.

"The incident traumatized her," he'd explained over the phone.

I placed the urn in the earth and whispered, "I'm sorry, Mom. But I swear—this isn't the end."

"Elara! Why didn't you tell us about the vigil?"

Seraphina's sharp voice from behind. I turned to see Dominic leading her toward me. She wore a scarlet dress—blood-red among mourning black, glaringly obscene.

"Leave," I said.

She turned to Dominic with wounded eyes. "Dominic, she still blames me."

His face darkened. "Elara, Seraphina came to pay her respects. Why must you be so harsh?"

How ironic—they always used others' pain to showcase their magnanimity.

I sneered. "Murderers aren't welcome here. Nor are ungrateful wolves."

Seraphina's eyes reddened as she reached for my hand. "Elara, I'm sorry. I'd had moonwine that night, I really didn't mean to… Dominic already punished me. I know I was wrong."

She was always skilled at playing victim to mask her venom. And Dominic always bought it.

"Let go." I shook her off. "I'll say it one last time—get out."

The mourners began whispering. Their gazes turned to Seraphina. Her expression twisted instantly.

"I came to give you face," she hissed. "You really think I wanted to attend this old woman's funeral?"

She lunged for the urn.

In the violent struggle, the box crashed to the ground. Ashes scattered everywhere across the mud. Seraphina's heels ground into the gray-white powder—merciless, deliberate.

She leaned close, her breath hot against my ear: "Your mother gets trampled even in death. That's your bloodline's karma."