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Determined to stop the bullying, she vowed to make her family pay. Her disabled fiancé proposed a marriage alliance to help her fight back. What started as a deal turned into love--he adored her, and she discovered she was his savior all along! ===== "Janice, how vicious you could be! Do you even realize what you've done to your sister? " "I brought you back, gave you all you needed, and offered you a place to belong. Is this how you thank me? You're going to learn your lesson today!" Laurie Edwards snarled, her rage boiling over as the whip struck her daughter with a brutal, echoing crack. The sharp snap of the whip reverberated through the vast mansion, silencing the servants who stood as still as sculptures, not daring to utter a single word. Despite this, Janice Edwards remained stoic, her slight frame quivering as she clenched her teeth tightly, bearing the excruciating pain that seemed to rip through her skin. With Laurie's arm each swung, marking Janice's back with deep, crimson streaks, her face turning pale. Yet, her gaze remained steady, lit with a spark of resolve. Maybe she had become numb to such brutal punishments. "Now, apologize to Delilah." Panting from the exertion, Laurie stood with one hand resting on her hip, eyes blazing as she glared at Janice. "Why should I apologize when I've done nothing wrong?" Janice met Laurie's gaze, her voice firm, each word a defiance. Laurie's fury peaked as she saw Janice's unyielding stance. Gripping the whip tightly, she declared, "Then I will not stop until you apologize today." At that crucial moment, Delilah Edwards, Laurie's adopted daughter, clutched Laurie's arm, her eyes brimming with tears as she implored, "Mom! Please, no more hitting Janice. It's actually my fault--I never told her about my allergy to mango." "Delilah, your heart is too big. She nearly got you killed, yet here you are, defending her." Laurie sighed, patting Delilah's hand gently, warmth flooding her voice. "She's just malicious. In her desperate bid for attention, she gave you mango pudding, knowing well about your allergy. How utterly cruel, don't you think?" "But I swear, I didn't know!" Janice protested, tears welling up in her eyes as she faced the tight-knit pair before her. "I really didn't know about her allergy!" "Still making excuses?" Laurie snapped, landing another strike on Janice, her words icy and biting as the sting radiated across Janice's skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Ever since Janice had returned to her family, any dispute involving Delilah invariably ended with Janice taking the blame. No matter her arguments or the evidence she presented, it was always brushed aside as deceitful. When Delilah had a fall down the stairs, she had accused Janice of pushing her, and their parents had sided with Delilah without a second thought. Even though Janice was their flesh and blood, she seemed to hold a lesser place in their hearts than Delilah, the adopted one. In their eyes, perhaps she was nothing more than a schemer, always out to hurt Delilah to win some affection. Delilah cast a sympathetic look towards Janice. "Mom, I get where Janice is coming from. After all, I've take her place as your daughter for over a decade. If I were in her shoes, I'd probably feel bitter too. Perhaps if I leave, she'll finally feel at peace, and the family can mend." Her words, coated in a veneer of concern, were a clever ruse to cast Janice further into disfavor, and Laurie swallowed the bait wholeheartedly. Janice's heart sank deeper into despair, a silent tally of grievances against her family mounting with each passing moment. In an instant, a sharp whip snapped her back to the harsh present. She locked eyes with Laurie, whose gaze was frosty and filled with contempt. Laurie's voice cut through the air, icy and sharp. "Just look at Delilah, always so thoughtful and polite! If you were even half as considerate, I'd be over the moon. Yet here you are, denying your mistake, as if to piss me off on purpose." Janice stood her ground firmly. "I'll tell you once more, the pudding I handed her had no mango in it. If you doubt me, just check the grocery list!" "Why even bother to check? It's not like Delilah would deceive us about such things." Laurie, her faith in Delilah unshakable, saw no need to confirm the items listed for shopping. "Mom..." Delilah's voice trembled, her act delicately woven with vulnerability. "If it eases Janice's mind, then perhaps I did wrong her." "Delilah, please, don't cry. You don't deserve to suffer this way. I'll ensure that ungrateful girl is held accountable." Laurie's gaze hardened, her grip on her whip tightening, her authority palpable. "If you don't want to apologize, that's entirely up to you. In three days, Efrery will host its first fashion design contest. If you give your design draft to Delilah, I'll let this go." Again? Those icy words pierced Janice, sending a deep shiver through her being. Throughout the year, she had tirelessly given in, desperate for a sliver of her family's acknowledgment and praise. From the start, the bedroom had been hers by right. But they coaxed Janice into surrendering it, saying Delilah had grown attached to its comforts. Even her rightful identity as the Edwards family's daughter had been obscured, all to safeguard Delilah's pride. The list of such sacrifices stretched endlessly. To stay with this family and gain their favor, Janice had given up more than she cared to admit. But now, Laurie was pushing her to give up her design draft for the fashion contest, her future hanging in the balance. "Say something," Laurie urged as Janice remained silent. "Have you lost your voice?" "Mom, please," Delilah interjected, gripping Laurie's arm, shaking her head. "Janice is competing too. What will she do if she hands over her draft to me? Though I feel confident about winning, I..." She paused, coughing weakly, her frame quivering as though she might faint. "I don't think my health allows it." "She caused you harm, it's only right she makes amends." Laurie locked eyes with Janice with a penetrating stare. "I'll ask you one last time--are you giving up the draft or not?" Janice's chest tightened as she took a deep, uneven breath. "Mom, aren't I your daughter too?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. "You claim to be my daughter, but you disregard my wishes?" This overt display of favoritism broke Janice's heart completely. She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll let her have the draft." A sly smile flickered across Delilah's face. While Janice was often too yielding, her design skills were top-notch. With Janice's draft in hand, clinching first place seemed all but guaranteed. "You do have a conscience after all," Laurie remarked, one eyebrow arched as she nonchalantly flung the whip aside and offered Delilah a warm smile. "With Janice's design draft, you can stop stressing about the competition. Just relax and enjoy the award when it comes." "Thanks, Mom," Delilah responded, her face lighting up with a joyful grin. Yet, shortly after, a timid look crossed her face as she glanced at Janice. "But won't Janice resent me for using her draft?" "Would she even dare?" Laurie's voice turned frosty as she fixed a stern gaze on Janice. "If she harbors any resentment, she'll find herself out on the streets. The Edwards family don't keep the ungrateful around, family or not." "What if Janice accuses me of stealing her design?" Delilah's voice was tinged with worry. "Then I will ensure that every bit of her involvement is obliterated, crediting you alone." Laurie's harsh words stunned Janice, her heart sinking deeper into despair with each moment. Had her year of endurance and compromise been in vain? "Huh!" Janice scoffed, a bitter laugh breaking through as the final remnants of her hopes disintegrated, leaving her utterly disillusioned with the family. Chapter 2 Fighting Back "What's so funny, Janice?" Laurie tilted her head in confusion. "I laugh at the absurdity of my own foolishness, how time and again I've surrendered, only to feed your boundless greed," Janice answered, her laughter tinged with a sharp, mocking edge. "Greed? Isn't it your duty, as an elder sister, to make concessions for Delilah?" Laurie's retort came wrapped in a veneer of self-righteousness, unaware that the spark of hope in Janice's eyes had long been extinguished. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Janice declared with determination, "I kept stepping back, hoping my sacrifices would kindle even a spark of affection from you. But my efforts were in vain, dismissed and trampled upon as if they were nothing but failures." Her voice rose, reverberating with force around the room. Janice rose from the floor, her posture now reflecting a mix of defiance and strength. "You promised me a life of opulence upon my return to the Edwards family. Yet, what have I received? Not even the courtesy of a decent meal. Tell me, beyond using and crushing me, have you ever acted with a shred of humanity?" With her hands clutching her chest, Janice continued, "I am your own daughter! Have you ever, even once, called me 'sweetie'?" Her laugh then broke through, hysterical yet filled with sorrow. Laurie frowned, her voice icy as she responded, "Isn't this all because you want to hear me call you 'sweetie'? Fine. Sweetie! Is that what you wanted?" With a sharp, almost manic laugh, Janice shook her head. "Mrs. Edwards, your pathetic attempt at fake love is almost entertaining." At that moment, her laughter ceased abruptly, her eyes turning cold and piercing. "I no longer crave your affection. As of today, I sever all bonds with the Edwards family." "This is outright rebellion!" Laurie exclaimed, her fury palpable as she grasped the whip again and lashed out at Janice. However, Janice intercepted the whip effortlessly, her expression steely and resolute. "Do you still want to hit me? Once, I was your daughter, and I tolerated a mother's discipline. But now, we share no bond. By what right do you raise your hand against me?" A sly smirk twisted Janice's lips, her previously gentle demeanor now replaced with a rebellious edge. She wrested the whip from Laurie, giving it a casual flick through the air. "You hit me just now. It seems only fair to return the favor." "What are you going to do?" Laurie staggered back, her expression one of shock as Janice turned from a docile victim into a figure of daunting courage. With a deafening snap, the whip struck Laurie's body, leaving a fiery sting in its wake. "How dare you hit me!" Laurie cried out in pain, her rage reaching a boiling point. "You won't get away with this!" "Janice, how could you hit Mom?" Delilah exclaimed in shock. Janice cast a chilling glance at Delilah, sending shivers down her spine. Delilah couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling, pondering the drastic change in Janice. "If you're so concerned about her, why don't you take the hit for her?" Janice snapped, her words cutting through the air. With that, the whip lashed out, striking Delilah sharply. "Ah!" Delilah shrieked as the lash connected, a wave of intense pain overwhelming her thoughts. She couldn't believe this. Janice must have lost her sanity to strike her. "Janice, stop this madness! I won't allow you to harm Delilah!" Laurie roared, rushing to encase Delilah in her arms, disregarding her own agony. But Janice was relentless, her whip mercilessly striking Laurie again and again. Laurie's cries of pain echoed through the room, her body quaking, her eyes rolling back as if she were about to pass out. Yet this agony was nothing compared to the suffering Janice had gone through for a year. She was holding back right now. Otherwise, Laurie would have already succumbed. "Janice, please, stop! You're killing Mom! It's all my fault. Hit me if you must, but please..." Delilah pleaded, her words cut off as Janice yanked her from Laurie's protective embrace. "Janice, let go of Delilah!" Despite her own suffering, Laurie was still worried about Delilah. What a "great" mother she was! "Aren't you allergic to mango?" Janice snorted, a sinister smile playing on her lips. "What the hell are you doing? You better let me go right now! Dad's going to be back any minute, and when he hears what you did to Mom, he'll rip you apart!" Delilah's heart thudded in her chest, her trembling hands frozen by her sides as she gaped at Janice in horror. "Then I'll make sure you're gone before he can lay a hand on me." Janice seized a mango pudding from the table and pressed it against Delilah's lips. Delilah twisted and writhed, but Janice's grip was like steel, leaving her choking as the pudding was thrust down her throat. "Stop, Janice! You'll kill her!" Laurie bellowed, her voice laced with terror. "Someone, please! Stop this madness!" Reacting to Laurie's cries, the servants quickly closed in on Janice. Without a moment's hesitation, Janice whipped out the lash, cracking it in the air with a sharp snap that struck a servant harshly. "Take one more step, and you're fucking dead!" she declared, her eyes glinting with a chilling resolve that froze the servants in their tracks. They exchanged looks of disbelief. Was this really the same girl who had always absorbed her suffering in silence? "Delilah, please, talk to me!" Laurie crawled towards her, tears streaming down her face. "Don't scare me like this!" "Mrs. Edwards, perhaps it's time you witnessed how your dear daughter handles her allergic reactions." She sneered and strode out of the room. This place no longer felt like a home. The servants gathered around, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. They were unaccustomed to seeing such a bold display of defiance from Janice, who was usually so meek and accommodating. The memory of Janice beating Laurie and forcefully feeding Delilah mango pudding hung heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of the ordeal. Chapter 3 A Deal Janice stepped out from the Edwards family's mansion, her gaze drifting slowly over the silent, empty street. Despite the residual pain that clung to her, a peculiar lightness blossomed within her chest. Reflecting on her year with the Edwards family, she acknowledged the suffocating nature of her existence there. Driven by a deep-seated desire for family warmth, she had willingly shackled her own desires, hoping in vain for a sliver of their affection. Sadly, all she encountered was sheer apathy and relentless demands. Janice cast one final glance at the mansion, its walls exuding a haughty splendor, a silent testament to aristocratic pride. "Let's see how long your greatness lasts without me around," Janice muttered under her breath, turning her head away. As she took a step towards her new freedom, a voice unexpectedly halted her. "Miss Edwards, you truly are full of surprises." Janice spun around. Before her, guided by a bodyguard, was a man seated in a wheelchair. His features were arrestingly handsome--the sharp contours of his face striking, his presence effortlessly commanding the light around him despite his seated position. However, he was a man marked by a disability. This very disability had led Delilah to scorn him, compelling the Edwards family to bring Janice back to take Delilah's place in an arranged marriage to him. "Mr. Green, what exactly are you implying?" Janice's voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing with a palpable intensity that suggested imminent danger. Aiden Green, with a slight lift of his brow, regarded her with a curious expression. "I must admit, I'm taken aback. I didn't expect you, typically so docile, to reveal such a formidable side. It's quite unexpected." "Have you been watching me?" Janice's tone grew colder, her fists tightening subtly as she braced herself for any necessary confrontation. Unruffled, Aiden signaled with a subtle gesture for his bodyguards to hold their positions. "Considering you are my fiancee, I believe it's rather normal for me to take an interest in your affairs, wouldn't you agree?" "Yes," Janice conceded, softening her posture as she stepped closer to Aiden. "But are you truly prepared to accept me as your fiancee? I remember well your previous demeanor towards me--it was rather dismissive, even bordering on contemptuous." "That was in the past," Aiden replied, his voice halting as he locked eyes with Janice, whose gaze no longer bore traces of vulnerability. In that moment, he perceived a change in her, as if she was a completely different person. "I now believe you are indeed suited to stand beside me." Janice's smile danced in the evening breeze, her hair fluttering like silken threads. Her smile, though beautiful, carried a frosty undertone. "Mr. Green, let's cut to the chase. What are you really after?" Aiden raised his eyebrows, intrigued. The changes she had undergone were even more significant than he had imagined. "Let's make a deal," he suggested smoothly. "Alright, go on," Janice urged, her eyes locked on his with resolute poise. "You've severed ties with the Edwards family. Once Connor is back, he won't let this slide." Aiden's voice was low and captivating. "I'm in a position to shield you from their backlash and offer the support you need to chase your ambitions. You loathe them now, don't you? You're out for retribution, I guess?" Janice's eyes narrowed, a spark of recognition flickering within. Aiden had pierced right through her facade. The Edwards family had presumed that bringing her back was a charitable gesture. However, she would prove them wrong. She would show them how ignorant they were and what immense wealth and prosperity they had missed. "And what is it that you want?" she inquired, her voice steady. "Let's go register our marriage tomorrow." Aiden's words made Janice momentarily stunned, but then her lips curled into a smile. "Deal." Chapter 4 No Allergies? The Edwards family was now shrouded in an oppressive and somber air. With Connor Edwards, Laurie's husband, back, a palpable tension had settled in, stifling enough that the servants didn't dare to make a sound. Connor's fury was barely contained as he pounded his fist on the table, his voice a menacing growl. "Unbelievable! Hitting her mother was bad enough, but forcing Delilah to eat mango pudding too? Was Janice crazy?" Laurie urged, "Connor, you have to stand up for Delilah. We took Janice in, clothed her, fed her and provided shelter, yet look how she repays us. Such actions could tarnish our good name if word spreads." "She will return and apologize," Connor vowed, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. He turned to address the butler. "Where is Janice now? Get her back to me." "Aiden Green has taken her away." "What?" Connor was taken aback. "Aiden Green? What in the world is happening?" The butler shook his head, his own confusion evident. "Mr. Green's timing was suspicious. He only appeared after Janice's outburst. Maybe there's something going on between them." A cold realization dawned on Connor as he pieced the events together. Janice's boldness probably stemmed from her association with Aiden. "She thinks she's untouchable with Aiden in her corner. Does she think that worthless man's support allows her to act however she pleases?" At that moment, Bartley Carter, the family doctor, descended the staircase. Connor and Laurie, momentarily setting aside their brewing anger, turned to him with concern. "Bartley, how is Delilah doing right now?" "Miss Edwards merely had a scare, nothing of grave concern." "What? That doesn't make sense!" Laurie frowned, her face a mixture of shock and concern. "She ate an entire mango pudding." Bartley hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing in bewilderment. "What's so bad about eating a whole mango pudding?" "She has a mango allergy." "That's not the case. Miss Edwards has no such allergy." Stunned, Connor and Laurie exchanged bewildered looks. Delilah wasn't allergic to mango? Did Delilah really throw an unfounded accusation at Janice? "Bartley, are you absolutely certain about Delilah's lack of allergy?" Laurie pressed on, seeking confirmation once more. "Absolutely. If she were truly allergic, consuming such an amount would have necessitated an emergency hospital visit," Bartley affirmed with professional confidence. Recognizing Bartley's expertise and dedication, Connor and Laurie nodded in acceptance of his diagnosis. "Thank you, Bartley," Connor remarked gratefully. "I'll ensure the consultation fee is transferred to you later." Bartley acknowledged with a nod. "If there's nothing further, I shall take my leave now." Connor asked the butler to see Bartley out. Turning around, he found Laurie immersed in contemplation, her gaze distant and unfocused. "Could it be that Delilah faked her allergy just to set Janice up?" Shaking her head slightly, Laurie responded, "I'm just relieved Delilah isn't truly allergic to mango. By the way, now that Janice is with Aiden, what do you think we should do?" "Ha! As if Aiden was willing to protect her without our backing. She'll be crawling back soon enough, begging to be forgiven!" Connor predicted with a sneer. Laurie nodded in agreement. Janice had been cruel, but at the end of the day, she was nothing more than an ungrateful girl, not worth wasting another moment on. With these thoughts stirring in her mind, she ascended the stairs to Delilah's room. "Mrs. Edwards, you need to stand up for Delilah." As Laurie stepped through the doorway, a middle-aged woman dressed in a maid's uniform grasped her hand. It was Daryl Quimby, the devoted servant of the Edwards family. As soon as she saw Laurie, Daryl began to complain, "I've looked after Delilah since she was a child, treating her like my own daughter. To see her endure such pain cuts me deeply. Although Janice is your own flesh and blood, she is ungrateful. Despite all the love the Edwards family has showered upon her, she struck you and nearly took Delilah's life. It's utterly reprehensible." "Daryl, please, try to calm down. I assure you, I won't let this slide. Janice may be my own daughter, but I won't overlook her actions." "Delilah is incredibly fortunate to have such a loving mother." Laurie smiled. "I'm the one who's truly fortunate to have Delilah as my daughter." She moved deeper into the room and approached Delilah, who lay frailly in the bed. A pang of concern tightened her chest at this sight. "Delilah, my dear, how are you feeling?" "I'm feeling a lot better now, Mom. Bartley just confirmed that I'm not allergic to mango." Tears streamed down Delilah's face as she put on an act of guilt. "Mom, do you think I set Janice up?" Laurie shook her head. "No, sweetheart. I believe you, dear. This must have been a simple misunderstanding. Plus, it's a relief to hear you're not allergic to mango. I would have been really worried otherwise." A faint, wistful smile flickered across Delilah's face. "Mom, maybe it would be best if I left. Janice's sudden madness today scared me. She must hate me so much. If I'm gone, she'll probably be happier, and things might be more peaceful for the Edwards family." "Delilah, you have such a big heart." Laurie sighed, feeling sorry for Delilah. "Even after all this, you're thinking about Janice's feelings. If only she could see the goodness in you like I do. After today, I cannot see her as my daughter anymore." "Mom, Janice is a poor girl..." "Let's drop the subject," Laurie replied sharply, waving her hand with an air of finality. Her expression soured at the mention of Janice's name. "Focus on your rest. You know, the fashion design competition is in three days. When you clinch the first prize, I'll appoint you as the vice president of our company." "Mom, you're the best." Inside, however, Delilah's thoughts took a scornful turn. How delightfully gullible the Edwards family was, swayed by mere sweet nothings. Poor Janice had not only given her design to her but had also been ousted from the Edwards family. Delilah believed it wouldn't be long before she seized control of all that belonged to the Edwards family. The upcoming fashion design competition was no ordinary event. Hosted by Routique Fashion, a titan in the industry known for setting the global fashion trends, the event was a spectacle in its own right. Among the luminaries of the fashion world was JE, a name spoken with utmost reverence. Regarded as a visionary among her peers, JE's creations were deemed masterpieces, setting the standards for all aspiring designers. Yet, JE remained shrouded in mystery, never once stepping into the public eye. Rumors abounded, and some fanatics even dangled a million-dollar bounty for a real-life encounter with the elusive designer. The Edwards family had long been leading figures in the fashion world. Laurie, as a celebrated designer, held considerable sway over industry trends. Her role as a judge at the imminent competition only cemented their family's influential legacy. Chapter 5 Why Is She Here? At the designer competition venue, Delilah, adorned in a sumptuous ensemble, strolled through the hall, exuding confidence and vivacity. Her presence commanded the attention of many. Recognizing her potential victory, acquaintances swarmed around her, eager to ingratiate themselves. It was an open secret that Laurie, a towering figure in the world of fashion design, meant that the competition's grand prize was almost certainly destined for Delilah. Winning would not only affirm her talent but also secure her a prominent position within Edwards Group's fashion division. "Miss Edwards, you are absolutely radiant today! Surely, this exquisite outfit is your creation?" "Indeed, Miss Edwards' flair for design is a beautiful echo of her mother's legacy--truly captivating. Even her casual outfits set her apart. I have no doubt that her entry for today will leave us all spellbound." Delilah held her head high with an air of pride. She was looking forward to the jealous stares that would follow her anticipated triumph. "Thank you, I am deeply honored. My mother's mentorship has been invaluable." Nearby, Laurie listened with a smile, her heart swelling with pride. "It's your innate talent too, Delilah. Without it, even the finest mentorship would falter." "By the way, Mrs. Edwards, I heard your other daughter will also be in the competition. Why haven't we seen her yet?" someone asked. Laurie's demeanor hardened, and she replied sharply, "I have only one daughter, Delilah. Who are you referring to?" The crowd fell into a hushed silence. Although the true daughter of the Edwards family had not been publicly acknowledged, rumors had circulated. Laurie's feigned ignorance took everyone aback. Laurie's brow furrowed, her voice laced with contempt. "You must be mistaken. Are you talking about that girl who can't even sketch a simple design? She has no place here in this competition." The crowd exchanged looks, piecing together Laurie's harsh dismissal as a blatant denial of her own flesh and blood, favoring her adopted daughter as the heiress. However, they didn't care whom the title belonged to. They just needed to know who was cherished by the Edwards family. "I heard JE is supposed to make an appearance at today's event. Being a judge, you must have heard something about that, Mrs. Edwards?" "Wait, JE is going to be here?" Laurie's eyebrows shot up, her voice laced with surprise as she processed the unexpected news. The thought of JE attending ignited an excited thrill deep within her. Her design firm had hit a snag on a challenging project, but JE's presence could effortlessly draw in enthusiastic collaborators. "Mrs. Edwards, you didn't know?" Regaining her poise, Laurie answered with a gracious smile, "Well, I really shouldn't say." Her answer was tactful, skillfully masking her unawareness while implying that she was privy to secrets she couldn't divulge due to confidentiality constraints. "Mrs. Edwards, if there's ever a chance, we'd love for you to introduce us to JE!" "Of course," Laurie agreed amiably. Soon, a lively crowd gathered around Laurie, exchanging trivial niceties. They were all driven by the same ambition--to forge a connection with a luminary in the fashion design industry through Laurie. A wave of pride washed over Delilah. The more prominent Laurie became, the more she, as her daughter, would shine. If Janice happened to witness her reveling in this glowing admiration, adored like a queen, she'd absolutely be burning with envy, wouldn't she? Delilah's eyes suddenly snapped to a familiar silhouette. Was that Janice? What was she doing here? Had she come to submit another design for the competition? ...... What happens next? 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Ready for a sparkling adventure? ✨ Just a short hike from Nordre Spro pier on Nesodden, you’ll find the magical Kråkesølv (“Crow’s Silver”) Mines - narrow tunnels, glittering walls, and mysterious echoes make every step exciting for curious kids. ⛰️ Hiking tips for little feet 👣 Part 14. Fair warning though - this isn’t the easiest crawl for toddlers or very tiny feet (there’s some climbing and scrambling involved!). But for adventurous kids ready to explore, it’s 100% worth the trip. After exploring the caves, step (crawl) out to a stunning white beach with crystal-clear water. 📍From Nordre Spro pier on Nesodden, it’s about a 1-kilometer walk along the coast. You'll find a full trail guide at @utno "Kråkesølvgruver på Nordre Spro på Nesodden". However, we parked on top of "Nordre Spro vei" and followed the "midlertidig kyststi" for a bit more hiking - still super short. The mine itself is a narrow tunnel stretching about 30 meters into the rock, ending in a mighty chamber. The walls shimmer with Kråkesølv - or muscovite, as geologists call it - glittering in the sunlight. We were covered, and our house had sparkling traces of it for days after! Tips: Bring rubber or Gore-Tex boots, magnifying glass, jars for collecting treasures, and flashlight/headlamp. In summer: fishing gear, swimwear and swim shoes🎣 #hikingwithkids #turtipsforbarn #kyststi #familyadventure #familyhike #liveterbestute #Nesodden #visitoslo #norwaynature #explorenorway #norwayraw #scandinavianhikes #mittnorge #dnt @dntoslo @turistforeningen @opplevno @oppturer #opplevnorge #caveadventure #cave #norgestoppen @barnasturlagoslo

Dad had no clue my stepbrother's finger was deep inside me while he was driving up front. Hidden behind a wall of cardboard boxes, the guy I hated most was giving me the hottest, most forbidden pleasure I’d ever felt. When a muffled whimper escaped me, Samir slammed his palm over my mouth. “You’re such a naughty girl, Becca,” he growled against my ear. “One more sound and Dad will hear us.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say to Dad with growing agitation. “You seriously expect my brother and me to share one tiny back seat for the next two days? Samir’s fucking huge!” “Language!” Mom snaps. She’s carrying the twins—my three-year-old half-sisters—one on each hip, so I bite back the next round of curses. “Listen, Becca, I know it’s not ideal, but—” I scoff and shake my head. Not ideal. Yeah, no shit. Samir and his freakishly long legs and I have to squeeze into one seat in the third row of Dad’s black Tahoe because the rest of the space is jampacked with the boxes of fragiles and valuables. “This is seriously unfair.” I grit my teeth with frustration and fist the hem of my oversized vintage T-shirt, just barely resisting the urge to take my flip-flop off and hurl it at my stepbrother’s beautiful head of dense, dark brown waves. “Why can’t I ride with you, Mom? The girls get their own seats!” Car seats that is, which take up the entirety of the backseat of Mom’s white Lexus sedan. I dart a look at her front passenger seat, piled high to the ceiling with our overnight bags, leaving no room for me. “You’re living it up in luxury while I have to cram in with this—” asshole, I finish silently as I point at Samir since Mom gives me the Mom Glare that makes me instantly snap my mouth closed. Samir gives me a challenging look as he rocks back on his slides and shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants. I try really, really hard not to let my eyes drift below his chest to check if what people say about gray sweatpants is true. I fail. He smirks, and it takes everything in me not to give him my middle finger. “Oh yeah, because road-tripping with two toddlers is so luxurious,” Mom says sarcastically. Fair point. Meera and Amelia might look like angels in their matching yellow sundresses with white bows in their adorable brown pigtails, but they’re actually little hellions when they’re unhappy, and their piercing cries will make your ears want to bleed. I would literally do anything for them. Throw myself in front of them to protect them from anything and everything. But when it comes to road-tripping with them for two days straight… Between Dad driving with Samir and me behind Mom with the girls, I’m not sure which one of them drew the short stick. Samir might be just as annoyed as I am with the seating arrangements, but he doesn’t argue like I have been. He just folds his six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound frame to climb in, his broad back stretching the limits of his red University of Arizona T-shirt— a taunting reminder that he applied to and got into the same university I did. That's why our parents decided to relocate to Tucson. We can save money by continuing to live with them, which means I’m stuck with Samir for at least another four years. Fuck my life. Samir makes room for me to slide in next to him—well, not really next to him. Only one of my ass cheeks actually fits on the seat left between his hip and the boxes stacked on my right. I’m practically sitting on top of Samir while Dad arranges the last of the boxes, effectively creating a cardboard wall between us in the back and him up in front. Thirty-five minutes into the drive, my right ass cheek starts losing feeling with all of my weight resting on it. I try to scooch as far away from Samir as possible. My step-brother and I have never gotten along. After his mom, Veda, and my dad, Kevin, got married, they moved us into a new house when I was fourteen. Samir has hated me ever since, as if it was somehow my fault that his mom wanted to get married and move halfway across the country when my dad got a job promotion. Being forced to spend the next two days half on top of Asshole Samir’s lap takes the cake. The only reason we aren’t already screaming at each other is because Dad will sic Mom on us whenever we stop for gas and snacks. She might be the Best Step-Mom Ever—but her Mom Glare is seriously terrifying. I curse under my breath as I squirm for the thousandth time, trying fruitlessly to relieve the pressure on my side, but there’s literally nowhere to go. Samir grunts when I accidentally-on-purpose elbow him in the gut when I try to reposition myself. I squeal in surprise when he roughly grabs me around the waist and settles me fully on top of his lap with my back to his chest. “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying and failing to wiggle off his lap. The last thing I want is to be forced to touch him any more than I already have to, yet now he’s got me sitting on his lap like a little kid taking pictures with some old dude playing Santa Claus at the mall. Samir groans and exhales in relief as he man-spreads his legs to fill my tiny vacated space. Then he whisper-snaps, “Goddamnit, stop it!” when I again elbow him in the stomach. My eyes flare wide with shock and minor panic when he wraps his large hand around the front of my throat and flattens me back against his solid chest. We may be known to fight like the devil, but not once has he ever laid hands on me. I go freakishly still when he tightens his grip, applying a tiny amount of pressure to the sides of my neck, and bands his other arm around my stomach. “I’m just as uncomfortable as you, Becca, but tough shit,” he says against my ear, his minty breath fanning my cheek. “For once, stop being a brat and making things worse with all your damn huffing and puffing. Got it?” He loosens his grip when I try to nod, then finally lets go. I gulp for air, my heart beating erratically in my chest. It’s supremely discomforting sitting stock-still on his lap for the next two hours until we make our first pit stop at a gas station. I nearly fall out of the Tahoe and sprint into the store to get away from Samir and the fluttery feeling in my belly. I don’t know what to think about the fact that he never once removed his corded arm from around my stomach or that he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb up and down my side the whole time. ... Soon after our parents finish topping up the gas in their vehicles and letting the girls run around, we get back on the road. Samir only pulls me back on top of him when Dad climbs into the driver’s seat. Neither of us wants him to know that I’ve been sitting on Samir’s lap this whole time. “Everything ok back there, kids?” Dad shouts to be heard over the highway noise from the front. The cardboard wall of boxes is tall enough that we can’t see each other in the rearview mirror, so he doesn’t clock the exaggerated eye-roll I give him. “Sure, Dad. We’re having soooo much fun braiding each other’s hair and talking about our crushes, right Samir?” Goosebumps rise along my arms when Samir whispers so that only I will hear, “I’m having fun.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sarcastic, and I shoot him a questioning look over my shoulder. Several hours later, my h!ps are killing me from sitting in the same position for so long. I do my best to keep still after Samir barks at me to quit squirming again, but it’s a losing battle. Dad’s cringey Dad-rock music is blasting from the front. I shout for him to pull over so I can stretch. But Mom, whom dad’s following at a safe distance, says the girls are finally napping and doesn’t want to risk waking them by stopping the car. I tried to argue, but Dad cranks the volume to an ear-splitting level, cutting off my attempts. I grind my teeth and have half a mind to accidentally kick a hole in one of the boxes of breakables. “What’s wrong?” Samir asks with a tone I haven’t heard from him before as he rvbs his thumbs up and down the outsides of my th!ghs. “My hips. They ache like they do when I’m about to get my per1od. I need to stretch my legs, but there’s no room,” I say with a pout. “Put your knees up on the seat,” he says, flexing his own hips beneath me. I turn to stare at him over my shoulder, bunching my brows with confusion. “On the seat? How?” He pats the sliver of space between the seatbelt buckles on either side of him. “Feet here.” Then he taps the edge of the seat. “Knees here.” Samir directs me to slip off my sandals. With a firm grip on my hips, he slides me forward and helps me scoot each foot up onto the seat. My face heats as I realize I'm sitting reverse-cowgirl style on his lap. He then pulls me back against his chest. “Now drop your head back on my shoulder,” he says with a low rumble. I obey, mouth going dry. A shaky breath escapes me as he grips my hips and lifts my lower body into a deep bridge position. Every muscle in my torso stretches. The ache in my hips eases instantly. I close my eyes and moan. "Fuck, Becca..." Samir curses under his breath, his nose brushing the column of my neck, then pushes with more force to extend the stretch. Up and down. Flex and release. We hold the position for almost a minute before his arms start to shake. I might be smaller than him, but I’m no featherweight. While Samir has stayed strong from years of lacrosse and working out five days a week, I’ve spent the last four years glued to my keyboard, uploading song covers and originals to my YouTube channel. Still, I don't think holding me up like this is easy for him. “I’m good now,” I lie, slightly embarrassed. Samir grunts and drops me back onto his lap, though he doesn’t loosen his hold on me. I’m more than a little aware that I’m still sitting on him reverse-cowgirl style, but for some strange reason, neither of us moves to re-adjust our positions. After years of nonstop arguing and fighting, this is the longest we’ve gone without getting on each other’s nerves, which is in and of itself slightly unnerving. “Thanks,” I whisper after a while. He nods, the dark stubble on his cheek tickling mine with the movement, sending a slight shiver up my spine that I know I need to tamp down and ignore. We sit in silence for several more minutes, listening to Dad’s off-key singing of Kryptonite. His long finger slowly flex around my round hips with each bump on the road that jostles my weight. I squirm when the ache starts back up, and he asks me,“They still hurt?” he asks. “Yeah. Sorry.” He hesitates for a moment, then slides his hands around me. “Arch your back and lift your hips a few inches,” he whispers, a faint raspiness to his voice. He tugs my T-shirt up and slips his hands under my leggings. His thumbs press into the aching muscles at my waist, rolling firmly. My lips part in a rush of air, and an involuntary moan slips out as he rolls his thumbs in small circles, increasing the pressure on my stiff muscles. Suddenly, Dad’s voice cuts through the music. “Becca? You okay back there? Sounded like you moaned.” I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Samir’s hands stop instantly, remaining perfectly still against my bare skin. “Just—just stretching, Dad,” I squeak out, my voice embarrassingly high. A suffocating beat passes. Then Dad grunts and turns the volume back up. Samir exhales a long, slow breath against my neck. His fingers start moving again, slower this time, and completely deliberate. “S...Samir,” I moan breathily. Pleasure unfurls through me as his fingertips dig in, melting the ache from my body. I roll my lips between my teeth to cut off my next moan in case Dad might hear. I try to peek at him through the rearview mirror, but the stacked boxes completely block my view. I can only hear him crank up the volume when a Metallica song starts. Samir exhaled too. His breathing has changed, either, especially when he buries his face in the crook of my neck, pressing his lips against my skin, making the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end and my spine tingle. Suddenly, he pulls his hands out of my leggings, and I whimper at the loss of heat, instantly embarrassed. God, I can't believe I was moaning while his hands worked out my sore muscles. He was just trying to be helpful for once, and I had to go and freak him out with my weird reaction. I can only imagine how much worse it is for him. But then Samir hooks his fingers into my waistband and pulls it down an inch. His soft lips brush against the shell of my ear. “Good girl, lift your hips for me again.” And God help me — I do...

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After the miscarriage, Sophia became the perfect wife her husband had always wanted. She stopped asking who he truly loved. She stopped waiting until three in the morning because he had been holed up in the operating room for seventy-two hours straight. She even contacted a divorce attorney on her own, ready to end this marriage that existed in name only. Dr. Wilson flipped through the post-operative rounds chart, her voice tight with barely suppressed confusion. "Sophia, a spontaneous miscarriage plus a D&C is not a minor thing. Are you sure you don't want us to notify Dr. Whitmore? Protocol requires a signature from immediate family." "No need. He's... always this busy." So busy that this child had slipped away because of his indifference. ... Back when she was supporting James through his surgical residency at the Mayo Clinic, Sophia had torn up her own acceptance letter to the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine with her own hands. She followed him to Chicago, to this penthouse apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. She ran the household like a sterile medical unit. She memorized his on-call schedule and his nutritional intake more clearly than her own MCAT study plan. And so, the man's resume grew more and more dazzling. He went from chief resident to Associate Director of Cardiothoracic Surgery. His papers appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine. His surgical videos were archived by the American College of Surgeons as teaching demonstrations. At the same time, the distance between him and her grew as vast as the shadowless lights over an operating table. The day James was invited to the American Surgical Association's annual awards gala in Miami, Sophia stood at the hotel entrance in her best dress, watching him laugh and chat with a group of colleagues in custom-tailored suits. The Chief of Surgery offered to bring spouses to the annual charity gala. James declined on her behalf right in front of her. "She's been at home for years. She can't handle those social situations. If she says the wrong thing and offends a donor, it puts me in a very difficult position." In that moment, Sophia's face burned. She gripped the hem of her perfectly unwrinkled dress, standing like an outsider at the edge of her own husband's world. He thought she wasn't good enough to be seen in public, yet he clung to her meticulous care like a bottomless pit of need. Three days ago, James discovered Sophia had secretly written a check for her medical school application fee. Five thousand dollars. Three years of savings she had scraped together from their joint account. His fury wasn't about the money. It was about the fact that she still had this dream at all. "Jessica needs an MCAT VIP intensive prep course. The full package with the internal question bank costs twelve thousand. Her foundation isn't as solid as yours. Without serious money, she can't even break 510. I already transferred the money from the joint account to her." Sophia couldn't believe it. That was three years of her savings. Every penny she had painstakingly set aside. "You transferred it to her? What about my application fee?" James looked at her like she was a naive child. "You? You're almost thirty. Why compare yourself to Jessica? She's young. She has opportunities. Even if you get in, so what? I'm the Associate Director in Chicago. You'd go to school in Boston or Baltimore? A long-distance marriage? If you don't find that embarrassing, I do." Sophia trembled. A sudden, violent cramp seized her abdomen, making her double over. "My stomach... it hurts so much..." "Here we go again. Every time I try to have a serious conversation, you suddenly don't feel well. Sophia, you've used this trick too many times. It doesn't work anymore." James grabbed his car keys and slammed the door on his way out. He didn't know Sophia was eight weeks pregnant. With the last shred of consciousness, Sophia crawled to the living room. Her fingers, slick with her own blood, dialed 911. When the paramedics broke down the door, she lay on the bathroom floor, already in hemorrhagic shock. She woke up to learn the baby was gone. She also understood, with absolute clarity, that James had never loved her. Not truly. Not once. In that instant, Sophia's heart ached with a pain sharper than any physical wound. But it was also the most sobering moment of her life. Three days after being discharged, Sophia went to the Chicago Public Library and borrowed a stack of MCAT prep books. When she pushed the door open, James's sneakers lay crooked in the entryway. His custom suit was tossed over the sofa like a dirty rag. Before, she would have cleaned everything to spotless perfection because of James's pathological obsession with order and cleanliness. This time, Sophia stepped around the mess and walked straight to the study. Review. Practice questions. She couldn't wait any longer. Two hours later, the study door was thrust open. James walked in, his face clouded with displeasure. "What are you doing? Look at the time. Where's dinner? Can't you see this place is a disaster?" He stepped closer, his gaze falling on the stack of books beside her. As if remembering something absurd, his tone instantly shifted into a command. "I told you, the MCAT is over. You've been married for three years. Why are you still fixated on this?" "Three days, and you still haven't figured it out?" Slap. Sophia closed the book. She looked up, her eyes cold. "Who made it a rule that married women can't become doctors?" James frowned, reassessing the woman in front of him. Sophia had always been docile. Soft-spoken. Never had she looked at him with those eyes, never spoken to him in that tone. "Your responsibility is to manage this household, to free me from any worries at home. That's what you should be doing. Something with as high a barrier as medical school isn't suitable for you now." "Jessica is younger. More malleable. Even if you took the test, so what? I'm here. Can you just leave? A long-distance marriage? What would everyone at the hospital think of me?" "What does her age have to do with me? James, aren't you the Associate Director? Can't you use your connections to get her an internal recommendation? Taking your own wife's money, destroying your own wife's future to play the hero for another woman. If that gets out, people will laugh their heads off." James's face went ashen. He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the wedding photo on the wall tilted. In the photo, only Sophia was smiling. Sophia put away her review notes. She picked up her phone and called her former mentor from Johns Hopkins, Professor Mitchell. She told her she wanted to reapply to medical school. Her talent in biomedical engineering was exceptional. As an undergraduate, Professor Mitchell had made an exception to select her for the core lab research team. If she hadn't followed James to Chicago, she would at least be at the chief resident level by now. Professor Mitchell was silent for three seconds. Then, with deep satisfaction, she said, "You should have made this decision long ago. Marriage is a part of life, not your ceiling. Your sky shouldn't be confined to a kitchen. Study hard. I'll write your recommendation letter personally." "Thank you, Professor." Sophia hung up and returned to the study. She was about to pull an all-nighter to finish one last full-length practice test. She opened the drawer. It was empty. The core review notes she had spent months compiling, every page written by hand, had vanished.

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To exact revenge, she struck a deal with the cold, ruthless head of a powerful family. After their plan succeeded, he cornered her against a wall, his voice almost pitiful. "I helped you take down those people. Don't you think you owe me some time alone?" She froze, stunned. Had their alliance turned into something else? ===== "You've weathered countless storms over the years. Welcome home, Arabella." At the celebratory dinner, a young man in a perfectly tailored suit found himself unwilling to look away from Arabella Stanley. She possessed an otherworldly beauty, her sharp features sculpted with precision and wrapped in an aura of cool detachment. Her piercing eyes revealed nothing of her inner thoughts, and when she spoke, her voice carried the same arctic chill. "I'm leaving now." Joshua Willis, the young man, seized the moment without hesitation. "Allow me to drive you home." Arabella offered no resistance. The car glided through the night. The city lights blurred past as Joshua stole glances at her profile. "When do you plan to return to the company? Our empire continues to flourish." Their partnership had begun years ago through a chance project, and Joshua had witnessed Arabella's brilliance firsthand. He had persuaded her to join forces, and together they had forged a company that now dominated the entire industry. Arabella maintained her measured tone. "I'll decide when the time feels right. For now, I simply want to reach home." "Understood completely. You must be eager to reunite with Daisy. She's undoubtedly thriving. I've been directing all the premium projects to your aunt's husband throughout these years." Joshua's grin widened as he angled for recognition. Arabella and her twin sister Daisy Stanley had lost their parents at the tender age of six, and their aunt Meagan Tucker had stepped in to care for them both. Arabella acknowledged him with a subtle nod. "I appreciate that." Her delicate fingers found the cherry blossom pendant resting against her throat, clicking it open to reveal a treasured photograph of herself and Daisy. Arabella's expression remained stoic in the image, but Daisy's smile blazed with pure joy. Studying her sister's radiant face, Arabella felt an unfamiliar warmth soften her features. After their parents' tragic death, Arabella and Daisy had become each other's entire world. Daisy had always been their family's ray of sunshine, illuminating every room she entered. At twelve, Arabella had been handpicked by the government for a classified operation that consumed seven years of her life. Now that the mission had concluded, she could finally return to Daisy. She had forwarded nearly every government paycheck to her sister, ensuring Daisy lived in comfort and security. Joshua's eyes widened in amazement as he witnessed Arabella's smile. The legendary ice queen was actually smiling? His curiosity about Arabella's sister intensified dramatically. The car approached an upscale residential community, where each house boasted its own meticulously maintained garden. The vehicle glided to a stop in front of a house. This was the home Arabella's parents had bequeathed to them, now shared between Meagan and Daisy. The estate glowed with warm light, alive with the sound of cheerful laughter. Daisy seemed to be flourishing beautifully. With that thought in mind, Arabella preserved her gentle smile as she crossed into the front yard. A weathered doghouse sat in the corner of the property. Someone knelt beside it in the shadows. Through the dim evening light, Arabella couldn't distinguish the person's features, but she watched them scooping food directly from the bowl placed on the ground. Why would someone be eating beside the doghouse? Concern creased her brow as Arabella approached cautiously. The figure appeared startled and scrambled quickly into the doghouse. Arabella's bewilderment deepened. Then a soft, trembling voice drifted from within the shelter. "Please don't strike me again. I won't make any mistakes. I'll be so much more careful..." That voice belonged to Daisy. Arabella's heart shattered instantly. She lunged forward, pulling the figure from the doghouse. Even in the pale moonlight, she recognized her beloved sister immediately. Daisy stared back, her eyes swimming with disbelief. "You..." she breathed, as though she feared her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. "Daisy, is that truly you?" Arabella's voice trembled with disbelief. When Daisy nodded weakly, a glacial fury erupted within Arabella, her eyes igniting with volcanic rage. "Bella..." Daisy whispered, still trapped in shock. "You've actually come back?" The moment felt impossibly surreal to Daisy, like a vision conjured from desperate longing. Arabella, sensing something terribly wrong, reached out to touch Daisy's forehead. Her skin burned with fever. Before Arabella could process this discovery, Daisy crumpled into her arms like a broken doll. Arabella cradled her sister, whose body felt heartbreakingly frail and ice-cold despite the raging fever consuming her. Arabella's heart crystallized into something harder than diamond. The front door of the house suddenly burst open with violent force. "Daisy, you worthless creature! It's been several minutes, and you're still not finished eating? Get inside immediately and wash those dishes!" Meagan's voice sliced through the night air like a bl**e. Arabella pivoted slowly, her predatory gaze locking onto her target. Meagan had transformed dramatically over the years. Once haggard and perpetually exhausted, she now radiated wealth and privilege, adorned in an expensive designer coat and gleaming jewelry that caught the porch light, presenting herself as the very embodiment of refined elegance. Meagan's bl**d turned to ice under Arabella's lethal stare. "You... Arabella? When did you arrive?" "What have you done to her?" Arabella advanced with calculated steps, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. Meagan instinctively retreated, unsettled by the predatory intensity burning in Arabella's eyes. But she quickly rallied her confidence, reminding herself that Arabella was still just a young woman. She twisted her lips into a cruel sneer. "Daisy shattered a dish, so I administered appropriate punishment. You've been absent for years. Do you possess any understanding of how challenging life has been here? I never allowed her to starve or sleep without shelter. If you weren't my brother's daughters, I wouldn't have wasted my time with either of you." In one fluid motion, Arabella's hand shot out and seized Meagan by the throat, her expression transforming into something carved from arctic stone. Meagan ga**ed desperately, clawing at Arabella's iron grip. "Let... me... go..." "This is my house," Arabella declared, her voice carrying the finality of a death sentence, her eyes radiating lethal intent. "You forced Daisy to perform menial labor. You made her sleep in that doghouse like an animal. You possess remarkable audacity, Meagan." In the warm light streaming from the house, Arabella finally saw what Daisy had been consuming. It was the leftover food. Holding her sister, who felt as weightless as a dying bird and appeared ghostly pale and utterly drained, Arabella felt her heart shatter into countless pieces. Her precious sister had endured this nightmare! "Meagan," Arabella said, her voice saturated with deadly promise, "when you moved into our home, you swore a sacred oath that you would care for Daisy." Meagan bristled at Arabella's bold use of her first name, the disrespect cutting deep. But she shrank backward when she witnessed the murderous gleam dancing in Arabella's eyes. Arabella had always been fundamentally different from other children. She was cold and fearlessly bold. When Arabella had lived here, Meagan had performed the role of a dutiful aunt, though barely meeting even the lowest standards. But the moment Arabella departed, Meagan had seized absolute control, systematically crushing the gentle-spirited Daisy beneath her cruel authority. She had never imagined Arabella would return to witness her crimes. "I did take care of Daisy! She made a mistake, so I disciplined her accordingly. What's so terrible about that?" Meagan's words died in her throat as Arabella's grip tightened mercilessly, making her feel as though death itself was reaching for her soul. "Arabella?" The violent commotion finally drew the attention of the people inside. Meagan's husband and daughter noticed the deadly confrontation unfolding at their door. Through the wide open front door, Arabella observed them living luxuriously in a spacious and magnificently decorated villa, with a table overflowing with exquisite delicacies. The people inside wore expensive clothing that spoke of comfort and abundance. Meanwhile, Daisy had been sleeping in a doghouse, consuming leftovers. Arabella's eyes burned with unshed tears as the devastating truth crashed over her with overwhelming force. Chapter 2 Can You Check Who Made The Payment Khloe Tucker was fuming. "Let go of my mom, Arabella! Back then, she offered to take care of you and Daisy out of kindness. Is that how you repay her? You show up after disappearing for years, acting like you're some kind of hero? What, did you run off, get pr**nant, and have a kid or something? What a joke!" Khloe threw Arabella a nasty glare, but deep down, she actually hoped Arabella might stay. Having her back would mean more help around the house. But Arabella's eyes had already gone cold. Without saying a word, she entered the house and kicked the dining table hard. Dishes flew everywhere, crashing onto the floor and shattering into pieces. Before anyone could react, Arabella grabbed two vases and hurled them straight at Khloe and her father. They hit them squarely, and bl**d started trickling down their faces as they screamed in shock. Her voice was ice. "You've got one day. Get out of my house." Without waiting for a reply, she stormed out with Daisy in her arms. She flagged down the first taxi she saw and rushed her sister straight to a hospital. Back at the villa, chaos broke out. "Mom! That psycho actually attacked me!" Khloe sobbed, staring at the scratches on her face in the mirror. "What if I'm left with scars?" Meagan's fury boiled over. "She's gotten way too bold after all these years! If she shows her face again, she won't be so lucky. We're not nobodies anymore. We've joined hands with Norman Group. There's no way she can stand against us!" She gave Khloe a comforting pat. "Don't worry, honey. I'm taking you to a hospital right now." *** At the hospital, the doctor examined Daisy and frowned. "Her leg's been broken for a while, and she's covered in bruises. Some of her teeth are missing too. What kind of sister lets this happen?" Arabella's voice was low. "It's my fault." Her bangs fell over her eyes, hiding whatever she was feeling inside. The doctor, noticing how quiet she was, spoke gently. "I've done what I could for now. But if someone's been hurting you two, you need to report it. Keeping quiet won't fix anything." Arabella gave a small nod and moved to stand beside Daisy's hospital bed. Daisy, now nineteen, looked heartbreakingly fragile. Her thin frame looked like it couldn't support itself, and her wrists seemed more like twigs than limbs. Her short hair was uneven, dry, and choppy, like someone had taken scissors to it without a second thought. Arabella gently lifted the blanket, and her heart dropped. Daisy's skin told a horrifying story. Old whip marks crisscrossed her legs, and dark burn spots marred her arms. Each scar screamed of cruelty. Arabella's breath caught, and before she could stop them, tears rolled down her cheeks. "Bella..." Daisy's voice was barely a whisper. Arabella immediately reached for her hand. "I'm here," she said softly. "I... missed you," Daisy murmured, her voice hoarse. Arabella clutched her hand like a lifeline. "I missed you too. I thought if I worked hard, I could give you a better life. But I was wrong. I never should've left you alone. I swear, I'm not going anywhere again." The warmth in Arabella's voice seemed to melt Daisy's tension. Slowly, her expression softened. After making sure Daisy was settled, Arabella went to sort out the payment. "The charges have already been covered," the nurse said with a kind smile. Arabella blinked. "What? Who paid?" Joshua crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed the thought. There was no way he knew about this yet. "Can you check who made the payment?" she asked. The nurse gave an apologetic shake of the head. "Sorry, that information's private. Maybe a family member helped out?" At the word family, Arabella's face turned to stone. She gave a short nod and walked off without another word. If someone had helped, she was going to find out who. Meanwhile, down the corridor, Meagan strolled beside her daughter, Khloe, who was fresh out of the emergency room with her face patched up. "I'm not letting Arabella walk away from this," Khloe snarled, bitterness burning in her voice. "Calm down," Meagan said sharply. "You'll reopen your stitches if you keep flaring up like this. Be more like your sister--grace under pressure." That seemed to cheer Khloe up. A smug smile tugged at her lips. "As long as my sister keeps shining, that's all that matters. She's the youngest dancer in the Griridge Troupe now. Daisy really thought she could outshine her? She was delusional. That broken leg was karma, if you ask me. And if my sister finds out how Arabella treated me--oh, she'll tear her apart." "She's got a big show coming up," Meagan reminded her. "Let's not distract her. One step at a time." She tapped Khloe's nose lightly, but then her expression stiffened as she spotted Arabella ahead. Khloe saw Arabella too, and just the sight of her brought back the sting of humiliation. Her rage boiled over. Without thinking, she grabbed her studded handbag and swung it with all her strength toward Arabella's back. Arabella's instincts kicked in. Just as she turned around, a tall man came into view. With quick reflexes and strong arms, he grabbed the bag mid-air by its strap, stopping it like it was nothing. The sudden pull made Khloe lose her balance, and with a startled scream, she fell to the floor. Chapter 3 Grab Your Things And Come With Me "Khloe!" Meagan hurried to her daughter's side, helping her up while shooting a vicious glare at the man who had shown up out of nowhere. "Who the h**l are you? Arabella's new guy or what?" The man didn't bother responding. His sharp eyes gave nothing away, cold and unreadable, like the still, deep sea that hid its danger. Then he began walking toward Meagan, each step loud and heavy on the hospital floor. Meagan instinctively took a step back. Her ch**t tightened, making it hard to breathe. Deep down, something told her this man wasn't just any stranger--he was trouble. Trying to mask her unease, she snapped, "Arabella, you'd better think twice before crossing us again. You and your sister were lucky we let you stay at all! If you ever want back in, come crawling, and maybe we'll consider it." Yanking Khloe's arm, Meagan stormed off. Arabella stood silently, watching them go. Let them stay? That house was legally Daisy's and hers. She glanced at the man and caught sight of a pi**ol, just for a second, before it disappeared beneath his jacket. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Who was this guy? He turned and looked directly at her. Arabella finally saw his face--handsome as h**l, rough around the edges, and those icy eyes didn't blink or soften for anyone. He gave off a vibe that screamed danger--Arabella had never felt anything like it. No surprise Meagan bolted--anyone with sense would have. "Arabella Stanley," he said. His tone was calm and low, but there was a chill in it that made her skin prickle. Arabella glanced him over. "You're the one who paid for my sister, right?" He gave a faint nod. "You're quick. Grab your things and come with me." Arabella's brows drew together. "Excuse me?" Who even was this guy, showing up with mystery and attitude? Before things got tenser, another man stepped in--less intimidating but equally serious. "Miss Stanley, allow me to explain. This is Mr. Asher Gordon. His father and your dad served together in the military. Before his father passed away, he asked Mr. Gordon to watch over your family. Mr. Gordon only recently returned from service and has been trying to track you down since." That explained the military presence, the icy calm... the way he moved like someone trained for war. Arabella studied Asher again. He didn't seem threatening now, but just closed off, like someone with a wall too thick to climb over. She stayed calm. "You got anything to back that up? Anyone can say that." Asher reached into his pocket and pulled out a weathered photo. It showed two men in dusty uniforms--one was definitely her father. The other looked a lot like him. She stared at it for a long moment before replying, "I'll think about it." "Fair. Let's exchange numbers," Asher replied without any small talk. Arabella added his contact. His WhatsApp display was just a solid black box. Funny enough, hers was the same. A strange little coincidence, she thought. Then the assistant added her as well. "Dominick Powell, Mr. Gordon's right hand. Reach out if you need help with anything, anytime." Arabella gave a nod. "Got it." With that, the two men walked off, and Arabella made her way back to Daisy's room. Shortly after, two silent, suited bodyguards appeared at the door--they were clearly sent by Asher. Arabella didn't ask questions. She got to work helping Daisy clean up--changing her into fresh clothes and gently washing her hair, trying to fix its brittle, uneven mess. But when she saw the scars and ci**rette burns covering Daisy's body, her eyes welled up again. Holding back her tears, she carefully rubbed her homemade cream onto the wounds. Then, without wasting a second, she opened her laptop. She had to find out what had happened to Daisy while she was gone, so she hacked into the villa's security system. Sadly, what she saw made her sick to her stomach. It wasn't long after Arabella left that Daisy was thrown out of her own bedroom and made to sleep in a doghouse. The cheerful, lively sister Arabella remembered didn't smile anymore. She saw footage of Daisy juggling multiple part-time jobs, only to get ha**ssed and pushed around. Even so, she kept working hard and made it into one of the top universities. But during her very first semester, she ended up with a broken leg. She was studying dance, and just like that, the injury shattered everything she had dreamed of. The pieces fell into place too easily. Khloe's sister, Elissa Tucker, was in the same class. Arabella's gut told her that leg injury hadn't been some fluke. After that, Daisy barely left the house. She was treated like hired help, scrubbing floors, cooking meals, and still sleeping out in that d**n doghouse. Yet every time Daisy texted her, it was the same lie. "I'm doing fine. Don't worry about me. You just take care of yourself." Arabella's vision blurred. While her sister was being broken piece by piece, their aunt's family was thriving. Their business had taken off, thanks to a lucrative deal with the Vanguard Group. Khloe, a middle school dropout, was suddenly a digital influencer. Elissa was famous and popular in the college. Meagan was rubbing shoulders with high-society ladies, and her husband had become some corporate hotshot. Arabella clenched her jaw and slammed her fist against the table. She didn't even feel the sting. Every bit of success she had worked for... had only served to feed that vile family's greed. And the one person she had sworn to protect had suffered in silence the entire time. Chapter 4 This Revenge Is Mine To Carry Out Arabella took a slow breath, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and her eyes turned cold, like a fire had been snuffed out and replaced with ice. Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she made a call. "That major project--it hasn't been handed over to the Tucker Group yet, right? Cancel it. Completely." Her voice was calm but firm. "And get to the Griridge Hospital. Now." On the other end, Joshua sounded startled. "Arabella? What's going on?" "You'll see when you get here. Bring a few things with you." True to form, Joshua didn't waste time. Less than half an hour later, he rushed into the hospital, and the moment his eyes landed on the girl in the hospital bed, he froze like a statue. She looked so much like Arabella--same face, but all color drained, bruised, battered, her body wrecked like it had been thrown away and forgotten. Joshua's fists clenched. "Who did this? Tell me who it was. I'll make them pay, I swear it!" That was the sister of a preeminent figure... and they treated her like this? Arabella didn't flinch. "I'll handle it myself. Slowly," she muttered, picking up a pair of sc**sors from the table. Before Joshua could react, the sc**sors had already cut through her long, silky hair. The strands dropped to the floor in silence. He stared, stunned. "Arabella... you're not actually..." "I am," she said. "This revenge is mine to carry out." Joshua swallowed hard, goosebumps rising on his arms. The way she said it--it was clear. H**l was coming for someone. Arabella glanced at him. "Also, what do you know about the Gordons?" "The Gordon family?" He immediately straightened. "They're legendary. Way beyond the top elite families. Super wealthy, but incredibly discreet. I've only ever worked with the right-hand man of their current CEO." "You mean Dominick Powell?" Arabella asked casually. Joshua's jaw dropped. "Wait, you know Dominick? Don't tell me... are you saying the Gordons were involved in what happened to Daisy?" Arabella gave him a blank stare before calmly explaining Asher's connection and what he had said earlier. Joshua slapped his thigh, clearly overwhelmed. "Asher Gordon? If it's really him, then yeah, no one's faking that. He leads the family. Rumor has it he's ex-special forces, quiet as a ghost, but deadly. If someone crosses him, they don't get a second chance." Arabella didn't react. She just stared at the floor, her thoughts turning in circles. Then she spoke, steady and cold. "You should head out now. Also... sell my villa." Joshua hesitated. "That place... that's your parents' home. Are you sure?" Arabella looked over at Daisy's fragile frame. "She was tortured in that house. There's no comfort left there. Just get rid of it." Her voice cracked slightly. "And if possible, find a buyer who's impossible to deal with." Joshua gave her a long look, then nodded. "Understood. I've got a bunch of properties lined up. If you ever need a place, it's yours." "Thanks." She didn't look up, and Joshua, sensing she needed space, quietly slipped out the door. Left alone, Arabella gently held Daisy's hand and murmured, "I swear, everyone who hurt you... I'll make them pay for it tenfold." That night felt endless, and sleep didn't come. The next morning, Arabella stood quietly outside a dance studio at Griridge University's dance department, listening through the open door. "Elissa, things have been so dull without that pathetic girl around," someone inside snickered. "I know, right? No one to fetch us coffee, no one to mess with. It's no fun without a punching bag," another chimed in. Peering through the glass window, Arabella spotted Elissa in the middle of the dance studio. Years ago, Elissa had been just a pale, skinny kid. Now she was dressed in a flowing white dance outfit, all elegance and grace, like something out of a dream. Surrounded by classmates, Elissa flashed a gentle, modest smile at the comments. "Guys, don't say that. Let's not be mean." "You're too kind, Elissa," Joyce Lambert, her good friend, scoffed. "That girl sponged off your family for years. If it were me, I'd have thrown her out of your house on day one." Arabella narrowed her eyes slightly. Calling it their house? Seriously? That place belonged to her and Daisy. Elissa and her family were the ones living off of them. Elissa tilted her head, her voice syrupy sweet. "She's my cousin, after all. Her parents passed away. If we didn't take her in, she would've had nowhere to go." Her fake compassion earned gasps of admiration from the crowd. What a generous soul, they all seemed to think. The loud chatter in the dance studio instantly stopped the moment Arabella walked in. "Daisy?" Joyce blinked in surprise. She stared at Arabella, stunned. She looked the same, but... something about her felt different now. Chapter 5 Got Yourself A Su**r Daddy The dance studio fell silent, as if someone had hit pause. Every single eye was locked on Arabella, but she acted like she didn't see a thing and confidently made her way to the back, where she began stretching like it was just another day. Joyce's jaw clenched. "Daisy, you've got some nerve showing up out of nowhere like this!" Joyce barked, marching over and swinging a sharp kick at her. "Just because we've gone easy on you doesn't mean you're not taking orders from us!" But Arabella moved with ease, dodging the kick without breaking a sweat. Joyce lost her balance and hit the floor face-first with a loud, painful thud. "You dodged me?" Joyce screeched in disbelief. Her face turned red with fury as she raised her hand to s**p Arabella. But just like before, Arabella slipped out of reach like a shadow. Joyce's swing caught nothing but air, and she stumbled forward, grabbing her lower back with a wince. "D**n it!" "My bad," Arabella said gently, her voice almost too soft to catch. Joyce wanted to explode, but something about Arabella's calmness made her hesitate. She didn't dare swing again. Instead, she snapped, "What are you just standing there for? Get over here and help us stretch already!" "So, Daisy's really back," she thought smugly. "Still the same pathetic errand girl." Arabella's gaze briefly darkened, but she gave a polite nod like an obedient student. She knelt beside Joyce and began helping her with leg stretches. Joyce smirked. "You look even sadder than before. Honestly, it's pathetic." But then, a painful scream cut through the air. Joyce's leg jolted, and she broke into a cold sweat, grabbing her thigh. "My leg... what the h**l? Did you snap my leg?" The class crowded around her in a frenzy. "Is she alright? Someone call for help!" "Look, the teacher just walked in!" Their panic was cut short as the teacher entered the room. Arabella still had Joyce's leg in her hands. Calmly, almost casually, she gave it a subtle twist. "Ah!" Joyce screamed even louder, nearly in tears from the pain. "What's going on in here?" The teacher frowned, scanning the chaos. "My leg! It feels broken... I can't--" Joyce wailed, then blinked in confusion. Just seconds later, she could move it again. "Wait... what?" "You look fine to me." The teacher shot a look at Joyce--one that wasn't exactly sympathetic. She had seen enough of these girls' antics over the years. "I don't care what drama you're cooking up on your own time, but today's important. The Griridge Troupe selection is happening. The dean and senior faculty will be here shortly, so I expect everyone to act like professionals." "I swear, I..." Joyce began, trying to protest. "That's enough." Elissa cut her off, stepping forward with an easy smile. "Let's not waste more time. Joyce, calm down." Elissa's tone made it clear--this wasn't the time to pick fights. Joyce had no choice but to bite her tongue and swallow her anger, though her glare at Arabella could have burned through steel. The teacher clapped her hands, and class began. During the last twenty minutes, a few other teachers showed up to observe. By the time class ended, the room was filled with a mix of nervous energy and excited chatter. "God, I really hope I get picked. Dancing alongside Elissa would be a dream come true." "Elissa, don't forget us when you're famous!" someone teased. Elissa gave her signature angelic smile. "Of course not. You're all my people." Then someone dropped a name that made the entire class go silent. "They say Isabella might be watching today." Gasps rippled through the room. Even Elissa blinked in shock, her breath catching. Isabella Wallace was the icon of modern dance. Her performances were legendary, her choreography unrivaled. Just being seen by her could open doors. "If Isabella notices me, that's it. That's my breakthrough," Elissa thought, her gaze sharpening with quiet ambition. But then someone spoke up, disrupting the mood. "I saw Daisy dancing earlier. Honestly, she wasn't bad at all." Joyce scoffed loud enough for the room to hear. "Daisy? Please. She's pathetic. No way she'd get picked." Turning her attention to Daisy, she said, "Hey, what are you still doing here, anyway? Go get our lunch. You remember our order, right?" Without a word, Arabella nodded and walked off, her tall frame moving with a silent elegance despite the slump in her shoulders. "Ugh. Even the way she walks is irritating. Does she actually think she's all graceful or something? What a complete eyesore!" Joyce sneered. By the time Joyce, Elissa, and the rest of their group showed up at the cafeteria, laughing and cracking jokes, Arabella already had their meals prepared. Her eyes quietly scanned each of them--calm, blank, giving nothing away. But in her mind, she was taking note of everything. Joyce, whose father ran the Lambert Group, was spoiled beyond belief and filthy rich. Next to her was Kenzie Marsh--the meek, glasses-wearing music student who practically worshipped the ground Elissa walked on. And behind them, the two guys were followers, plain and simple. They were all muscle without a mind. Joyce looked at the food Arabella had bought and narrowed her eyes. "Well, well. Where'd you get the cash, huh? Got yourself a su**r daddy? I thought you were broke, freeloader." Joyce kept running her mouth but still dove into the food--everyone was starving after dancing all morning. However, midway through eating, something went terribly wrong. Joyce coughed violently, bl**d trickling from her lips as she clutched her throat, her eyes wide in panic. The others followed suit, gasping, hands around their necks, as if something sharp was tearing through their throats. "It burns--what's happening?" they wh**zed, struggling to speak as pain ripped through them. Elissa stared at her in disbelief, still holding her throat. "Daisy... what did you do?" "That little bi**h's getting revenge!" Joyce screamed, losing it completely. "You think Elissa letting you tag along means we'll go easy on you? You're dead!" Furious, she flung her food tray at Arabella, while the two boys beside her instinctively lunged forward, ready to grab her without hesitation. Chapter 6 Do You Have Any Proof The students nearby were numb to this kind of chaos. "Alright, that's enough," Elissa said, her voice sounding gentle on the surface but hollow beneath it. She stayed comfortably seated, not bothering to step in--after all, she never did when things got ugly. Meanwhile, Arabella, calm and collected, didn't even flinch. When the tray came flying her way, she calmly reached up and caught it in one smooth motion. The momentum flipped the tray's course, and it slammed straight into one of the two boys' faces. The food, laced with slivers of glass, sliced across his skin, and bl**d trickled down his cheek in thin, terrifying lines. "S**t! That hurts!" he cried out. One look at the bl**d was enough, and he collapsed in panic, completely out cold. The other guy didn't back down. Snarling, he reached for Arabella's hair, yanking it hard. "You think you're tough, Daisy? Huh?" His fist flew toward her face, but Arabella caught it mid-swing like it was nothing. His expression froze. She slowly twisted his arm until his knees buckled. "Ahhh! It hurts--stop, please! I'm sorry!" he howled, his face turning as pale as chalk. The second she let go, he hit the floor and curled into himself, sobbing in pain. One of the girls considered helping, but after seeing Arabella in action, she backed off without a word. What a bunch of clowns. Arabella stared at them, her gaze sharp and cold, like she was looking at tr**h. "Have you lost your fu**ing mind?" Joyce screeched, still in denial. Her hands shook as she picked up a chair and hurled it with all her strength. Arabella shifted her weight, spun, and kicked the chair right back--slamming it into Joyce's head. Bl**d splattered instantly. Elissa jumped up in horror, shrieking, "Oh my God!" The cafeteria exploded with shouts. "She's gonna k**l someone! Go find a teacher!" "What is wrong with her? Is she high or something?" "Honestly, she's kind of a badass..." "Shh! Don't let anyone hear you say that!" Thirty minutes later, the university president's office was a pressure cooker. The fight was way too intense to sweep under the rug. Daisy, Elissa, and the rest of the group were hauled in for questioning. Joyce and the others had been bandaged up, but their egos were just as bruised. Elissa looked ready to cry, still rubbing her sore throat like it had swallowed fire. She was furious, terrified the damage was permanent. "Call your parents," the president ordered Arabella sharply, trying to make sense of the madness. "Now." Joyce jumped in before Arabella could speak. "She can't. Her parents are dead!" she sneered. "She's been mooching off Elissa's family for years. No morals. No manners. Just expel her already!" Taken aback, the president looked Arabella up and down. "So, what exactly happened?" Joyce didn't miss a beat. "She put glass in our food. She tried to hurt us and then went berserk. She needs to face consequences!" Arabella didn't even blink. Her voice came out calm and cold. "Do you have any proof? And while we're at it--did I even lay a finger on you first? Pretty sure your side started swinging." "Liar!" Joyce snapped, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. Arabella turned her gaze to the president, cool and steady. "Why don't we pull up the cafeteria security footage?" Silence dropped like a stone. Joyce's face stiffened, and her jaw clenched tight. "We only hit her because she gave us food full of glass! She deserved it!" Arabella tilted her head slightly. "Where's your proof that I put it there?" she asked softly. "Because I have proof of something else." She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. A video began to play. The footage was damning. It showed Joyce and her gang shoving a sandwich filled with glass into Daisy's mouth. As Daisy's lips b**d, they laughed like it was some sick joke. It was raw and unforgivable. Arabella's ch**t tightened as she watched it, the pain as fresh as the day she found it on Daisy's phone. Even the president's face shifted. He turned to Joyce and her friends with a sharp, icy glare. For a split second, panic flashed across their faces. Trying to smooth things over, Elissa quickly said, "Sir, yeah, Joyce went too far, and we're really sorry. But Daisy was talking tr**h first--Joyce just lost her temper." Arabella raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so? Well then, I'll just upload this little clip online and let the public decide who the real victim is." "Absolutely not!" the president barked. "Miss Stanley, if that video gets out, it'll drag the university through the mud. Let's not blow this out of proportion. Apologize to each other, and we'll call it even." Joyce looked outraged. "What? She beat the crap out of us! Why should we just let it go?" Her friends chimed in, just as outraged. Meanwhile, Elissa leaned toward the president and whispered with a sweet smile, "My dad's set to donate $1 million to the school. Just thought you should know." The president's expression shifted. His tone changed. "Daisy," he began, "what they did was wrong. But your response was excessive. This could've been handled differently. You can either apologize now and move forward, or you'll be expelled. And if you upload that video, trust me, public opinion won't be on your side. That would be reckless." Arabella stared at him. So that was what this was. Now she understood why Daisy had been stepped on for so long. These people weren't protecting students--they were protecting their pockets. Joyce, smelling victory, leaned back with a smug grin. "Daisy, you really thought you had the upper hand? You're nothing but a parasite clinging to Elissa's family like a leech. Don't act like you matter. You want to stay here? Then get on your knees and l**k my shoes clean. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let you off the hook." Joyce looked at Arabella like she wasn't even human. Elissa didn't say anything at first, but the fire burning behind her calm expression gave her away. Her throat still hurt, and what bothered her more was the embarrassment. Deep down, she wanted to lash out at Arabella. But on the outside, she just let out a quiet sigh, like she was more hurt than mad. "Daisy, I honestly don't know what happened to you," she said. "But if you can't apologize to us, then pack your things. You're no longer welcome in my home." The president didn't bat an eye. "That's enough. You're done here. Pack up and get out." He waved Arabella off like she was a fly in the room before turning to Elissa with a tight smile. "You're injured. Go rest. We'll take care of everything." Joyce smirked, finally feeling like the universe had balanced itself. With their heads held high, they all moved to strut out like they had won a prize. "Quite the scene," came a calm voice from the doorway, all eyes turned. Arabella raised an eyebrow. How was he here! ...... What happens next? 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“Fat and weak, she’ll never be a Luna,” they whispered. I believed it once. But tomorrow night, everything changes. At the stroke of 11:12, I’ll shift into the legendary Wolf—the Moon Goddess’s chosen. No longer the ugly duckling, I’ll shine with bronze fur and fierce power. The same pack that mocked me will bow before the beautiful wolf I’ve become. And Cassian Mercer, the Alpha who rejected me at first sight? He’ll regret ever doubting me. Skyla’s POV “Skyla, Selene, Sebastian—get down here now!” our mom, Luna Camilla, shouted from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready, and we still need to go over the final details for your birthday party.” Oh, right! I probably should’ve mentioned this earlier—we’re triplets, and tomorrow we turn 18! It’s a huge deal in our world. Tomorrow, we’ll not only discover who our fated mates are, but we’ll also shift for the first time at exactly 11:12 p.m.—the minute we were all born. “Triple S, move it or you’ll be late for school!” That’s what Dad calls us when we’re dragging our feet. It’s his way of rounding us up all at once. While I’m getting ready, let me give you a quick intro to Triple S. First up: Sebastian, the oldest of us three. He’s a towering 6'8 with warm almond-toned skin like Mom’s, and he’s just as muscular and athletic as Dad. His piercing blue eyes are bound to make his mate melt the moment she meets him. He keeps his long dreadlocks meticulously groomed, and even though half the girls in school can’t stop f1irting with him, Sebastian’s saving himself for his mate. He’s not just my brother—he’s my best friend and the future Alpha of our pack. Then there’s me. I’m the middle triplet. I’ve got a golden-beige complexion and hazel eyes like Dad. Physically, I’m in great shape because I’ve been secretly training extra hours with Dad. You see, the Moon Goddess gave my parents a vision—my wolf is supposed to be something special once I shift. But no one really knows what I look like underneath my baggy hoodies and loose joggers. I wear oversized clothes on purpose—I’d rather avoid the stares. And I always wear glasses, which doesn’t help. People call me names—“homely,” “fat,” “four-eyes.” If only they knew the truth. And then, sigh, there’s Selene. She’s got radiant bronze skin, chestnut eyes, and long hair she always keeps sleek and straight. She’s undeniably gorgeous—but she’s a walking flirt. Lately, she’s been shamelessly chasing the future Alpha of the neighboring pack. Since their school burned down, we’ve been sharing a campus with their pack, and Selene treats it like her own personal runway. We finally make our way downstairs. Sebastian’s dressed in slim-fit jeans, a V-neck tee, and the brand-new Jordans that just dropped. I’m layered up in my usual oversized hoodie and loose joggers, rocking my trusty Vapormax sneakers—even though it’s blazing hot outside in Arkansas. Selene, true to form, is dressed like she’s headed to a nightclub—miniskirt, skintight low-cut top, and five-inch red heels. Time to head to school. I’m not a fan, but at least it’s our last year, and I’ve kept a perfect GPA. “Mom, Dad, I don’t want to ride with Skyla. She’s so embarrassing,” Selene complained. “Yes, you are riding with her,” Dad said firmly. “Your brother’s already gone and you’ve totaled three cars this year.” “STAY AWAY FROM ME AT SCHOOL, NERD!” she screeched at me as we walked out. Great. This is going to be a long day. But thank the Moon Goddess it's Friday! We finally make it to school, though Selene didn’t stop complaining the entire ride. I pulled into my usual parking spot—one of the designated spaces for Alpha family members—behind the wheel of my sleek black 2023 Dodge Durango SRT. Right beside me, Sebastian’s glossy black 2023 Jeep Grand Cherokee Trackhawk was already parked. Yeah, our parents are loaded. In the human world, Dad’s a wildly successful entrepreneur with more businesses than I can count. On the other side of Sebastian’s car sat a deep navy Tesla Model S, and the moment Selene squealed like she’d won the lottery, I knew exactly who it belonged to—Cassian Mercer, the future Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack. I do my best to avoid Cassian. For some reason, he absolutely hates me. He leads the pack when it comes to name-calling and insults. It doesn’t help that our birthdays fall on the same day—tomorrow. His twin sister Alexia and I share the date too. Since our families are so close and Selene’s convinced Cassian is her mate, our dads decided to throw one massive birthday bash for all of us. Even though Cassian treats me like garbage, I won’t lie—he’s ridiculously good-looking. He stands about 6'8, just like Sebastian. He’s got these intense green eyes—yes, this smooth-skinned, bronze-toned man has emerald green eyes that could make you forget your name. His hair is always laid in tight waves, the kind you want to run your fingers through. And don’t get me started on those abs—always visible under those fitted tees he wears like a second skin. Wait. No. Snap out of it, Skyla. I hate him just as much as he hates me. Period. The moment I get to my locker, the usual chorus of insults begins. “Hey fatso, nerd, loser, four-eyes,” they snicker from down the hallway. They always wait until Sebastian isn’t around to start. Selene, her flock of mean-girl clones, and Cassian are always front and center in the cruelty parade. I never say a word. The unspoken rule around here? “Snitches get stitches.” But I’m not scared of them. Not one bit. My dad says I’m strong enough to take down anyone—even an Alpha. I’ve already learned how to make him submit when we spar, and that’s saying something. Cassian might hate me, but his twin sister Alexia? She’s my best friend. She’s always trying to get me to dress a little less… baggy. She wants me to ditch my oversized hoodies and definitely those chunky glasses. We’re werewolves, after all—I don’t actually need them. Alexia strolls up, slings an arm around my shoulder, and sighs. “Skyla, why do you let them treat you like that? You know you could wipe the floor with them. So why are you holding back?” I don’t answer her. Instead, I pull my books from my locker and say with a tired breath, “Let’s just go to class.” At least Alexia and I have every class together. That’s a win. My brother’s best friend Tristan—soon to be Beta—and his future Gamma Paxton are in my first few periods too. They always keep a close eye out for trouble and report back to Sebastian if anything happens, which keeps things fairly uneventful. It’s the only part of my day I can actually breathe without having to be on guard. Then the bell rings—lunchtime. Oh joy. Time to reunite with all my beloved peers at Blue Moon High. (Can you hear the sarcasm?) Right on cue, the fat jokes start rolling in. I brace myself. “Just ignore it, Skyla. You know none of it’s true,” I remind myself. And I do know it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. What cuts deepest isn’t the cruelty from strangers—it’s the betrayal from my own sister. She laughs with them. Every. Single. Time. Alexia and I walk into the lunch room. "Alexia, why are you hanging with that l0ser?" "Hey biggie, you should skip lunch." "Alexia, sit over here with us and let the loser eat alone." Everyone is pointing and laughing. My eyes tear up but I won't give them the satisfaction of letting one fall. Suddenly, I'm no longer hungry and turn and run out only to run straight into someone landing straight on my ass. "Watch where you're going, frog!" Cassian shouts as he kicks me in the side. "I feel sorry for whoever will be tied to you as a mate. He's probably going to reject your pathetic ass as soon as he lays eyes on you. After all, who would want a weak, pathetic, fat four eyed frog as a mate. I bet you will be alone for the rest of your miserable life. Look at how you dress. Who would want to be seen with you?" Cassian continued to shout at me and then finally, he walked off after kicking me in the face. I know that will leave a nasty bruise. I stayed there for a moment wondering why people could be so cruel. Sebastian walks in and sees me lying in the hallway floor crying. He sits beside me and wraps his arm around me screaming, "Who did this to you Skyla?" Tristan and Paxton walk up and they are just as mad as Sebastian because they see me as their little sister as well. I don't answer. I just lean into Sebastian and cry. "Skyla, answer me, darn it! Who did this to you?" I cry even harder. He kisses me on my forehead and said, "I will leave it alone for now but if I find out who it is, they have a beat down coming!" I just mind linked my Mom and told her I didn't feel well and wanted to come home. My Dad is at the school in a meeting with the Superintendent about some rogue sightings at the edge of the woods closest to the school but I didn't want him to see me like this because it would be a lot to pay and I much as I hate Cassian, I didn't want him to die today if my Sebastian or my Dad found out. My Dad, is an Alpha that you don't want to mess with. Get your neck twisted if you tried. My Dad does not play about his princess. Yes, I'm a Daddy's girl in case you haven't figured that out yet. Mom told me I can come home; so, I'm out of this nightmare. Maybe she will let me skip the shifting night tomorrow night. Alpha Orion, Luna Jocelyn, Cassian, Alexia, his future Beta, Yale and future Gamma, Beckett will all be staying in our pack to help prepare for the shifting night. FML.....Why can't they have their own shifting night at the Bloodmoon Pack? Selene’s POV I’m sitting on Cassian’s lap in the middle of the cafeteria, my tongue halfway down his throat, when I spot my sister walking in—with his twin, Alexia. Without thinking, I start hurling insults at her. The whole table bursts into laughter. I know it’s cruel. I know she’s my sister. But I don’t care. Honestly, she deserves it. Dad treats her like she hung the moon. His little perfect princess. Sure, Skyla’s got the straight A’s, she follows all the rules, and does exactly what he asks—but still. I’m his daughter too. And what do I get? They handed Sebastian and Skyla brand-new cars as early birthday gifts. And me? I’ve wrecked four, and now I have to ride to school with her—just because Dad refuses to buy me another one. We’re rich. He could buy me one with zero effort. But no. He said if I want a new car, I can work part-time at his company like they do and earn the money myself. Absolutely not. Why should I slave away like some lowly pack pup when I know exactly what my future holds? I’m going to be the Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack—Cassian’s Luna. Their family’s just as wealthy as ours, and once we’re mated, I’ll never have to lift a finger. Skyla ran out of the lunchroom crying, just like I knew she would. She won’t say a word. I made sure she knows what’ll happen if she does. If she even thinks about telling anyone, I’ll make her life a living nightmare. More than it already is. Tonight’s the shift. Our eighteenth birthday. According to legend, one of us is destined to become the Golden Wolf—a powerful being blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. And I know it’s me. It has to be. Once I shift and it's revealed, everyone will see that I’m meant for greatness. Cassian and I will be unstoppable. The ultimate power couple. Skyla? Please. She’s weak. Soft. Pathetic. She couldn’t handle power if it begged her. Sebastian? He’s too gentle. Always fussing over Skyla, checking in on her like she’s some fragile little bird. Maybe that softness will make him a decent Alpha someday. He is a good big brother, I’ll give him that. Still... I can’t pretend I don’t feel the sting when I see how close he and Mom and Dad are with Skyla. But none of that will matter. Not after tonight. Not when I shift and the truth comes out. They’ll all see. They’ll finally see me. Just wait until they see me as the Golden Wolf. Luna Camilla’s POV It’s hard to believe the triplets are turning eighteen tomorrow. Feels like just yesterday when my mate and his father—who was still Alpha at the time—came to my old pack, the Silvermoon Pack, to formalize an alliance. Back then, I was just the Beta’s 19-year-old daughter, and Dorian Bellamy was a striking 21-year-old future Alpha. The moment our eyes met, we knew—we were mates. I couldn’t believe this tall, gorgeous, caramel-skinned man was mine. That night, while the rest of the pack slept, he snuck into my room. We kept doing it until sunrise. But the next morning, he shattered everything. He stood in front of me and said, "I, Dorian Bellamy, future Alpha of the Bluemoon Pack, reject you, Camilla Monroe, to be my mate and future Luna." I accepted his rejection with my head held high, refusing to let him see how deeply he’d broken me. What neither of us knew then was that he wasn’t just walking away from me… He was walking away from three lives growing inside me. Halfway through my pregnancy, the Bluemoon Pack held a ceremony to celebrate Dorian’s ascension as Alpha. My family was expected to attend. Though my parents already knew I was carrying a child, I begged them to let me handle things on my own. I told them if they didn’t, I’d run away. They respected my wishes and stood by me. As I was unpacking in one of the guest rooms at Bluemoon, Dorian barged in, fury in his eyes. He grabbed my arm roughly and growled, "You let another man touch what’s mine?" I yanked my arm away. “You don’t get to say that,” I snapped. “You gave up your claim on me the day you rejected me.” His voice dropped, and the golden hue overtook his eyes—his wolf had taken over. "Whose child is that, Camilla?" he growled. But I wasn’t scared—I was just as furious. Locking eyes with him, I said, “You’re the only man I’ve ever been with—if I can even call you that. You’re the sperm d0nor of my three babies. You rejected me, and that means you rejected them too. And you’ll stay far away from us.” Something in him snapped at those words. A single tear slid down his cheek before he leapt out the window, shifting mid-air into his powerful jet-black wolf, and vanished into the woods. As I prepare for my former pack to arrive for the party, all those memories come flooding back. It wasn’t easy for Dorian to win me back after what he did. But over time, I forgave him. We married before the babies were born—something not required in the wolf world, but Dorian wanted everyone to know I was his chosen mate, both in our realm and in the human one. And so, eighteen years ago, I officially became Luna of the Bluemoon Pack. And even after everything... I still love that fine Alpha of mine. Skyla’s POV The Night of the Shift It was 4 a.m., and I was wide awake. I still couldn’t believe we were finally eighteen. Even though we wouldn’t shift until 11:12 p.m., I knew I’d be able to sense my mate before then. Maybe—just maybe—it would be someone from my mom’s old pack. Someone who could take me away from this place. I had everything lined up to graduate early. I’d miss my mom, dad, Breck, and Alexia, but definitely not the rest of the scumbags around here. Since there was no way I’d fall back asleep, I decided to head down to the kitchen for a snack. Oreos dipped in milk were my favorite. I threw on my oversized hoodie and matching sweats and headed downstairs. But the moment my foot hit the bottom step, I was engulfed by the most intoxicating scent I’d ever smelled. It was a blend of musk and Savage—my favorite cologne. I recognized that cologne because my brother wore it sometimes, but this scent… this wasn’t Sebastian. This was something else. Something more. I stood there, completely mesmerized, drawn in by the mouthwatering scent, wondering who it could be. Was this love at first smell? Just as I was lost in the sensation, a sharp s1ap to my face snapped me back to reality. Before I could react, a hand wrapped tightly around my throat. Sparks shot through me—just like in the stories. Then came the words I think, deep down, I’d always feared were coming. “You of all people! You're nothing but trash to me. How could the Moon Goddess screw up this badly by pairing me with someone like you? You're weak. Fat. You have no class. You're a nerd. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a pathetic she-wolf like you! I, Cassian Mercer, future Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack, reject you, Skyla Selene, as my mate and future Luna.” And that was it. Mates are supposed to be loving—gentle. What happened to the stories of love at first sight? I remembered my mom once told me how my dad had rejected her at first, but later asked for forgiveness, and he’d treated her like royalty ever since. But I would never forgive this guy. Ever. Even if he somehow did come crawling back—not that someone like him would. He’d been with Selene. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Oddly, it didn’t hurt the way everyone said rejection does. What I felt wasn’t heartbreak. It was pure, burning rage. I tore his hand off my throat, locked eyes with him, and said, “Do you honestly think I’d want to be mated to you? The guy who spent the night with my skanky sister? The guy who’s treated me like garbage from the very beginning? I, Skyla Bellamy, accept your rejection!” Then I turned and walked back up the stairs, completely satisfied with the stunned expression frozen on his face. I’d forgotten all about my snack.

The smell of grease and fried chicken filled the air. It was heavy and cloying. But to me, it smelled better than the metallic tang of blood. I sat in the corner of a McDonald’s near the university. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic table. Outside, traffic moved in a steady stream. The world was loud and alive. It was completely indifferent to the hell I had just escaped. My mind was still stuck in that rainy night. I could still hear the thunder. I could hear the roar of Alpha commands tearing through the air. I spent ten years trying to warm Daemon Blackwood's heart. I played the perfect Luna. I loved him with everything I had. In return, he slaughtered my family for another woman. Because I had refused to let him go for *her*, the Frost Pack declared war on my kin. My parents died defending a daughter who had been too blind to see the truth. I watched them fall, and then I died, unloved and replaced. I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, but they were clean. There were no scars. The wasting sickness that killed me in my past life was gone. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The date stared back at me. It was three years ago. I was back. And today was the fifth anniversary of the day Daemon Blackwood marked me. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. It dropped me right back into the middle of this farce of a marriage. But this time, I wasn't blind. "Order number forty-two!" A clear, happy voice cut through the noise. I looked up. There she was. Celeste Morrison. She wore a standard uniform and a visor over her honey-blonde hair. She looked fragile. She looked harmless. It was hard to believe this doe-eyed student was the reason for my family's destruction. In my previous life, she was the catalyst. She was the "her" Daemon destroyed the world for. Celeste walked toward my table with a tray. She smiled. It was a bright, sunny smile that reached her eyes. "Here is your order, Luna," she said. She set the tray down but didn't leave immediately. She hesitated, her fingers nervously touching her apron. "I hope you don't mind," Celeste said softly. She reached into her pocket and placed a small, warm cardboard box on my tray. "I added a warm apple pie. It’s on me." I froze. I looked up at her, confused. "Why?" Celeste blushed slightly. She looked down at her shoes, then back at me with genuine concern. "You just looked... really sad staring out that window. Like you were carrying the weight of the world. My mom always says sweets help with a bad day." Her eyes were so clear. So kind. There was no hidden agenda. She was just a girl trying to comfort a stranger. The irony was suffocating. The girl who would inadvertently destroy my life was trying to cheer me up with a pie. "Thank you," I said. My voice sounded rough. "I hope your day gets better," she said cheerfully. She gave a little wave and bounced back to the counter. I watched her go. She was light. She was pure. She was everything I wasn't anymore. I took the bag. The heat of the food seeped through the paper. It felt real. I left the restaurant and stepped into the humid afternoon usage. A black sedan waited for me at the curb. I slid into the back seat. The leather was cool and smelled of expensive polish. "Luna," Leo, the driver, said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The jeweler called. The obsidian cufflinks you ordered for tonight have been delivered to the manor." Tonight. The celebration. For five years, this date was the most important day of my year. I would spend all day preparing. I cooked meals that went cold. I dressed in silk gowns that went unseen. I did it all for a nod of acknowledgement from Daemon. "I see," I said. I turned to look out the window. Why had I done it? Why did I chase a man whose heart was cold stone? I was Violet Goldcrest. My wolf, Ember, was of Alpha blood. I had pride. Yet, I had made myself small to fit into Daemon’s life. Perfection hadn't saved my parents. Love hadn't stopped the war. The car drove up the private road toward the Blackwood Manor. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was dark stone and glass. It was impressive, but it had no warmth. I saw a massive black SUV parked near the fountain. It was Daemon’s car. He was home. It was unexpected. I walked into the living room. It was vast and cold, decorated in shades of gray. Daemon Blackwood sat on the long leather sofa. A laptop balanced on his knees. He looked rigid and commanding. He was beautiful. It was undeniable. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. His features were sharp and aristocratic. His eyes were the color of blood. He radiated the power of a dominant Alpha. He didn't look up. He never did. I remembered our mating ceremony. He had looked at me like a business deal. *“This is a partnership, Violet,”* he had said. *“Do not expect me to share my soul.”* I braced myself for the hate. I expected the urge to tear out his throat to overwhelm me. He was the man who would ruin everything. But as I looked at him, the rage didn't come. Instead, I felt a strange, hollow silence. It wasn't forgiveness. It was relief. I didn't want to destroy him. I didn't want revenge. I just wanted out. I didn't answer him with my usual polite greeting. I walked over to the armchair opposite him. I kicked off my red-soled heels. They tumbled onto the pristine floor. Then, I sank into the cushions. I tore open the paper bag. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Daemon stopped typing. I pulled out a piece of fried chicken. The golden crumbs fell onto the expensive rug. I didn't care. I took a bite. The crunch echoed in the room. Daemon finally looked up. His red eyes narrowed. He scanned me from my bare feet to the grease on my fingers. He looked confused and disgusted. "You're eating that?" he asked. "Here?" I swallowed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "I felt like it," I said flatly. "So I did." He stared at me. His brow furrowed. This wasn't the Violet he knew. The Violet he knew would be in the kitchen right now. She would be stressing over the anniversary dinner. He closed his laptop with a snap. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is this some kind of statement, Violet? If you're looking for attention, this is a pathetic way to get it." I put the chicken back in the bag. I wiped my hands on a napkin. I looked at him. I saw the arrogance. I saw the dismissal. He didn't see me as a partner. He saw me as furniture. Convenient. Silent. "Daemon," I said. My voice was steady. It didn't tremble. He raised an eyebrow. He looked bored. "I want to dissolve the mating bond," I said. "I want a formal Rejection Ceremony." The silence in the room was absolute. Daemon didn't move. He didn't look angry. He didn't look hurt. He just stared at me. Then, he laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. It was full of mockery. He shook his head. He looked at me with pity. "A Rejection Ceremony?" he repeated. He said the words like they were a joke. He picked up his laptop again. He dismissed me entirely. "Violet, stop playing games. I have a territory merger to review. Go clean yourself up. You smell like grease."

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