Chapter 1

When I arrived at the mate ceremony, Sharon Taylor, a Delta warrior from our pack, stepped out of the crowd.

"Lily, don't be nervous," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Before a Beta’s mate can officially marry him, they have to pass a test of strength by a Delta warrior. Only a strong werewolf is worthy of standing beside a Beta. Ethan asked me to go easy on you. We'll just put on a little show for the crowd."

My fated mate, Beta Ethan Miller, stood right beside her. He remained silent, his face blank.

I thought it was just a traditional formality, so I didn't think twice. I walked straight into the cleared center of the hall.

But in the next second, Sharon instantly shifted into her wolf form. With a vicious, full-force leap, she pinned me to the ground. Before I could even scream, her fangs sank deep into my throat. My vision went black, and my consciousness slipped into the dark.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. One month before the mate ceremony.

I walked straight through the pack’s main residential area and headed to the nursery gardens on the far west side.

That was where Old John lived. He was a close friend of my late father, once the strongest warrior in the pack. After retiring, he chose to spend his days as a quiet gardener.

"Uncle John," I called out.

He looked up, squinting at me for a few long seconds before recognizing me. "Little Lily? Look at you, all grown up. Looking for your dad? He's gone, sweetheart."

"I know. I'm here for you."

He put down his shears and wiped the dirt off his hands. "What’s on your mind?"

"I want you to teach me how to fight."

He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my thin arms and legs. He let out a dry chuckle. "You? You've probably never even scratched a rogue wolf."

I didn't say a word. I pulled a thick envelope of cash out of my bag and placed it on the brick ledge.

Ten thousand dollars. My entire savings from working at the pup nursery for two years.

He glanced at it but didn’t touch it. "I don't need your money, kid."

But then, I rolled up my sleeve. When he saw the deep, ugly bruises left on my arm by a drunk Ethan Miller, he went completely silent.

He stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, walked into his tool shed, and tossed a pair of old, worn-out boxing gloves at my feet.

"Be here at this exact time tomorrow. If you're late, don't bother coming back."

On the first day, he made me stand still. Then, he suddenly struck. Slaps, punches, sweeps—attacks came from every angle. I could only raise my arms in a desperate, instinctive attempt to block.

"Too slow," he grunted.

Every time a blow landed, a flash of my past life crossed my mind.

I remembered Sharon Taylor’s massive wolf form pinning me down. The feeling of her fangs tearing through my windpipe was as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

And Ethan?

Not long after my funeral, he officially mated with Sharon Taylor.

They took over my inheritance. They lived in my house.

Everyone in the pack praised Ethan Miller for being a loyal, grieving man who found love again, and they called Sharon Taylor a sweet, supportive angel.

Not a single soul asked if I, the bride murdered by her own fated mate's accomplice, deserved justice.

Thinking of this, I pushed myself up from the dirt and gestured to Old John.

"Again."

He nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes.

"Get ready."

That night, I lay on the wooden cot inside the nursery garden shed. There wasn't a single spot on my body that didn't ache.

My phone screen lit up.

A message from Ethan Miller on Snapchat.

"Babe, I just finished my shift and finally got to eat. I'm taking care of everything with the wedding planners. Just relax and get ready to be the most beautiful bride."

I stared at the word "shift," then unlocked my phone and opened Instagram.

Sharon Taylor had posted an update just three minutes ago.

It was a selfie of her trying on a wedding dress. In the background, draped over the arm of the sofa, was a dark blue Hermès tie—the exact birthday gift I had bought for Ethan Miller last month.

Her caption read: *“Only the truly cherished get the privilege of a dress fitting first.”*

I gripped my phone tight, opened Snapchat, and sent Ethan a voice note.

"Thanks, babe. You're working so hard. I trust you completely with the wedding planning."

Then, I typed out a message.

"By the way, babe, I saw a limited-edition designer wedding dress. There are only three in the world. The deposit is twenty thousand dollars. What do you think?"

"Isn't that a bit too expensive? A regular dress would look just as beautiful on you."

"But I only get married once. And didn't you promise to give me the most lavish wedding in the city?"

The other side went silent for nearly two minutes.

Finally, he replied with one word: "Okay."

A cold smirk played on my lips. I turned off the phone and rolled over to face the wall.

Oh, Ethan Miller.

In my past life, you wanted my pack inheritance, my house, and my life.

In this life, I’m going to drain you dry first.