It was early morning when Charlotte woke up , frowning as she looked around adjusting to the faint light in the room which was unrecognizable to her .
This was not the familiar warm linen of her home, she knew as comfort, but felt and smelt like something colder—expensive, perfumed, untouched by warmth. For a moment, she thought this wasn't real and that this was another dream stitched together by exhaustion and panic , then she tried to sit up and her body obeyed slowly, as if it no longer trusted her. A sharp ache pulsed behind her eyes, and her throat burned with the memory of bitterness—of hands steadying a cup, of a voice too gentle to be kind.
'Drink', her sister had said ,her breath hitched.
"No," she whispered, the word fragile, barely real.
The room answered with silence.
It was vast—stone walls dressed in dark tapestries, windows tall enough to remind her of how small she was now. Heavy drapes framed the morning light, and everything smelled of restraint: wood polish, old money, old blood and control .
This was not her room ,this was not her life .
Her gaze fell on the mirror across the spacious room , and dread tightened her chest. She moved towards it on unsteady steps, each step a quiet rebellion against whatever fate had been decided without her consent.
The woman in the mirror looked nothing like her , but she was familiar painfully familiar .
Her hair had been braided in the style her sister favored, the one that spoke of elegance and grace . A delicate necklace rested against her collarbone—her sister's favorite. Even the pale blue gown clinging to her frame was not hers. She would never have chosen something so severe, so… final.
Her hands shook as she pressed them on the cold mirror.
"They think I'm you," she murmured.
The truth crashed into her like ice water.
They had taken her name. Her future. Her body.
She remembered reaching for her sister, trusting, always trusting and drank the tea which ruined everything for her .
She felt her whole world collapse , her head throbbed, this wasn't a dream .
Memories returning in broken shards as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes without permission, as though her body had understood the truth before her mind dared to.
The cup in her sister's hands.
The warmth of her smile.
She had trusted her.
The realization hurt worse than any betrayal she ever faced .
A sob tore free before she could stop it, small and broken, her shoulders curling inward as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, terrified someone might hear the sound of her coming undone.
"I didn't agree to this," she whispered into the silence. "I didn't…" her voice failed her .
Her knees gave out, and she slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor, her back against the mirror, as tears finally came in earnest. They fell freely now—hot, relentless—soaking into fabric that had never been hers.
She thought of her sister then.
Not the traitor she had become, but the girl she used to grew up with, who used to swear they would never hurt each other. The grief of that loss carved deeper than anger ever could.
How could you give me away? she wanted to scream. How could you watch me be taken and call it love?
A knock at the door shattered her fragile cocoon.
"Lady Scarlet" a servant called softly the name struck her like a blade.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking.
"That's not me," she whispered, tears slipping down her chin. "That's not my name."
When she didn't reply the door was forced open without her consent and in came the maids ready to prepare her for the day .
She didn't resist as they stripped her , bathed and dressed her in the finest dress and jewels but not once did she dare stare at her reflection , too afraid to face the truth .
The maids didn't bother indulging in any conversation with her maybe because they could see how broken she was to reply , thought in her mind .
The door opened, and the mansion breathed her in—expectant, uncaring. She was guided down long corridors, her sorrow swallowed by stone and candlelight, her grief made invisible beneath silk and etiquette.
Then she saw him.
The lord stood near the tall windows, his back straight, his presence heavy and final. He turned when she entered, eyes cold and distant, skimming over her as if she were already known.
Already claimed , his green flecked with a cold fire stared back at hers unyielding .
She noticed that .
He was tall_darkly dressed his presence commanding even in stillness , his dark brown hair was swept back in perfect and effortless control a stark contrast to the pale angular planes of his face , high cheekbones, sharp jawlines and lips that curved with a natural and unintentional arrogance and pride .
To say that he was handsome would be insufficient_he was clearly the storm itself , beautiful yet utterly deadly .
' Lady Alvarez ' he greeted in brief acknowledgement not curiosity, not warmth just recognition , he suspected nothing .
' My lord ' her voice came out barely above a whisper , dry and broken as she curtly bowed , he nodded .
' I see you arrived safely and well settled in, I trust you understand where you are now ' he said calmly and Charlotte felt something inside her break completely.
He didn't ask if she was holding up fine or if she was really Scarlet or if she wasn't afraid of the creatures that surrounded her including himself because she really was or if she wanted to marry him .
So this was the life she was supposed to live and accept all for her sister but what about her own life and the man she loved and was engaged to , should she just forget about it and let her sister have her way .
' I understand fully my lord ' she replied with a lowered gaze , the lord excused himself and left her alone in the hall lost in her grief .
Her throat tightened until it was hard for her to breathe.
She wanted to call out and tell him that she wasn't meant to be here but she couldn't muster the courage and even if she did would he believe her when she looked exactly like her sister.
She doubted if anyone would discover the truth soon enough to save her , and if no one did then she would have to marry under another woman's name , sleep in another woman's place , loved—or hated—for someone else's reflection.
And every night, alone in this cold mansion, she would mourn the girl she had been—
The sister who trusted blindly.
The daughter who dreamed .
The woman who was never supposed to be here but yet she were .
The marriage was arranged to end the war between the humans and werewolves, her people expected peace and the lord—this man she had never met—was expecting a wife carved from her sister's shadow.
And she was all that had arrived.
He will never see me, she realized. Only her.
She felt herself folding inward, grief pressing against her ribs until breathing hurt. She had been traded like an object, renamed like a mistake, dressed for a role she had never agreed to play.
And yet, as the lord's back turned distant she wondered with quiet terror whether surviving this lie would require her to become something colder than either of them.
Not his wife.
Not her sister.
But a woman erased—and reborn in silence.