When I opened my eyes, I nearly screamed at my reflection in the bedside mirror.
Dark circles. Huge, terrifying, monstrous ones, like someone had drawn two black holes under my eyes. I looked less like a Luna of Six Packs and more like an extra from The Walking Dead.
I hadn't slept a wink. My brain had been too busy replaying every drama I'd ever watched, whispering the same horrific prophecy: The first love always comes back. She smiles, she manipulates, and she makes the man think his wife is evil. Then, poof, divorce papers.
And me? I'd be dragged out of this mansion by my Gucci slippers, back into the cruel world where omegas laughed at me, bullies tripped me, and stray dogs barked at me like I owed them money.
Hell no.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, took the hottest shower I could stand, brushed my teeth like I was erasing poverty germs, and returned to the mirror.
And then I cursed. Loudly.
"Ophelia's ancestors, may your graves shake!"
Because despite all that effort, I still looked like a goddamn mummy corpse. Skin pale, eyes hollow, lips dry. Not even the Moon Goddess herself would recognize me as the Luna of Six Packs.
I flopped onto the bed, clutching my head. "Goddess, if this continues, I'll die before she even gets the chance to kill me with her perfect little presence."
Then an idea struck me.
I stood, pulled on my luxurious Gucci bathrobe, and knelt right there on the thick Persian rug. Clapping my hands together, I raised my voice in prayer like a desperate preacher at a midnight crusade.
"Oh, great Moon Goddess, listen to the humble cries of your abandoned daughter. If Benjamin Calvin tries to sleep with Ophelia, shrink his dick. Yes, shrink it so small her body mistakes it for a virus and rejects it! Because let me remind you, oh mighty one, he hasn't slept with me in three years of marriage. Three. Years. Do I look like a woman who's had marital bliss? No! So if he suddenly finds passion with her, I demand divine punishment!"
I slapped my chest for emphasis, eyes squeezed shut.
"And while we're at it, Goddess, blind him with my beauty. Make him transfer half his property into my name if we ever divorce. I swear, you know I never prayed until last night, and here I am again, proving I'm a changed woman. Just… save me. Please."
Silence.
Only the birds outside chirping as if mocking me.
I sighed, rose from the floor, and stomped into my closet.
Now, my closet wasn't a closet. No. It was a two-bedroom flat disguised as one. Rows of designer dresses, shelves of handbags, towers of shoes—each item screaming wealth. Wealth that could vanish the moment Ophelia smiled at Benjamin.
I walked between the racks like a general selecting weapons for battle.
I wasn't greedy for love. Not anymore. I knew better. I had never been loved in my entire life, so why start expecting it now? No, I only wanted his money, his security, the protection of his name. Love was a luxury for people who weren't abandoned at orphanages with no wolves and no family.
I ran my fingers across silk, satin, velvet, but none of them felt right. Too soft. Too sweet. I needed power. Drama. A statement that screamed: Ophelia, you may have been the past, but I am the present—and the present looks fabulous.
Finally, my eyes fell on it. A strapless green gown that clung to every curve like it was painted on my skin. Dangerous. Bold. Exactly the opposite of innocent. I paired it with a silver necklace Benjamin had bought at an auction last year—for five hundred million dollars. Yes, half a billion, just dangling on my neck like spare change.
Silver heels. Silver bag. A swipe of red lipstick, smoky eyes, and voila—I looked less like a corpse and more like a goddess rising from the ashes of despair.
I twirled in front of the mirror, my gown glittering under the lights, and smirked. "Ophelia Evans, prepare to choke."
By the time I was done, my room looked like a tornado had passed through. Clothes on the floor, shoes kicked aside, jewelry scattered like fallen soldiers. But I didn't care.
I was ready.
Benjamin had said he'd meet her today, but he hadn't told me when. Which meant one thing: I had to stay alert, like a hawk watching prey. If he slipped away, I would follow.
And I had a hunch where they'd meet. The company. Always the company.
I grabbed my bag, strutting out of the mansion like I was heading to war. The maids gawked at me, whispering, but I didn't even flinch. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. Today, I was going to plant myself in Benjamin Calvin's line of sight and remind him exactly what he stood to lose.
But deep down, as I settled into the car, nerves gnawed at me.
Because Ophelia wasn't just anyone. She was the one who kept the boys together, the heart of every circle, the shining star that everyone adored. And now that she was back, their social circle would throw her a welcome party. They'd fawn over her, worship her, remind her she was the queen of their golden age.
And me? I'd be the replacement wife, the stand-in, the impostor with a sharp tongue and no wolf.
My hands tightened on my bag until the leather squeaked.
I tilted my head back and whispered one last desperate plea.
"Oh Goddess, your humble, broke-ass daughter is begging you. Save me. Save me from poverty, save me from humiliation, save me from going back to a life where stray dogs bark at me for free. I don't need Benjamin's love—just his wallet. Please."
The driver glanced at me through the mirror, confusion written on his face, but I ignored him.
My heart pounded as the car pulled onto the busy road, the city sparkling ahead. Somewhere out there, Benjamin was preparing to meet Ophelia. And I, Myra—the wolfless omega turned Luna, survivor of bullies —was preparing for the fight of my life.
Because if the first love thought she could reclaim her throne, she was about to learn just how sharp my tongue—and my survival instinct—could be.