Paris smelled like sugar and rain. Joyful and depressing.
I didn't realize how much I loved that until my mother's voice cut through it like a blade.
"I booked your flight," she said without preamble. "You leave this morning."
I stared at my phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim kitchen of my apartment. Half-packed macaron boxes sat on the counter, pastel ribbons trailing like forgotten streamers after a party.
"For when?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
"Six a.m."
I glanced at the clock.
It was midnight.
"Mother," I said carefully, "that's in six hours."
"Yes. You'll need to hurry."
Just like that.
No explanation. No concern. No question about whether I wanted to come home.
My stomach twisted. "Did something happen? Is Father all right? Is Elias—" I stopped myself. Wrong name. Wrong life.
"Everyone is fine," she replied briskly. "We simply need you here. Immediately."
I closed my eyes.
The e-ticket arrived before the call ended.
Afterward, I sat there for a long time, the city lights bleeding through the window, my reflection staring back at me like a stranger. I had a lease. A job. Friends who would be waiting for me at breakfast in a few hours.
A life.
And yet, none of that mattered.
By dawn, Paris was gone.
*
Home hadn't changed.
The Silverfall Pack House loomed exactly as it had ten years ago—marble floors polished to a blinding sheen, chandeliers glittering like frozen stars, wolves moving through the halls with practiced grace and carefully measured smiles.
Everything was beautiful.
Everything was suffocating.
My father embraced me briefly, hands firm on my shoulders as he inspected me like an investment that had matured well.
"You've grown," he said approvingly. "You're beautiful."
"Thank you, Father."
"Have you found your mate?"
The question landed like a stone in my chest.
"No."
"Good."
His smile widened before he turned away.
That should have warned me.
Mother took over immediately, listing schedules and plans in her soft, relentless voice—spa treatments, teas, fittings, a welcome party. My jet lag was dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"You'll rest later," she said. "Appearances first."
In my old room, pastel walls and childhood memories closed in around me. Everything was untouched. Preserved. Like I'd never really left.
I sat on the bed and stared at my suitcase.
I had traded freedom for silk sheets and silent expectations.
I didn't know yet that worse was coming.
*
The party was two days later.
Music spilled through the packhouse, laughter echoing off marble and glass. I smiled until my cheeks ached, shaking hands with wolves who knew my name but nothing about me.
Then the scent hit me.
Warm. Wild. Familiar in a way that made my knees weaken.
My wolf surged awake, a sharp, breathless cry filling my mind.
Mate.
The word reverberated through my bones.
I didn't think. I followed.
Past the crowd. Out onto the terrace. Into the garden where moonlight painted silver over green.
He stood there like he'd been waiting.
Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Eyes the color of dusk. Power coiled beneath his skin—not Alpha power, not the kind my father prized—but something deeper. Steadier.
The moment our eyes met, the world narrowed.
He reached for my hand.
The spark nearly brought me to my knees.
"I'm Elara," I whispered, breathless.
"Jonah," he said softly.
We didn't speak much after that. We didn't need to. The bond sang between us, bright and undeniable.
Until reality crashed in.
"I clean the training grounds," he said quietly when I asked about his duties.
An Omega.
The word hollowed me out.
My heart screamed one thing. My upbringing another.
I saw my future unravel in an instant—my parents' fury, his punishment, the destruction of us both.
And so I did the unthinkable.
"I reject you," I said, my voice shaking.
The bond tore.
His eyes shattered.
And something inside me died with it.
I fled before I could change my mind.
Before I could beg him to forgive me.
I told myself it was mercy.
I would spend the rest of my life learning how wrong I was.