On the night I planned to tell my husband I was pregnant, I heard him tell his commanding officer I was never his wife — I was his mission, and the mission was over.

"Asset is stable. No emotional complications. She suspects nothing."

"And when we pull the plug?" the voice on the phone asked.

"She'll be reassigned to civilian life. Standard separation protocol. She gets a pension and a thank-you letter."

Commander Ryan Hale — Navy SEAL, Silver Star recipient, the man who had carried me out of a bombed-out field hospital in Kandahar, who had proposed to me under a sky full of stars while my hands were still shaking from surgery — was sitting in our kitchen in San Diego, debriefing my disposal like I was surplus equipment.

I stood frozen in the hallway, barefoot, one hand on the wall, the other pressed against the pregnancy test in the pocket of my robe.

Eight weeks. I was eight weeks pregnant.

I had spent the whole day planning how to tell him. I'd bought tiny combat boots from a baby store downtown. I'd written "Reporting for duty — ETA 7 months" on a card tucked inside the box.

Now the box sat on the kitchen counter, three feet from the man who was scheduling my erasure.

"Timeline?" the voice asked.

"Sixty days. I'll manufacture a fight. File for divorce. She won't contest — she's too loyal."

"Clean exit. Good work, Hale."

"That's what I do, sir."

The line went dead.

I didn't breathe. I didn't move.

Four years of marriage. Four years of believing I was loved by the only man who had ever made me feel safe.

I had left the Army Medical Corps for him. Walked away from a trauma surgery fellowship at Walter Reed — the most competitive program in military medicine — because he said he wanted a life together. A home. A family.

"I've seen enough war, Nora," he'd whispered on our wedding night. "I just want you. That's the only mission that matters."

And I had believed him, because he had saved my life in Kandahar. Because when the mortar hit and the field hospital collapsed, he was the one who dug me out of the rubble with his bare hands, bleeding, screaming my name.

How do you not love a man who bled for you?

How do you ever suspect that the bleeding was part of the job?

My throat closed, but I didn't cry.

I had survived a building falling on me. I would survive this.

I stepped back silently, returned to the bedroom, and closed the door without a sound.

I pulled out my phone and opened a contact I hadn't used in four years.

Colonel Grace Nakamura. My former commanding officer at Walter Reed.

"Colonel, it's Nora. I need to come home."

The reply came in ninety seconds.

"Nora Sinclair. I've been waiting for this call for four years. How fast can you move?"

"Forty-eight hours."

"I'll have credentials and housing ready. Welcome back, Captain."

I deleted the message thread, slipped the pregnancy test back into my robe, and placed my hand flat against my stomach.

This baby was mine. Mine alone.

I heard Ryan's footsteps in the hall. I smoothed my face into the soft, trusting expression he was used to — the one he'd probably been trained to cultivate in me.

The door opened. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, that devastating half-smile.

"Hey, beautiful. You're still up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Wanted to see you."

He crossed the room and kissed my forehead. "Missed you today."

The same mouth that had just called me an "asset."

"I missed you too," I said.

He pulled me against his chest, and I let him, because I needed forty-eight more hours of his ignorance.

But as he held me, my eyes were open, dry, and already calculating my extraction.

Chapter 2

The next morning, I made Ryan his usual breakfast — black coffee, scrambled eggs, hot sauce on the side.

He sat at the table in his fatigues, scrolling his phone, not looking up.

"I've got a training rotation this week. Might be gone a few days."

"Okay. Be safe."

"Always."

He'd used the word "training" eleven times in the past month. I used to believe every one.

Now I wondered how many of those nights were spent at Coronado, filing reports about his compliant, controllable wife.

As he stood to leave, his phone buzzed on the counter. He'd left it face-up.

A message from a contact labeled "CENTCOM — OPS":

"Sinclair file updated. Separation paperwork drafted. Awaiting your green light."

Sinclair. My maiden name. In a military operations thread.

Ryan grabbed the phone before I could blink.

"Work stuff," he said easily.

"Of course." I smiled.

The second his truck pulled out of the driveway, I moved.

Forty-eight hours. I had forty-eight hours.

First, I went to his home office. The desk drawer had a combination lock — but I'd watched him open it a hundred times. He'd never bothered to shield the code because he never imagined his trusting wife would dare look.

Inside, I found it within minutes.

A classified folder stamped "OPERATION HEARTHSTONE."

My photo was clipped to the first page.

Subject: Captain Nora Sinclair, AMEDD. Status: Married (cover). Objective: Long-term domestic integration for asset monitoring and behavioral study.

I was a case study.

Our entire marriage — the proposal, the home, the Sunday morning pancakes, the whispered I-love-you's in the dark — was a psychological operation.

I flipped the page. There were quarterly assessments. Written by Ryan.

"Q3: Subject remains emotionally dependent. No signs of suspicion. Recommend continued integration."

"Q7: Subject expressed desire to return to medicine. Redirected successfully. Advised subject that domestic stability was priority. Subject complied."

Subject complied.

Every time I'd mentioned missing surgery, missing the operating room, missing the rush of saving lives — and he'd pulled me close and said "You save me every day, that's enough" — it was a documented redirection technique.

My hands shook so hard the papers rattled.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to drive to Coronado and burn his career to the ground.

But I didn't.

Instead, I photographed every page — the operation file, the quarterly assessments, the separation paperwork, the chain of command — and uploaded them to an encrypted drive.

Then I put everything back exactly as I found it.

That evening, Ryan came home early, smelling of salt air and gunpowder.

"You look tense," he said, studying me. Reading me. Like he'd been trained to.

"Just a headache. I think I'll visit my friend Dana in Portland this weekend. Girls' trip."

Something flickered behind his eyes — relief, maybe. Or operational satisfaction that I was removing myself from the house during a useful window.

"That sounds great. You deserve it."

Deserve it. Like a reward for good behavior.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about what you'd do if something happened to me? If I just... disappeared?"

He looked at me, and for half a second, something real crossed his face. Something that looked almost like fear.

Then it was gone.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Nora. I'd never let it."

He kissed my temple.

That night, I lay beside him in the dark, listening to his breathing slow into sleep.

The man next to me was a stranger. He had always been a stranger.

I had just been too in love to notice.

Thirty-six hours.

Chapter 3

My last morning in that house began like every other.

I woke at 0600, made breakfast, kissed Ryan goodbye at the door.

"Back Thursday," he said. "Training."

"I know. Good luck."

The second his truck disappeared, I began.

I had packed a single duffel the night before, hidden under the guest bed. Inside: my passport, my military credentials, the encrypted USB drive, one change of clothes, and the only photo of my mother I couldn't leave behind.

Everything else — the furniture he'd chosen, the life he'd designed, the rings — I left untouched.

I wanted him to know I hadn't taken a single thing that belonged to his operation.

Because none of it had ever been real.

At 0900, I made one final stop: his office.

I placed a single envelope on his desk, centered, impossible to miss.

Inside was a handwritten letter and one item.

"Ryan,

I found Operation Hearthstone. I've read every quarterly assessment you filed about me. I know what I was to you — a subject, an asset, a case study in compliance.

I know everything.

By the time you read this, Captain Nora Sinclair will no longer exist. Don't look for me. You were trained to find people. I was trained to survive. Let's see which training holds.

I'm returning your ring. I have no use for props from a performance.

— Nora"

Beneath the letter, I placed my wedding band.

I stared at it — the simple gold ring he'd slid onto my finger in a chapel in Monterey, the Pacific crashing behind us, my heart so full I thought it would burst.

Now it was just metal. Part of a costume.

I closed the office door and walked to the front entrance.

A black SUV was waiting at the corner — arranged by Colonel Nakamura, who had activated a military medical transfer so clean it would leave no civilian trace.

As I slid into the back seat, my phone buzzed.

Ryan's mother, Diane.

I stared at the screen. Diane had always been kind to me — Sunday dinners, birthday cards, stories about Ryan as a little boy.

Did she know? Had she always known her son's marriage was a government contract?

I declined the call.

She would find out soon enough.

The SUV pulled away, and I watched the little house with the blue shutters — the house I had planted a garden in front of, the house where I had imagined raising children — shrink in the mirror.

Four years of my life in that beautiful lie.

I turned forward and didn't look back.

At the airport, as I waited for my military transport connection, my phone buzzed one last time.

A text from an unknown number:

"Hey Nora! It's Lieutenant Keyes ? Ryan gave me your number — he said you might want to grab coffee before the unit dinner next month? I just transferred to his team and he's been SO welcoming. He talks about you constantly. You're such a lucky wife! ?"

I read it twice.

So there was a new woman in his orbit. Another "subject," perhaps. Or just a young officer who didn't know what she was walking into.

I typed back a single line:

"Ask Ryan what Operation Hearthstone is."

Then I blocked the number, powered off the phone, and boarded the transport.

Somewhere over the Rockies, I pressed my hand to my stomach and whispered to the tiny heartbeat inside me.

"It's just you and me now. And I promise you — that's more than enough."

I signed the divorce papers at my own anniversary party—while my husband slow-danced with his ex-girlfriend under chandeliers I'd chosen myself.

The pen was steady.

My mascara was not.

Three years of marriage—and I discovered I was invisible in a room of three hundred people who called me Mrs. Moretti.

I'd excused myself to the bathroom at ten. On my way back, I passed Luca's private office—door cracked open, his lawyer inside, murmuring into a phone.

"...yes, papers are drafted. He wants it finalized after tonight. Clean break. Valentina's been briefed."

I stood frozen in the hallway, champagne going flat in my hand.

Divorce papers.

Drawn up before our anniversary party even started.

I walked into that office after the lawyer left. Found the documents on the desk. Two copies. Yellow tabs marking every line where I was supposed to sign.

So I signed.

Every page. Every tab. Every clause that read Sienna Moretti née Calloway agrees to dissolve...

Then I set down the pen, returned to the ballroom, and watched my husband pull Valentina Ricci closer on the dance floor—his lips at her temple, his hand on her waist—while three hundred guests pretended not to see.

No one looked at me.

Not one person.

I picked up my clutch and slipped out the service entrance.

January air hit my face. Cold. Merciless. New York at midnight.

I pressed my hand against my stomach—still flat. Not for long.

Six weeks pregnant.

With the child of a man who'd already drafted my exit.

I hailed a cab.

"Grand Central," I told the driver.

He glanced in the rearview mirror—a woman in a twelve-thousand-dollar gown, mascara streaked, standing coatless on the curb outside a building full of Manhattan's most dangerous men.

"You okay, lady?"

"Never better."

I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I had left.

"Aunt Celeste? It's Sienna."

"Baby, it's midnight—what's wrong?"

"I need somewhere to go. Can I come to you?"

A pause. Then, softly:

"What did he do?"

And that was the question that broke me—because when someone asks what happened with genuine love in their voice, after three years of no one asking at all, something inside you just... shatters.

"He was never mine," I whispered. "I think I always knew. I just didn't want to see it."

"I'm looking up trains right now. Don't argue."

"Okay."

"And Sienna?"

"Yeah?"

"You are never going back to that family. You hear me?"

I ended the call and watched the city shimmer through my tears.

Somewhere behind me, in a ballroom full of killers and silk, my husband was waltzing with the woman he'd loved since before I existed.

And the worst part?

He hadn't noticed I'd left.

He wouldn't notice until morning—when he reached for the coffee I always made him and found only silence.

Chapter 2

I married Luca Moretti three years ago because he made me feel safe.

Ironic—given what he did for a living.

We met when his men accidentally kidnapped me.

A case of mistaken identity—they thought I was a rival's daughter. By the time Luca realized the error, I'd already broken one guard's nose with a champagne bottle and bitten another's hand.

He walked into the room, took one look at me—wild-eyed, barefoot, gripping a broken bottle—and laughed.

"Wrong girl," his lieutenant said.

"No," Luca murmured, still watching me. "I think she's exactly right."

He drove me home himself. Sent flowers the next day. Then the next. Then every day for a month until I agreed to dinner.

He was charming. Disarming. The kind of man who made you forget his surname appeared in FBI files.

And when my father was killed—a robbery that may or may not have been random—Luca held me together. Stood beside me at the funeral. Handled everything. Made the world feel survivable.

So when he proposed, I said yes.

Not for the empire. Not for the money.

Because he looked me in the eyes and said, "You'll never be alone again, Sienna. I promise."

He lied.

The loneliness started six months in, when Valentina Ricci returned from Milan.

His ex. His first love. Daughter of another powerful family—stunning, razor-sharp, fluent in four languages and the art of making me feel small.

"She's a business associate," Luca said. "Our families have history. I can't cut her off."

I nodded. Because I trusted him.

Then came the late nights at "meetings." Phone calls he took in another room. Weekends in Atlantic City I wasn't invited to.

I cooked dinner every night and ate alone at a table set for two.

Marco, his right-hand, stopped meeting my eyes. The guards at the door started looking at me with something worse than disrespect—pity.

Everyone knew before I did.

But I kept smiling. Kept hosting dinners for his associates. Kept being the perfect wife—because if I was perfect enough, maybe he'd come back to me.

He never did.

The gala was my last attempt.

Six weeks of planning. His favorite bourbon. His mother's tiramisu recipe. A live band playing the song from our first dance.

And he spent the evening with her.

At nine, I crossed the room.

"Dance with me?" I asked my husband. At his own anniversary party.

He glanced at me like I'd interrupted something important.

"In a minute, Sienna."

That minute never came.

At ten, I found the papers.

At ten fifteen, I signed them.

At ten thirty, I was gone.

Now, in the back seat of a cab heading to Grand Central, I let myself feel it—the full, crushing weight of three years spent loving a man who'd already let me go.

My phone buzzed.

A text from Luca.

"Where did you go? Valentina wants to say goodbye and you disappeared. Don't be rude."

He thought I'd stepped away to fix my makeup.

He didn't know I'd signed the papers.

He didn't know I was already gone.

And he didn't know about the baby.

Chapter 3

Aunt Celeste was waiting at the station, wrapped in a coat two sizes too big, clutching a thermos of hot chocolate like a weapon.

She was my mother's younger sister—the family's black sheep who'd refused to marry into any "connected" family and instead opened a bakery in a small Connecticut town.

When Mom died—a car accident that Luca's people insisted was just an accident—Celeste begged me to come live with her.

But I was already engaged.

"He'll take care of me," I told her.

She looked at me with knowing eyes but said nothing.

Now here I was. Twenty-five years old, wearing a designer gown, carrying everything that mattered in a clutch purse and my womb.

Celeste didn't ask questions. She drove me to her apartment above the bakery, sat me down with hot chocolate and leftover cannoli, and said:

"Eat first. Cry later."

I ate. And for the first time in months, food tasted like something other than obligation.

After I finished, she sat across from me. Waiting.

So I told her everything.

The loneliness. Valentina. The gala. The papers on his desk.

She listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from concern to controlled fury.

When I finished, she set down her mug with deliberate force.

"I'll say this once, Sienna. That man never deserved you. And if any of his people show up at my door, I own a shotgun and I know how to use it."

I almost smiled.

Then she noticed.

"Sienna... you keep touching your stomach."

I froze.

Her eyes narrowed—sharp, the way all Calloway women were sharp.

"How far along?"

I hadn't told anyone. I'd confirmed it two days before the gala—a pharmacy bathroom, shaking hands, two pink lines that changed everything.

"Six weeks," I whispered.

Celeste closed her eyes. When she opened them, they glistened.

"Does he know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"He drafted divorce papers before our anniversary party. He was going to leave me. This baby changes nothing for him."

"But does it change things for you?"

I pressed both hands to my stomach.

"Everything."

Celeste gripped my hands hard.

"Then here's what happens. You stay with me. You rest, you heal, you grow this baby. And we figure out the rest together."

Her voice cracked.

"Your mother made me promise, Sienna. She made me promise I'd protect you. And I spent three years failing because I let you walk into that family."

"You didn't fail me."

"I did. But not anymore."

That night, I lay in the small bedroom above the bakery, listening to the radiator hum and the wind rattle the windows.

For the first time in three years, silence felt like peace instead of punishment.

No waiting for footsteps. No checking my phone. No rehearsing smiles.

Just warmth. Just quiet. Just the faint smell of bread dough rising downstairs.

My phone lit up.

Luca. Seventeen missed calls.

And one text:

"Sienna. Why the fuck are your closets empty? Why are the papers signed? Where are you? Call me. NOW."

He'd noticed my clothes before he noticed me.

I stared at the screen for ten seconds.

Then I blocked his number and turned off the phone.

Chapter 1 

Reborn as the long-lost Rogers heir, missing for fifteen years, I avoided every chance to bond with my two brothers in this family. 

When they decided to let my adopted sister, Vivi, take over the family's legitimate businesses, I applied for a top medical research program in Europe. 

When they planned a lavish debut for Vivi, formally introducing her to the other major families, I volunteered for a closed-door medical training camp. 

They encouraged Vivi to pursue her own happiness, while I was expected to marry a drug addict for the so-called honor of the family.

I refused them on the spot. 

This was all because in my past life, I had spent my entire life desperate for my brothers! approval, only to end up despised by everyone for it. 

When I died in the crossfire of a gangland shootout, my own son pushed my body away in disgust. 

"Mom, did you really waste your whole life on such a petty fight with Aunt Vivi? Dying for the family would have been a more dignified end. At least then you wouldn't have disgraced our name." 

I left this world filled with resentment, only to open my eyes and find myself back at the moment I first set foot in the Rogers estate. 

This time, I'm done fighting. 

The power, the name, the honor. I'm letting them have it all. 

The confirmation glowed on my screen: " Application Submitted." 

I stared at the words for a moment before calmly closing the page. No one knew that this was the second time I had stood at this crossroads of fate.

In my past life, to please my eldest brother Bryan, the Don of the Family, I had torn up that acceptance letter. 

I forced myself to stay in New York, begging for a chance to learn the family business. 

All so I could follow their dinner table conversations about territory disputes, laundering money, and arms deals. 

After all, as the youngest Rogers daughter, lost for fifteen years in a gang war and raised in the countryside, they had looked down on me since the day I returned. 

I thought if I could just become "useful" enough, I could become a true Rogers.

But in the end, they never gave me a second glance. 

So this time, I spoke up before they could even suggest letting Vivi take over the family businesses. 

"Brothers, I've applied for a medical research program in Europe. As for the family business, you can hand it over to Vivi." 

At the head of the long table, my eldest brother, Bryan, who was cutting into a bloody, rare steak, stopped abruptly. 

He set down his fork, his brow furrowed. My second brother, Fred, sat to his left, pouring Vivi some juice. He looked at me, confused. 

"Helena, this is no time for jokes.Haven't you always wanted to be groomed for the family business?" 

I had been back in this home for nearly half a month. They all treated me like a country bumpkin, never letting me participate in their high-stakes business negotiations. No one had ever even offered me the chance to be trained in the family business. 

"I've already spoken to the Thomson family," Bryan said, not looking at me this time. 

"Helena, you'll accompany Vivi to the charity gala next week. Learn some etiquette.

Isn't that what you've always wanted?" 

Apparently, they failed to realize that this was a highly classified, closed-door project located thousands of miles away. 

It required total isolation, which means once I left, I wouldn't be seeing any of them for a very long time. In my last life, I had eagerly accepted Bryan's arrangement for the charity gala. 

Not only because I thought it was a sign of my brothers' trust, but also because I'd heard that the Thomson family's younger son, Johnathan, would be there. 

And I had been secretly in love with him for a long time.

I put on my most beautiful dress, meticulously prepared myself, and went to the ball, only to be met with the sight of Vivi and Johnathan dancing together. 

Vivi pushed me toward Johnathan's older brother, Marc, the Thomson family's notorious junkie. 

Marc used the threat of our families! alliance to force me to marry him, and what awaited me was decades of a miserable, torturous marriage. 

Only then did I realize that Vivi had orchestrated the whole thing. This time, I wasn't going to walk into that trap. 

"Thank you, Bryan, but I won't be going this time.

I pulled out a chair and sat down, my voice quiet. Bryan's knife scraped across the plate with a piercing shriek. He finally lifted his eyes and glared at me. 

"What did you say?" 

"T shouldn't risk the family's reputation at such an important event." 

"I've applied to the medical school at the University of Zurich. I leave next month." I met his gaze and repeated myself, forcing a smile.

"Medicine? In Europe?" 

Bryan put down his knife and scoffed, as if he'd just heard the most absurd joke. "The women of the Rogers family don't study medicine just to change bedpans.

Do you have any idea what a rare opportunity this gala is?" 

Vivi, who had been silent, suddenly let out a soft sigh. 

"Helena, I know you've just come back and might not be used to the family's rules." 

"Bryan just wants you to become part of the family, to truly become one of us. If you don't feel ready yet, I can help you." 

There it was again. In my past life, she used this same understanding act to push me into the abyss, making me look like an ungrateful country girl. 

But this time, I wouldn't fall into that trap again.

"T won't cause any trouble for you all," I said, lowering my head, my voice devoid of emotion." The application has been submitted. It can't be changed." Bryan didn't say anything more, just let out a cold laugh. 

"Helena, this is a one-time opportunity. Don't come to regret this." 

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Fred grabbed the glass of golden-orange juice from beside Vivi and handed it to me. 

"Alright, alright, let's eat first. Here, Helena, have some juice. These are the best mangoes, flown in just for us." 

I stared at the thick mango juice. I'm severely allergic to mangoes.

I had mentioned this on my very first day back. 

But in this house, no one remembered, or rather, no one bothered to remember. Because Vivi loved mangoes, they were a permanent fixture on the dining table. 

I didn't take the juice. I stood up and went straight to my room. 

Back in my room, I opened my calendar: 30 days until Zurich. I picked up a red marker and drew a heavy, crimson X over today's date. Every day, I was one step closer to freedom, and to being myself. 

I looked around the room. Every piece of furniture was priceless, yet it felt as cold as an exquisite cage.

To me, it couldn't compare to my adoptive parents 'small, simple cottage, a place that had been filled with warmth. In my past life, I spent fifteen years in this place, begging like a dog. 

I tried to wash the country dirt off of me, learning the etiquette of high society, giving up my beloved field of study, even my own marriage. 

All of it, just for a sliver of warmth from my " family." 

But what did I get in the end? It was Bryan, waving his hand impatiently. 

" Helena, besides your blood, what about you is a Rogers?" It was Fred, playing the peacemaker with his empty words.

"Don, don't blame our sister. She just cares about us too much." 

It was my husband, his hands around my neck. " You're just a piece of scrap the Rogers family threw out." 

The suffocating feeling of my heart stopping in that moment still catches in my throat. Your criminal empire, your picture-perfect family act, your noble bloodline. I want none of it. I just want to live my own life. 

A clean one.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

The next morning, when I came downstairs, the living room was humming with activity. 

Vivi was in the center of the leather sofa, her arm linked affectionately through Fred's as she leaned on his shoulder, showing him several gold- embossed invitation samples. 

"I want champagne-colored ribbons, Fred. White is too plain. After all, this is my official debut as a member of the Rogers family." 

Vivi's voice was as sweet and cloying as ever. 

"No problem, my little princess. Anything you want." Fred smiled and ruffled her hair, his eyes filled with adoration.

"Vivi is at the right age for a formal debut. It's time the other powerful families got to know the jewel of our family," Bryan said, leaning back on the sofa. 

Though his tone was restrained, his eyes were full of approval as he looked at Vivi. "We'll use this opportunity to make all five families remember your name." 

The three of them looked as intimate as a perfect portrait of a powerful family, and I was the outsider who had mistakenly wandered into the frame. In my past life, I had longed for this coming-of- age party.

I wanted to wear a beautiful dress, walk with my brothers on my arm, and proudly tell everyone that I was a daughter of the Rogers family. 

I had even given up a precious opportunity to attend an international academic conference for that debut, naively thinking I could finally be one of them. 

The result, however, was that the dance Vivi had supposedly taught me, which I had practiced for a month, turned out to be a set of vulgar moves fit for a strip club.

She, dressed in a million-dollar custom gown from Bryan, danced with the Moretti family heir in the center of the ballroom, looking like a white swan. 

And I, in an ill-fitting, out-of-season dress, shrank in a corner. While Vivi accepted everyone's praise in the middle of the dance floor, the high-society ladies whispered about me. "Look, that's the wild child the Rogers found.

The way she holds her wine glass, she looks like a waitress.

No wonder she can't even manage a proper ballroom dance." Bryan refused to listen to any of my explanations, convinced that I had brought utter shame upon the family. He locked me in the basement for three whole days. I was made a complete fool. 

"Helena?" Fred was the first to notice me. 

He waved me over. 

"Perfect timing, come here." 

I walked over and sat down obediently, but kept my distance. 

Fred pointed to a dark-colored gown on a screen. 

" Helena, there's something I need to discuss with you. Vivi's coming-of-age ball is next week. Could you let Vivi wear that diamond necklace?" 

"Just to borrow it for one night. We'll return it to you right after the ball." 

This necklace was the exclusive symbol of the Rogers family's principessa. 

There was only one. Whoever wore it was the family's most honored daughter. "Of course. I'll take the necklace to Vivi's room later," I answered crisply, without a moment's hesitation. 

Fred froze, seemingly surprised by my quick agreement. 

"Well, in that case, I'll buy you a new one later. It would go well with that red dress of yours." "There's no need.nMy medical program has a mandatory training session that day." 

Bryan, who had been in the middle of signing a document, stopped, his hand hovering in mid-air. 

He slowly looked at me. 

"Are you saying you're not going?" 

"It's the same day as a training session for one of my medical projects. It's a scheduling conflict. You all should focus on preparing for Vivi's important debut," I said calmly, playing the part of an exceedingly understanding sister. 

After all, in my last life, I was put under house arrest for refusing to lend the necklace and never even made it to the party.

He had pointed at me back then, his eyes burning with fury. 

"Helena, you know how important this day is for Vivi. Do you have to cause trouble for me right now?"

"How can you be so petty?" 

At that time, Vivi had walked over to Bryan, patting his back gently. 

"Bryan, don't be angry..." "After all, with my sister's upbringing... she probably hasn't seen anything this grand before. She doesn't know the rules. We just need to be patient." 

Her voice was soft, but every word was a needle. Another act from the kind, understanding girl.

That's why in their hearts, she was always the perfect, understanding angel. And now, I just wanted to escape this suffocating place as fast as I could. 

Never mind a necklace; she could have whatever she wanted. Hearing me agree to lend the necklace without a fight, Vivi looked at me, beaming. 

"Thank you, Helena. I'll take very good care of it. I'll return it to you right after the ball." 

"You can keep it. It suits you better than me," I said, shrugging as if it meant nothing. 

''Besides, I won't have any use for it.

" Hearing this, Bryan nodded in satisfaction.

" Helena, you're finally coming to your senses." 

"Once you learn the ways of our world, I'll throwa debut ball just for you." 

"Once you... then I'll..." I had heard promises like that too many times to count, but not a single one was ever kept. 

Vivi's requests, even for something as simple as a handmade loaf of bread from the next block over, were always taken to heart by Bryan and Fred. 

Although I no longer expected anything from them, the thought that my own brothers, who shared my blood, treated me like a complete stranger still sent a sharp pang through my heart.

It wasn't always like this. 

But after Vivi's relentless smearing and constant attempts to drive a wedge between us, everything changed. 

The warmth they welcomed me with on that first day has faded so much I've nearly forgotten what it felt like.

Worried they might continue this hollow courtesy with me, I turned and went back to my room, dragging the small, worn-out suitcase from the depths of my closet. 

My belongings were few. In this fortress of a mansion, the traces of my existence were negligible. I hadn't touched the designer gowns in the closet.

Fred had the housekeeper buy them, but they were all in Vivi's size. But inside this suitcase were the few simple clothes and a precious photo album I had brought from my adoptive parents' home. 

It was the only family portrait I had with them. In the photo, my adoptive father wore oil-stained work clothes, my adoptive mother a coarse apron. 

They held an eight-year-old me, their smiles so radiant. The background was that old house, cold in the winter and hot in the summer, yet it was a million times warmer than this priceless estate.

My fingers gently caressed the faces of my adoptive parents in the photo. 

That was my home.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

My eyes began to sting. My mind filled with memories of sunlight in the countryside and the smell of chopped onions. 

I was lost at the age of five during a family shootout. It was my adoptive parents who saved me and took me in. 

They gave me fifteen years of a normal life, pulling me out of hell and back into the world of the living. 

But sadly, they passed away in a car accident at the beginning of this year. My brothers only found me because they saw me in a news report about the accident.

Only after I was brought back did I learn that my birth parents had died years ago in a mob hit, leaving behind a vast empire and two young heirs. 

They'd adopted Vivi because her father, a loyal consigliere to my parents, had also died in a hail of bullets while protecting my father. 

I carefully placed the photo album at the very bottom of my suitcase. 

I took out my bank card. It held the insurance compensation my adoptive parents left me, plus the money I had saved from scholarships and part -time jobs over the past two years.

The amount wasn't large, but it was enough to rent a small studio in Switzerland, buy secondhand books, and live on cheap bread. 

I had no intention of spending a single blood- soaked penny of the Rogers' money. At dinner, the atmosphere in the dining room was unusually relaxed. 

Exquisite Italian risotto was served, and for the first time, a place had been set for me near the head of the table. 

Fred was excitedly talking about what kind of delicacies to prepare for the coming-of-age party. Vivi played along, occasionally trying to draw me into their carefully orchestrated conversation.

"Helena, I heard the security situation in Zurich isn't great lately. Are you sure you want to go?" 

Vivi put down her fork, her brow slightly furrowed. 

"Living all by yourself, without even a bodyguard, what if you run into trouble? Why don't you let our brothers arrange for a few men to watch over you?" 

"No need."

"But the food there is so plain, mostly cold dishes. Your stomach..."

"I'll get used to it." 

No matter what hidden barbs she threw, I responded with the shortest possible answers. 

The smile on Fred's face finally faltered. He put down his knife and sighed.

"Helena, do you have to have this attitude with Vivi? She's just concerned about you." I looked up at them and said nothing. No matter how I explained it, it would end up being my fault anyway. I couldn't be bothered to waste my breath. 

But either my silence or Vivi's hurt expression seemed to provoke Bryan. He let out a cold laugh, slamming his wine glass down on the table. The dark red liquid splashed onto the white tablecloth.

"Have you no manners?" 

In my past life, every time I showed the slightest dissatisfaction or grievance, it always ended with me being the one who was thoughtless, the one without manners. I never thought that now, even my silence was a mistake. 

Bryan spoke. 

"Helena, has being a Rogers been so awful? Are you that desperate to leave, to wash your hands of us?" Yes, to wash away this blood. That was exactly what I wanted to do. But I still met my Don's gaze calmly.

"Medicine is about saving people, Bryan." 

"Didn't Grandma go to church every morning to pray for someone in the family to one day walk in the sunlight?" 

I was simply too tired to argue with them. And bringing up our deceased grandmother was the only weapon I had to shut Bryan up. 

Sure enough, Bryan was choked by my words, momentarily speechless. Fred coughed awkwardly, once again playing the peacemaker. 

"Bryan... Helena has a point. 

" Grandma did... "Besides, we haven't lived together for over a decade. Give her some time." I was so tired of this scene repeating itself.

I stood up, claiming I was full, and went to my room. In the past, I would never have dared to be the first to leave the dinner table. 

I was terrified of my brothers thinking I lacked manners and breeding. But now, I had found my path. 

I no longer cared what people I was leaving behind thought of me. 

I locked my door. It felt like the first step in severing my connection to this world. I opened my laptop and started searching for information on the medical school in Zurich, as well as local apartment rentals. 

Since I was leaving, I had to disappear completely from their surveillance.

I had no intention of living in a dorm. After finishing my search, I crossed off another day on the calendar: 29 days to go. 

But when you're planning an escape from hell, time always seems to crawl by. 

At least I had survived another day.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

For the next few days, I did my best to be invisible around the estate. 

They were busy with Vivi's debut, and no one had time for me anymore. 

My brothers even gave Vivi a custom Beretta engraved with the family crest as a gift to mark her coming of age. I saw it by chance when the gun was delivered. 

The black gun was engraved with the intricate Rogers family crest, glinting coldly under the light. 

When Bryan handed the gift to Vivi, his voice held arare trace of warmth.

"Welcome to the family business, Vivi." 

Vivi excitedly picked up the gun and expertly racked the slide with a crisp metallic click. 

A glint of ruthlessness flashed in her eyes, a stark contrast to her usual wide-eyed innocent act. 

Fred stood by, clapping, but then he turned and saw me in the doorway. 

His smile froze. His gaze flickered, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

"Helena... if you like, I can take you to the shooting range sometime. We can pick a suitable one for you, too. For self-defense." 

I glanced at the gun and cut him off. 

"I wouldn't know how to use a thing like that. It would be wasted on me." 

In my past life, I had desperately wanted a gun engraved with the family crest as proof that I truly belonged. 

Now, however, I avoided it like the plague. 

Fred visibly relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

"Then we'll pick another gift for you next time." They would never remember any occasion related to me anyway, and besides, there would be no next time. I would be gone soon. I spent my days at the library, from morning until night. 

Occasionally, when passing by one of the family's business fronts, I would run into my brother’s soldiers. 

They would call me "Principessa," their voices respectful, but their eyes held a hint of pity or disdain. 

I knew it. In this family, I was the outsider who had barged in, while Vivi was the treasured jewel. 

My presence was just proof of the Rogers family's benevolence, a sign that they wouldn't cast out their own long-lost blood. 

The remaining 28 days felt like an eternity, but finally, the day of my departure arrived. The armored vehicle from the confidential medical program was already on its way to pick me up. 

That night, the rain was torrential.

When I was just about to going downstairs, Vivi, who was just coming in. She was dressed in a black training uniform, still holding spent shell casings from her practice. 

Bryan and Fred were gathered around her. 

"Your stance is perfect," Bryan said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. 

"Tomorrow, I'll have Marco teach you some advanced techniques." "Vivi is really talented," Fred chimed in.

"She's even faster than I was when I first learned." 

Even though I no longer cared for these so-called family members, I was still surprised that Bryan and Fred were personally teaching her to shoot. 

After all, in my past life, they had just thrown me to a couple of the family's Capos. I had been so terrified by their rough methods at the range that I broke out in a cold sweat. 

In the end, I couldn't fire a single shot. Back then, Bryan had called me a coward, saying my upbringing outside the family had left me soft. 

I waited until the grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times.

The heavy rain outside was my best cover. 

I dragged my heavy suitcase down the spiral staircase, step by careful step. 

I held my breath, praying they were all in the east wing celebrating Vivi's shooting lesson. 

But luck was not on my side. Just as I reached the bottom step, the heavy oak doors to the drawing room swung open. 

"Helena?" It was Fred. He had just walked out, holding a bottle of decanted wine, with Bryan and Vivi trailing behind him. 

They were laughing about something, until they saw me. I froze in the shadows of the staircase, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"What are you doing?" 

Fred frowned, his eyes dropping to the suitcase by my feet. "Where are you going with that at this hour?" The atmosphere instantly tensed. 

Bryan stopped wiping his glasses and looked up. My mind raced. I couldn't let them know I was leaving for good. 

If they knew, they might stop me out of some twisted sense of family pride, or worse, make a scene that would cause me to miss the vehicle. 

I forced my tense muscles to relax and arranged my features into a look of annoyance. "The latch on this old thing is broken," I lied, kicking the suitcase lightly.

"I was going to take it to the service quarters to see if the handyman could fix it. I... wanted to use it for storage." 

Bryan took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. 

" Now?" he asked, a sharp edge to his voice. 

"You're acting strange, Helena. Open it." 

Panic flared in my chest. If he opened it, the game 'was over. 

My mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do, when suddenly, a sharp cry pierced the tension. Vivi, who had been standing behind Bryan, stumbled and clutched her right shoulder. Her face was pale with pain. 

"It hurts, Bryan... the recoil from the gun earlier...I think I might have pulled a muscle." 

Tears instantly welled in her large, innocent eyes. Bryan's suspicion of me evaporated in an instant. 

He immediately turned to support Vivi, "Let me see. I told you the caliber was too high for a beginner. Fred, get an ice pack! Now!" 

"On it!" 

Fred dropped his interrogation of me and rushed toward the kitchen. 

"It really hurts..."

Vivi sobbed into Bryan's chest. No one looked at me anymore. I was invisible again.

Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I shot one last look at the chaotic scene of them fussing over her and slipped out the side door into the pouring rain. 

As the cold wind hit my face, a thought crossed my mind: for the first time in two lifetimes, I actually had a reason to thank Vivi for her desperate need for attention. 

I didn't look back. Inside the warm, brightly lit living room, the chaos had subsided. Vivi sat on the sofa with an ice pack on her shoulder, sipping hot cocoa. 

Bryan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the storm rage outside.

Through the curtain of rain, a pair of blinding headlights cut through the darkness. A matte- black armored vehicle was slowly pulling out of the estate's gates. 

It had no license plates, only a small, specialized insignia on the door. "Look at that," Fred said, "That's a Ghost-class armored transport, bulletproof and bombproof. You usually only see those transporting high- value assets for international intelligence agencies or top-tier classified research." 

Bryan took a sip of his drink, nodding slightly. 

" Whoever is in that car is untouchable. Once those doors lock, not even the Five Families can get to them." 

"Must be nice," Fred chuckled, watching the red taillights fade into the stormy night. 

"To be that important. I wonder which lucky VIP was passing through our territory? We didn't get any intel."

"Tt doesn't matter. Whoever it is, they're completely out of our reach now," Bryan said, turning away from the window. 

"Focus on Vivi's debut. That's what matters." 

Just then, the old butler, Alfred, walked in to collect the empty wine bottle. "Alfred," Fred asked casually, "Did we have a guest leaving? We saw the vehicle." Alfred paused, looking confused. 

"A guest? No, sir. That was the transport for a confidential medical program with the University of Zurich." 

He adjusted his glasses and looked at the two brothers, who had frozen. 

"I just saw Principessa Helena get into it. Didn't she say goodbye to you?"

Chapter 1

I spent five years as Cain Blackwell's most loyal enforcer-his Beta, his shadow, the she-wolf who kept his borders clean while he slept easy. And five years warming his bed in the den no one knew I had a key to.

On the night of the Blood Moon Gala, his ex sent me a photo. Her nails tracing his back. His back. The same back I'd kissed that morning.

Captioned: Some things never change. ?

That's when I understood. Every tender thing he'd ever done to me in the dark-she'd taught him first.

So I photographed the territorial charter I'd been sitting on for three months-the one that transferred the entire Western Range to me-and sent it back.

Enjoy him. I just took half his hunting grounds.

Then I packed one bag and drove north.

Ironhollow was already mine on paper. Now I'd make it mine in blood.

"You've been his shadow long enough, Mara."

Elder Aldric leaned back in his chair, the fireplace throwing amber light across the study walls. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Ravenhold skyline-a territory the Voss pack had bled for across three generations of alphas.

He slid a folder across the mahogany desk. I didn't touch it.

"The Western Range needs someone with teeth," he continued. "The Salazar wolves have been pushing into Thorngate. The River Triads want a corridor through the northern pass. I need a pack boss out there, not a diplomat." He tapped the folder. "I need you."