Chapter 2

Ella’s Point of View

The curtain pulls open again. Karen and Seraphina step behind the altar. Seraphina kneels by the guillotine, pouring magic into the crystal, desperate to erase its footage. But once it touches real blood, the sacred crystal locks its recording permanently.

“Karen, look!” she forces a laugh, pretending to edit illusions. “See how wildly Ella reacts? The clan will love this.”

Karen ignores the crystal. He goes to my body and lifts my cold hand onto my lap. The fated‑mate spark he expects never comes. A flicker of unease crosses his face, then he smothers it. Cursed silver has chilled my whole body; he mistakes my cold skin for nervous sweat.

My wolf‑spirit hovers before his face, screaming silently for him to notice my wounds. But my body sits motionless. My black lace collar holds my chin up, as if I sit there sulking.

“She is just sweating from fright,” Seraphina says dismissively. “Omegas are so timid.”

Her words quiet Karen’s Alpha instincts. He takes off his heavy velvet cape and drapes it over my shoulders, covering the stains. His pine scent masks the smell of death.

“Ella, stand. The festival is starting,” he says. I do not move. When he tries to lift me, the silver blade shifts. My head tilts sharply to one side.

He believes my stillness is stubborn anger over Seraphina stealing attention. “I promise,” he whispers to my unseeing eyes, “once the festival ends, I will make Seraphina destroy this crystal.”

“Absolutely not!” Seraphina objects. Karen gives in. “Very well. Store the footage in clan archives, but leave Ella’s name off.”

This has always been the way. When Seraphina ruined my gowns or stole my healing herbs, Karen always told me to be understanding, for she had lost her parents.

He smooths my black veil, hiding my fatal injury. “Stay here and calm down,” he tells my corpse. He drags the complaining Seraphina away. I am left alone again, dead, with the glowing crystal replaying my tragedy.