Chapter 2 The Moon Goddess Heard Her Prayers

Lysandra felt the world was a blur of disjointed, violent sensations.

The soft fabric of the yellow dress brushed against her skin, a sensation so real it seemed impossible that, mere seconds ago, she had felt her body growing cold beneath the blood-soaked silk of her sky-blue gown.

Her father, Maurice Dubois, leaned close, his face etched with worry and love. His graying eyebrows were furrowed, his golden eyes—identical to Dyana's—filled with genuine concern as she struggled to respond.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

The color suddenly drained from her face.

His voice echoed through the dining room as if traveling down a long tunnel.

Lysandra stared down at her trembling hands resting in her lap. She clenched them into fists, letting her nails bite into her palms. The sharp, grounding pain was an anchor.

It was real. She was alive! The Moon Goddess heard her prayers.

A relieved smile touched her lips as she found no bloodstains on her clothes, no agonizing pain piercing her chest.

Her lilac eyes, still wide with shock, scanned the room with a hyper-awareness born of trauma.

Everything was exactly as it had been the first time. The photographs on the table. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows...

And then, her gaze landed on Dyana beside her. A shudder ripped through her, but she masked it, forcing her attention back to the photographs laid out before her.

That soon proved to be a mistake. The moment she caught sight of Hunter's smiling face, her stomach violently churned. She had to take several deep, shuddering breaths to quell the panic spreading like icy fire beneath her skin.

In her previous life, she had eagerly chosen Hunter, setting into motion a chain of betrayals that ultimately ended in her death.

"I know you're nervous," Maurice said, rubbing a soothing hand over his daughter's back.

"It's merely a formality," he commented with a gentle chuckle. "Everyone knows your mate will be Captain Hunter Renaud."

"No!"

Lysandra's hand flew to her throat, startled by the shrill, desperate voice. But she quickly realized the outburst hadn't come from her.

With a harsh scrape of wood against the floor, Dyana shot to her feet, slamming both hands flat onto the tabletop.

"I choose Hunter," Dyana blurted out, her voice trembling with anxious energy.

Lysandra stared at her sister, hit by a fresh wave of shock. That reaction and request had not happened the first time around.

Dyana wasn't looking at the photos, nor at their father, who sat appalled by the interruption.

Her eyes were locked dead on Lysandra. Intense, furious, and glacial. It was the exact same look she had worn right before plunging a dagger into Lysandra's heart.

A chilling realization began to take root in Lysandra's chest. Had Dyana gotten a second chance at life, too?

"Dyana, this is... highly inappropriate," Maurice stammered, utterly bewildered. "Tradition dictates... the right of the firstborn—"

"I'm younger by a damn five minutes!" she snapped. The outburst left their father stunned, but Lysandra felt nothing. She had heard that exact same bitter complaint right before her sister murdered her.

Dyana lowered her gaze in a gesture Lysandra would have once mistaken for timidness, but now recognized as pure theater. When she looked up again, her eyes brimmed with tears that were sickeningly convincing.

"I know it's not my place. I know Lysa is the eldest daughter... but I can't hide how I feel anymore," she whimpered, thick tears spilling down her cheeks. "I love Hunter Renaud. I always have. And... I think he feels something for me, too. Being forced to watch him with someone else... even my own sister... it would kill me."

Lysandra fought the urge to slow-clap at the performance, silently letting Dyana continue her pathetic whining.

"I'm begging for a gesture of love and mercy. Let me choose first. Let me have Hunter," Dyana added.

Maurice looked at Lysandra, his face torn between his duty to tradition and his love for his daughters.

"Lysandra, what do you say?"

Before she could even open her mouth, Dyana seized control of the narrative again, lunging forward to grab Lysandra's hands and press them dramatically to her chest.

"Lysa, you've always been so good to me... I know you'll be happy with Mr. Montclair. I... I..." She took a dramatic, shuddering breath, her voice cracking with manufactured pain. "I wouldn't survive it... Please..."

Through her tears, Dyana shot Lysandra a poorly concealed glare of pure defiance. She was secretly wishing Lysandra would take the monster Logan Montclair.

Lysandra took a slow, steadying breath. If Dyana had pulled this stunt in their first life, Lysandra would have stepped aside and given Hunter up, even if it broke her own heart.

But she was no longer that sweet, trusting girl. She was a ghost clawing her way back for revenge. And she was now absolutely certain that Dyana had also had the second chance at life, hellbent on rewriting history to her own advantage.

On that front, at least, they were in total agreement.

Lysandra stood up. Though she was a good four inches shorter than her twin, she met Dyana's gaze dead-on, ready to deliver the exact answer both her sister and their father expected.

"Father, Dyana is right. Love shouldn't be a competition. Especially not between sisters who care for each other so deeply," she began, dripping with the same sickening sweetness she had once fallen victim to.

She turned to her sister and offered a gentle smile, masking her absolute disgust.

"If you love Hunter this much—to the point of shattering tradition for him..." She let the subtle accusation hang in the air for a second. "Then I will pray to the Moon Goddess that you get the exact union you deserve."

Maurice's eyes widened. "Lysandra, you don't have to make this sacrifice... You've always been in love with Hunter!"

"Just a childhood crush, Father." She brushed it off, a sad, deliberately fragile smile touching her lips—a little touch of theater to match her sister's. "Dyana is clearly suffering, and I refuse to be the cause of her unhappiness."

"But that means you will be with Logan Montclair," her father reminded her, his voice tight. "Are you sure?"

Lysandra looked down at the photograph of Logan Montclair.

The stern face, the dark hair, the calm eyes. The monster. The beast. The man who had slaughtered her father and grandmother... And the man she had helped kill.

She didn't want him. Obviously. But here on Isiflora Island—and in the world at large—an unbonded woman, especially an Omega, was nothing but fresh meat for predators.

Unfortunately for her, there were only two Alphas deemed worthy of House Dubois. One she had chosen in her previous life, only to die by his hands. The other...

A slow smile—strange and entirely out of place on her soft features—curved Lysandra's lips. It held no sweetness. It was the first spark of something cold and ruthless, rising from the ashes of her shattered, betrayed heart.

She was going to rewrite her destiny and save the people she loved. But to do that, she needed a vicious, terrifying ally.

Her father's question hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of two lifetimes—the one she had already suffered through, and the one she was about to rewrite...

"I choose Mr. Montclair."