Mom\\\'s eyes flickered with unease. She thought I wouldn’t notice that nervous habit—but I always did.  

       Those who grow up in an orphanage learn to read people better than anyone else—to catch the smallest shifts in behavior, to sense the tension in the air. Otherwise, survival isn’t an option.

       “Fiona, why didn’t you wait for us before going in?” she asked, her voice stretched thin, like she was forced to calm.  

       Dad loomed beside her, his towering frame blocking out the fluorescent hospital lights. his frown cutting deep into his features.“Didn’t we tell you this hospital is chaotic? You can’t just wander in alone—it’s not safe.”  

       Their concern felt hollow. My wolf stirred irritably within me, a low growl reverberating through my chest. She hated this charade as much as I did. But I met their worried gazes with practiced indifference, keeping my wolf break out. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” I said, shrugging. “Nature called. Even wolves have to pee.”  

       Mom hesitated, her eyes darting to mine, searching for… what?  “You didn’t… see anyone, did you?”  

       The flicker of panic in her expression was a slap across my face. My wolf bristled, claws itching to tear through their lies. I wanted to demand answers—Why did you lie to me? How could you betray me?—but I swallowed the snarl and plastered on confusion instead.  

       “See anyone?” I echoed, letting out a dry laugh. “No. I was in and out. Pretty sure I set a world record for the fastest bathroom trip.”  

       Dad exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. Let’s go. We’ll take you upstairs.”  

       Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. Mom crouched down, adjusting my mask . Her touch was almost tender, almost.  

       “The flu’s spreading,” she murmured. “You need to protect yourself. If you get sick, it’ll break my heart.”  

       Once, that kind of concern would’ve made me feel warm and safe. But now, it burned, sharp and acidic. My wolf paced restlessly, her fury bubbling just beneath my skin.  

       By the time we reached the twelfth-floor rehabilitation center, I felt like my claws were scraping the edge of my sanity. I lay back on the hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling tiles, trying to calm my wolf.  

       “Easy, girl,” the doctor whispered. “We’ll get through this. One step at a time.”  

       The doctor busied himself with the anesthesia.

       Then ,Drowsiness pulled me under, but just before I slipped into unconsciousness, their voices drifted through the haze.

       “Miss Fiona’s leg has been left untreated for too long. If she doesn’t undergo surgery soon, she may never stand again… All the previous rehabilitation treatments were only done halfway, and the prescribed medication was replaced with vitamins, per your orders. Alpha Grayson, are you truly willing to let Fiona remain crippled for life at such a young age?”

       “I didn’t pay a fortune to bring you back from abroad just to listen to your nonsense. Do as I say.”

       Dad’s words held no room for argument.

       “So what if she never walks again? We can take care of her for a lifetime. Why should an outsider like you be concerned?”

       “Don’t forget, we’ve been paying your salary for the past five years. Do you really think you are a Justice Messenger?”

       The doctor hesitated. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… Miss Fiona has been under anesthesia for years. If this continues, she may develop resistance to it. What will we do then?”

       “That’s your problem to solve. Just make sure her legs neither recover nor deteriorate. Keep it under control.”

       A beat of hesitation. Then, the doctor’s reluctant response:

       “Understood.”

       The door creaked open, and their footsteps faded down the hall.

       I lay there as if I’d plunged into an icy abyss.

       They didn’t know.  

       They didn’t know the anesthesia had stopped working on me long ago.  

       Didn’t know I’d heard every word.  

       Didn’t know I’d recorded it all.  

       My wolf stirred, her anger scorching through me. They planned this. They’ve kept us broken.  

       Hot tears slipped from the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let myself fall apart.  

       Later, as they wheeled me out, Mom’s cheerful chatter grated against my ears. “Doesn’t that feel better, sweetie? You’re so brave.”  

       “Yeah,” I muttered. “Bravery’s my middle name.”  

       Joseph greeted us at home, standing at the door in an apron like some kind of sitcom husband. “Dear, rehabilitation must have been exhausting. I made you some bone broth. It’ll help you recover faster!”  

       He looked so sincere, so loving, that I might have believed him—if I hadn’t seen him with Yolanda.  

       Back when we were kids in the orphanage, Joseph had been my everything. We survived the harsh winters, the long nights, and the unrelenting hunger together. He swore to always protect me, and I believed him with my whole heart.  

       When we turned eighteen and shifted for the first time, we’d both prayed to the Moon Goddess to pair us as mates. But when the first time shift\\\'s pain subsided and we stared at each other, there was no sign, no spark, no scent.  

       We weren’t fated.  

       I remember how my heart shattered in that moment, but Joseph had simply smiled and patted my head. “Don’t cry, little Fiona,” he’d said. “Even if the Moon Goddess didn’t pair us, you’ll always be my other half.”  

       And for years, I clung to that promise.  

       But now, the warmth in his voice felt like a noose tightening around my throat.  

       His love had never been mine.  

       It had always belonged to her—the woman who shattered my legs and left me for dead.