The chains were cold.
Heavy iron dug into her wrists, stained with blood that was no longer hers. Selena D'Archer once the pride of the Crescent Moon Pack now knelt in the dirt like a criminal, her white gown torn and soaked in the mud of her ruined ceremony.
The moon, full and bright, glared down on her like a silent witness. Her once-fiancé stood a few feet away, unmoved, untouched, unbothered.
"By the authority of the pack," Alpha Damien Blackthorn said coldly, "you are hereby sentenced to death for crimes of betrayal."
Selena laughed bitter, broken, but still sharp.
"Crimes I never committed," she hissed, her voice hoarse from hours of screaming.
Damien didn't flinch.
That made it worse.
Because once, he had flinched at everything her pain, her tears, her smile. Once, he had promised her the moon and stars. Once, he had looked at her like she was the center of his world.
Now, he looked like he couldn't wait to erase her from it.
She turned her gaze to the others. Her beta. Her maids. Her closest friend Elira who now stood in a pristine blue dress beside Damien, hand resting on his arm.
Her sister.
Her betrayer.
"You took everything from me," Selena whispered. "And now you want my death too?"
Elira smiled softly, sweetly. "You were never meant to be Luna, Selena. You were too... selfish."
"I was loyal."
"And look where that got you."
The guards stepped forward. She could hear the growls in their throats, could feel their claws itching to rip through flesh. Her heart raced not out of fear, but fury. And grief.
Her eyes locked onto Damien one last time. "I loved you," she whispered.
His gaze didn't change. "That was your mistake."
The order came.
Pain tore through her.
The world darkened.
And then… she woke up.
The cold wasn't chains anymore. It was silk.
Her eyes flew open, chest heaving. She sat up in bed, heart pounding so violently it echoed in her ears.
The sun streamed through pale curtains. Her room her old room looked untouched by the cruelty she had just lived.
The vanity mirror reflected her young face no bruises, no scars. Her hair was longer. Her skin, softer. Her body... whole.
She scrambled for the calendar on the wall.
Ten years ago.
She was seventeen again.
Alive.
Unbroken.
Unmarried.
Unrejected.
And the engagement letter from Damien Blackthorn lay unopened on her desk.