The champagne bubbles in my glass caught the light from the crystal chandeliers above, each tiny sphere reflecting the opulent ballroom where my engagement party was in full swing. I should have been the happiest woman alive. Three hundred guests had gathered to celebrate my upcoming marriage to Damien Cross, the golden boy of Manhattan's financial elite. The Blackwood estate had never looked more beautiful, draped in white roses and fairy lights that turned the entire mansion into something from a fairy tale.
If only I had known it would become my nightmare instead.
"Scarlett, darling, you look absolutely radiant!" Mrs. Henderson, one of New York's most prominent socialites, gushed as she approached me with her usual air of manufactured enthusiasm. "The Cross boy is so lucky to have snagged you before anyone else could!"
I forced my practiced smile, the one I'd perfected through years of charity galas and society events. "Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. Damien and I are very happy."
The lie rolled off my tongue so easily it scared me. But that was what being Scarlett Blackwood meant – perfect smiles, perfect responses, perfect everything. The heiress to the Blackwood medical empire couldn't afford to show weakness, doubt, or any emotion that wasn't carefully curated for public consumption.
"Where is the lucky groom, anyway?" Mrs. Henderson's eyes swept the ballroom with predatory interest. "I haven't seen him in ages."
My chest tightened. I hadn't seen Damien in over an hour either. "He's around somewhere," I said, maintaining my composure even as unease crept up my spine. "You know how these parties can be."
Mrs. Henderson nodded knowingly and drifted away to find her next victim for gossip. I stood alone in the middle of my own engagement party, surrounded by hundreds of people who claimed to love me, yet feeling more isolated than ever.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones, a cold certainty that made my skin crawl despite the warm spring evening. Damien had been acting strange for weeks – distracted during our dinner dates, taking mysterious phone calls that he'd walk away to answer, working late more often than usual. When I'd asked about it, he'd kiss my forehead and tell me not to worry my pretty little head about business matters.
I hated when he said that. But like the dutiful fiancée I'd been raised to be, I'd smiled and let it go.
Now, as I scanned the crowd for his familiar golden hair and charming smile, that unease transformed into something darker. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin – unusual, since I rarely felt Cora's presence during human social events. She was trying to tell me something, but the champagne and my own stubborn denial kept me from listening.
"Scarlett!" My sister Vivian appeared at my side, resplendent in a powder-blue gown that complemented her angel-like features perfectly. At twenty-three, Vivian was everything I wasn't – soft where I was sharp, gentle where I was strong, beloved by everyone who met her innocent blue eyes and heard her melodic laugh.
"Vivian, there you are," I said, relief flooding through me. "Have you seen Damien? People keep asking where he is."
Something flickered across her expression too quickly for me to catch. "Oh, I think I saw him heading upstairs earlier. Something about taking a call from Tokyo?" She touched my arm with concern that seemed genuine. "Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale."
I probably was pale. The corset of my engagement dress felt too tight suddenly, as if it were trying to squeeze the life out of me. "I'm fine. Just tired from all the planning."
"Why don't you go powder your nose?" Vivian suggested sweetly. "I'll make sure our guests are taken care of."
It was exactly what I needed to hear. Vivian had always been the considerate one, the sister who thought of others before herself. While I'd spent my childhood buried in business books, preparing to inherit Father's empire, she'd focused on art and charity work. Everyone said she had the heart of an angel.
"Thank you," I said gratefully. "I'll just be a few minutes."
I made my way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and air kisses from people whose names I barely remembered. The Blackwood mansion was enormous, with three floors and more rooms than any reasonable family needed, but I knew every inch of it by heart. I'd grown up here, after all, learning to be the perfect heiress under Mother's exacting standards.
Instead of heading to the main powder room, I decided to use the private bathroom connected to the bridal suite on the second floor. It would give me a few minutes of peace to collect myself and figure out why every instinct I possessed was screaming that something was terribly wrong.
The grand staircase was empty, most of the party guests having remained on the main floor where the music and champagne flowed freely. My heels clicked against the marble steps, each sound echoing in the sudden quiet. The bridal suite was at the end of the hall, past several guest rooms that had been in my family for generations.
I was almost to my destination when I heard it – a sound that made my blood freeze in my veins.
A woman's moan, soft but unmistakably pleasured, coming from behind the partially closed door of the bridal suite.
My hand trembled as it reached for the doorknob. Every rational part of my mind screamed at me to turn around, to go back downstairs, to pretend I'd never heard anything. But my wolf was suddenly wide awake, her fury burning through me like acid.
I pushed the door open just enough to see inside, and my world shattered into a million pieces.
Damien had Vivian pressed against the antique vanity where my wedding dress hung waiting for next month's ceremony. Her powder-blue gown was hiked up around her waist, his tuxedo pants around his ankles. They were lost in each other, completely oblivious to anything else in the world.
"God, Vivian," Damien groaned against her neck. "I can't wait much longer. Having to pretend with Scarlett is killing me."
"Soon," my sweet, innocent sister panted back. "Just hold on a little longer. Once she's out of the picture, we'll have everything."
I should have stormed in. I should have screamed. I should have done something, anything, other than stand there like a statue while my heart was ripped from my chest and stomped into dust.
Instead, I stayed frozen in place as they continued talking.
"Are you sure your mother will go through with it?" Damien asked, his hands roaming over Vivian's body with a familiarity that spoke of months, maybe years, of practice.
"Margaret's not sentimental about anything," Vivian laughed softly. "Especially not about her adopted daughter. She's been planning this since Father got sick. Scarlett was always meant to be temporary."
Adopted daughter. The words hit me like a physical blow. I wasn't adopted. I was a Blackwood by blood, born to Charles and Margaret Blackwood twenty-five years ago. Wasn't I?
"And you're sure she won't suspect anything about the accident?" Damien's voice had taken on a worried edge.
"Please," Vivian scoffed. "Scarlett's too trusting for her own good. She still thinks I'm her innocent little sister and you're her devoted fiancé. She'll never see it coming."
"When?" The single word was barely a whisper.
"Tonight. After the party winds down, Margaret will suggest a walk by the cliffs to look at the stars. Very romantic, very tragic when the unstable ground gives way." Vivian's voice was cold, calculating, nothing like the sweet sister I'd known my entire life. "They'll find her body in the morning and assume it was an accident. Poor Scarlett, so heartbroken over her father's recent death that she must have been distracted."
Father's death. He'd passed away just two months ago from what the doctors said was a sudden heart attack. But listening to them talk, a horrible suspicion began to take root in my mind.
"You're sure the poison won't show up in an autopsy?" Damien asked.
And there it was. The confirmation that turned my world completely upside down. They hadn't just betrayed me – they'd murdered my father.
"Margaret's been planning this for years," Vivian said with disturbing pride. "The poison mimics a heart attack perfectly. Even if they do an autopsy on Scarlett, they'll only find the same traces they found in Father – completely consistent with the heart condition that runs in the family."
I'd heard enough. More than enough. My legs were shaking so badly I wasn't sure how I was still standing, but somehow I managed to back away from the door without making a sound. My whole body felt numb, as if I'd been plunged into ice water.
Everything I'd believed about my life was a lie. My fiancé was cheating with my sister. My mother – adoptive mother, apparently – had murdered my father and was planning to kill me tonight. The family I'd loved and trusted had been plotting against me for years, just waiting for the right moment to strike.
I stumbled down the hallway, my vision blurring as tears threatened to fall. But I couldn't cry. Not yet. If they were planning to kill me tonight, I needed to figure out what to do. Maybe I could run. Maybe I could call the police, though what proof did I have? Maybe I could confront them, though something told me that would only accelerate their timeline.
"Scarlett, dear, there you are."
I spun around to find Margaret Blackwood standing at the top of the staircase, elegant and composed as always. At fifty-five, my mother was still strikingly beautiful, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a perfect chignon and the kind of bone structure that photographers loved. She'd raised me to be just like her – poised, controlled, ruthless when necessary in business.
I'd never realized how literally she'd meant that last part.
"Mother," I managed to say, proud that my voice didn't shake. "The party is lovely. Thank you for organizing everything."
"Of course, darling. Only the best for my daughter's engagement." Her smile was warm and maternal, the same smile she'd given me a thousand times before. How had I never noticed how it never quite reached her eyes? "I was hoping we could talk privately. There are some things we need to discuss before the wedding."
My blood turned to ice in my veins. Was she about to suggest that romantic walk by the cliffs?
"What kind of things?" I asked carefully.
"Business matters, mostly. Your father's will, the transition of power, that sort of thing." Margaret's expression remained pleasant, but I caught something sharp in her gaze. "Why don't we take a walk outside? The fresh air will do you good. You look a little pale."
There it was. The trap, laid out exactly as Vivian had described. I wanted to scream, to run, to fight – but what was the point? If I ran, they'd just hunt me down. If I called for help, who would believe me? Margaret Blackwood was one of the most respected women in New York society. Damien Cross was a pillar of the financial community. Vivian was everyone's favorite angel.
And I was just the adopted daughter who'd apparently outlived her usefulness.
"That sounds lovely," I heard myself say. "Let me just grab a shawl."
Margaret's smile widened, and for the first time, I saw the predator beneath the maternal facade. "Wonderful. I'll meet you by the garden doors."
I walked to my room like a woman in a dream, my mind strangely calm despite the chaos of emotions swirling beneath the surface. In my closet, I found the cream cashmere shawl that Father had given me for my birthday last year. He'd said it matched my eyes.
Had he known? Had he suspected what Margaret was planning? Is that why he'd been so insistent about teaching me the business, about making sure I understood every aspect of Blackwood Industries? Had he been trying to prepare me for something like this?
It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered now except getting through the next few minutes.
I made my way back downstairs, where the party was still in full swing. No one paid attention to one more woman in an evening dress walking through the ballroom. I was invisible in my own home, surrounded by people who claimed to care about me but wouldn't even notice I was gone until it was too late.
Margaret was waiting by the French doors that led to the gardens, just as she'd promised. "Ready, dear?"
"Ready," I lied.
We walked out into the cool night air, past the perfectly manicured gardens that had been my playground as a child. The path to the cliffs was well-worn, bordered by wildflowers that looked ghostly in the moonlight. I'd walked this way a thousand times before, usually when I needed to think or when the pressures of being a Blackwood became too much to bear.
"You know," Margaret said conversationally as we walked, "I've always been proud of how you've grown up. From that scared little girl in the orphanage to the woman you are today – it's been quite a transformation."
Orphanage. So it was true. I wasn't a Blackwood by blood.
"Why?" The word escaped before I could stop it.
Margaret glanced at me with mild surprise. "Why what, dear?"
"Why adopt me? Why raise me as your daughter if you were just going to..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
For a moment, Margaret's mask slipped, and I saw something cold and calculating in her expression. "Because Charles wanted an heir, and I couldn't give him one naturally. You were convenient – the right age, the right look, intelligent enough to be trained. For a while, you served your purpose admirably."
"And now?"
"Now Charles is dead, and I don't need a heir anymore. I need control." Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she were discussing the weather. "The board will be much more amenable to my leadership if there's no competing claim to worry about."
We'd reached the cliffs. Below us, the Hudson River stretched out like a black mirror, reflecting the stars and the lights from the city beyond. It was beautiful and peaceful and absolutely perfect for an "accident."
"I did love you, in my way," Margaret said softly. "You were such a sweet child, so eager to please. But business is business, Scarlett. You understand that, don't you? I taught you that."
"You taught me many things," I said quietly. My wolf was snarling inside me, begging me to fight, to run, to do something other than stand here and accept my fate. But what was the point? Even if I survived tonight, what kind of life would I have? Everyone I'd ever loved had betrayed me. Everyone I'd trusted had been playing a role.
"This will be quick," Margaret promised, and I heard footsteps behind us. "I promise you won't suffer."
I turned to see two men in dark clothing approaching us. Professional killers, from the look of them, not the kind of people who would make this look like an accident. Which meant Margaret had lied about that too.
"I thought you said it would look like an accident," I said, surprised by how calm my voice sounded.
Margaret shrugged. "Plans change. This is more efficient."
The first man reached for me, but something strange happened. My wolf, who had been unusually quiet for most of my life, suddenly roared to consciousness with a fury I'd never experienced before. Power flooded through me, raw and wild and absolutely terrifying.
The man's hand made contact with my arm, and he screamed.
I stared in shock as his skin began to blister and burn where he'd touched me. He stumbled backward, clutching his arm, his eyes wide with terror.
"What the hell—" the second man started to say, but Margaret cut him off.
"Do it now," she snapped. "Before she figures out what she is."
What I was? What did that mean?
But I didn't have time to think about it. The second man pulled out a gun, and my newly awakened instincts kicked in. I dove sideways, rolling toward the edge of the cliff as the gunshot echoed across the water.
Pain exploded through my shoulder as the bullet grazed me, but the adrenaline kept me moving. I scrambled to my feet, my elegant engagement dress torn and bloodied, my perfect hair a tangled mess.
"Just push her over," Margaret said coldly. "We'll say she was distraught about her father's death and jumped."
They both rushed me at once. I tried to fight, tried to use whatever power had burned the first man, but I didn't know how to control it. All I could do was claw and scratch and bite like a wild animal as they forced me toward the edge.
"Process her cleanly," I heard Margaret say, her voice distant and clinical. "I don't want any evidence left behind."
The ground crumbled beneath my feet. For a moment, I was suspended in air, looking up at the three faces peering down at me from the cliff's edge. Margaret looked satisfied. The two killers looked relieved. And somewhere in the distance, I could hear the sounds of my engagement party continuing, completely oblivious to the fact that the guest of honor was falling to her death.
I should have been terrified. Instead, I felt only a strange sense of peace. At least now I knew the truth. At least I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my life being betrayed by people I loved.
The last thing I saw before I hit the water was a flash of silver light, like moonbeams given form. And the last thing I heard was a voice that seemed to come from inside my own head:
"Your story is not over, little wolf. Not yet."
Then the cold water of the Hudson River closed over my head, and Scarlett Blackwood died.
But something else was about to be born.
End of Chapter 1