Chapter 2

I wake three days later, sprawled on my bed, my forehead throbbing and my left arm wrapped in thick bandages that scream pain with every move.

Outside my window, maids whisper. "Shawn's so thoughtful, sending all these tonics and jewels. He must care about our Leah."

"Thoughtful?" another scoffs, voice low. "Not one of those gifts suits her taste. Quinn twists an ankle, and Shawn visits her himself, piling her with treasures she loves. Leah's half-dead, and he hasn't even shown his face."

"Shh, don't let Leah hear."

I lie still, a bitter smile twisting my lips. If he truly cared, would he humiliate me like this? Me, a high-born she-wolf, forced to share him with Quinn as an equal mate?

I close my eyes, memories of my past life flooding back. I brewed him medicines he never touched. I stood outside his study all night, hoping for a glance, but he never opened the door. I thought he was just distant—until I realized all his warmth went to another she-wolf.

This time, I won't be that fool.

While I recover, gossip swirls through the den. "Shawn took Quinn boating again today." "He had a crate of silks shipped from the south—all for Quinn." "He's teaching her to ride."

I tune it out, focusing on healing.

When I'm well enough, Diana hosts a Hundred Flowers Feast, inviting Belmor Town's noble she-wolves to the palace. Quinn and I share a carriage, the air between us thick with unspoken tension.

At the feast, Shawn sits among the male wolves, his eyes glued to Quinn. She's thirsty—he hands her tea. She's warm—he fetches a fan. She smiles, and his gaze softens like a spring thaw.

Me? He doesn't spare a glance.

I trace the rim of my cup, pretending it doesn't sting.

Midway through, Diana, in high spirits, pulls a golden phoenix hairpin from her hair. "Let's have a contest, ladies. The winner takes this prize."

The crowd buzzes with excitement. I've played the zither since I was a pup, and when my song ends, the hall erupts in awe.

Diana claps, beaming. "Leah, your skill is unmatched. The hairpin's yours."

Wolves rise to congratulate me, but Shawn stays seated, murmuring comfort to a defeated Quinn.

"Your music's amazing, sister," Quinn says, eyes glistening, voice dripping with grievance. "I can't compete."

Shawn smiles softly. "It's just a hairpin. If you want one, I'll scour the great pack for the finest, just for you."

Quinn's tears vanish, replaced by a grin. "Why are you so good to me?"

The pavilion goes quiet. My fingers freeze on my sleeve, breath caught in my throat.

"Three years ago," Shawn says, his voice tender as melting snow, "I was ambushed, left for dead outside the pack. You sucked the poison from my wounds, saved my life. From that moment, I swore I'd cherish you forever."

Quinn freezes, her expression dazed.

My fan slips from my hand, hitting the ground like thunder in my ears.

It was me. I saved him.

That winter night, I found Shawn bleeding in the snow, carried him back to my den, risked my life to draw out the poison, and watched over him for three days and nights. When he woke, I was unconscious from exhaustion. By the time I came to, he was gone.

All this time—past life and present—he thought it was Quinn.

He loved the wrong she-wolf.