Celine’s parents had sent the invitation immediately after the end of the ceremony—formal in tone, but laced with something far too sweet. We’d love to have you for dinner. Just the family. Just a chance to talk.
Celine almost didn’t go.
But curiosity, or maybe strategy, led her to their doorstep.
The house they occupied in Crimson Fang had never been this warm. Or bright. Or falsely charming.
She stepped inside and smelled the effort immediately—roasted venison, sugared roots, spiced wine clinging too heavy to the air. Every candle was lit, casting a golden glow over walls that had always felt too cold. The table had been dressed like something out of a portrait: layered linens, polished silver, crystal goblets lined up with obsessive care.
She didn’t miss the desperation behind it.
This wasn’t a family dinner. This was a performance.
Her parents stood waiting at the head of the table, their smiles stretched a little too wide.
“There she is,” her mother said, sweeping forward to kiss Celine’s cheek. “You look radiant.”
“You’ve taken to your role beautifully,” her father added, gesturing to the seat at the center. “Please. Sit.”
They didn’t mention the years they’d ignored her. The bruises, the silence, the disappointment in their eyes every time she hadn’t been Lilith. Tonight, none of that existed.
Tonight, she was Luna-to-be.
And they were scrambling to rewrite history.
She took her seat, her spine straight, every sense on alert despite the soft voices and warm candlelight. Her goblet was already full of dark wine. Her plate was being filled like she was a guest of honor.
“We’re just so thrilled,” her mother said, dabbing at her lips with a cloth napkin. “It’s such a rare bond, to match with Alpha Leon.”
Her father leaned in slightly. “Will the wedding be soon?”
Celine blinked. “We haven’t set a date.”
“Well,” her mother said brightly, “surely it’ll be before the next full moon. The pack would be delighted.”
“We’d be delighted,” her father corrected, too quickly. “You’ve brought such… pride to our name.”
Celine bit into a piece of meat just to keep from laughing.
They were practically begging for a seat at her table now. The table they’d refused to let her near her entire life.
She nodded politely, letting their words wash over her like background noise. The flattery was thick and sugary—how powerful she looked, how graceful, how "regal"—but it slid off her like rain on stone.
And across the table, Lilith watched in silence.
She hadn’t spoken once during the meal. She hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t even lifted her wine.
She sat perfectly poised, hands folded, eyes fixed on Celine with a look that wasn’t anger exactly. It was something colder.
She didn’t join in the performance. But she didn’t object to it either.
She simply let it play out.
When dessert was served—honeyed tarts and spiced cream—her mother leaned forward, voice dipping low.
“I hope you’ll remember, Celine, that family is everything. Especially now that you’re stepping into power. You’ll need people you can trust.”
Celine met her gaze, calm and unreadable. “I always remember who I can trust.”
Her mother’s smile twitched, just for a second.
The rest of the evening passed in soft music and small talk, with her parents walking her to the door as though they'd always done so. Promises of support, of help with planning, of family unity followed her out.
And once Celine was gone, the warmth vanished like it had never been there.
Lilith stood in the empty dining room, untouched wine still sitting beside her half-finished plate. She walked to the far end of the house, past the servants, past the light.
She lit a single candle, unfolded a piece of parchment, and began to write.