Over time I stopped calling it a nightmare.
Because nightmares don’t let you run experiments.
The tea that should have closed my throat never touched my lips. The fifth stair took Celeste instead of me. And the “Malcolm Courtland” I was told to flatter has bought tradition like it was spun gold.
Each test I set the world answered the same way: I was back in time, pregnant, carrying tomorrow in my head, and the map of what should have happened kept folding in my hand.
And now the sitting room reeked of expensive roses and calculated domesticity. Weston's hand claimed my thigh while Mother spread wedding catalogs across the coffee table like battle plans.
For the first time in either life, their eyes held something other than contempt when they looked at me. All according to plan…
Three weeks since I'd returned.
Three weeks of dodging Celeste's poison, sidestepping her staged accidents, watching her mask crack when each trap failed.
The woman who'd orchestrated my destruction now scrambled to understand why her puppet had cut its strings. Pathetic.
"The Bellmore estate has availability next month." Mother’s manicured finger tapped a glossy photo. "Four hundred guests, lakeside ceremony."
"Perfect for the pack elite." Weston squeezed my leg, his touch possessive. "Show everyone Harper's position as Luna."
"What about flowers?" Mother actually smiled at me—a foreign expression on her face. "White roses? Lilies?"
"Peonies." I met her gaze steadily. "Less traditional. More memorable."
"Bold choice." She nodded approval. "You've been full of surprises lately, Harper dear."
When her phone buzzed on the table, she excused herself, standing up abruptly. The sitting room door clicked shut as she left for an urgent call.
Silence stretched between Weston and me, thick with unspoken recalculations.
"You've changed." His voice carried that uncertainty I'd never heard before. "The confidence, the intelligence you showed with O'Brien… Where was that hiding?"
"Maybe you never looked."
"I'm looking now." His thumb traced circles on my inner thigh. "Goddess, Harper, I was an ass. The way I treated you initially, like you were some burden forced on me…"
"Weren't I?" The sarcasm sliced out before I could stop it. "The heat-crazed female who seduced the poor Alpha?"
His hand stilled. "You remember that night?"
"Fragments. Being overwhelmed, unable to think straight. Waking up in your bed with no memory of how I got there." I turned to face him fully. "Then the pregnancy test two months later turned me into a target."
"I thought…" He shifted, genuinely uncomfortable. "I assumed you'd planned it. Deliberately trapped me."
"Because desperate females throw themselves at unavailable Alphas during their first heat? When they can barely remember their own names?"
"It wasn't like that." But his protest lacked conviction. "I realize now you didn't plan anything. You were just... there. Vulnerable and lonely."
The admission hung between us, not quite an apology but closer than he'd ever come.
Then his voice shifted, cooler. “We need to cover tomorrow. Kieran Wolfhart’s coming to discuss an alliance. Our packs have butted heads for years, but with his influence climbing, peace might pay.”
I kept my face open, blandly interested.
Of course he pivots to business the moment he sniffs value.
“He might even remember you,” Weston added, studying me. “Didn’t you cross paths once?”
"Long years ago. I was fourteen when he was fifteen. My father tried negotiating with the previous Alpha of Wolfhart Pack. Failed spectacularly." I kept my voice neutral, clinical. "During those three days, I helped Kieran after rogues attacked him. He was just an orphan then, nobody important."
"You saved Kieran Wolfhart?" Weston leaned forward. "The man who killed Alpha Brennan with his bare hands? Who built an empire from nothing?"
"He was different then. Skinny. Desperate. Grateful for any kindness."
"This is perfect." Weston grabbed my shoulders. "He owes you a life debt. You're our key to this alliance."
"It was a long time ago…"
"Life debts don't expire, Harper. He remembers, trust me. Men like him don't forget who held power over them." His grip tightened. "You'll remind him tomorrow. Subtly. Let him know the debt remains."
"Whatever helps the pack."
"Exactly." He released me, satisfied. "Wear something memorable. Make him remember the girl who saved him."
* * *
Evening descended as the estate transformed for tomorrow's arrival.
Staff polished every surface while security protocols updated. I escaped to the garden, seeking space to breathe without Weston's newfound obsession or Celeste's calculating stares.
The memories surfaced unbidden—three days of unexpected connection years ago before everything shattered.
Kieran at fifteen, blood soaking through his torn shirt as I'd pressed my hands against deep claw marks. His eyes, dark amber like aged whiskey, watching me with wonder as I'd wrapped wounds that should have killed him.
Skinny frame, all sharp angles and desperate hunger. Black hair falling over a face too harsh for his age.
"Why help me?" he'd asked. "I'm nobody."
"Everyone's somebody," I'd replied, fourteen and still naive enough to believe it.
Those three days, he'd followed me everywhere. Shared stories about his executed parents by current Alpha, his plans for revenge against tyranny, dreams bigger than his circumstance.
He'd made me laugh—genuinely laugh. Even then, there'd been something dangerous lurking beneath his grateful exterior, something that promised violence to anyone who threatened what he protected.
Then the letters. Our connection. Our secret.
Six months of hidden papers passed between packs. His handwriting growing stronger as he grew stronger. Telling me about small victories, thanking me repeatedly for giving him reason to survive.
"You're moonlight in darkness, Harper. Someday I'll be worthy of your light."
My father had found them eventually. Of course he did.
The beating left me bedridden for a week—ribs cracked, jaw swollen shut. He'd burned every letter while I watched, promising worse if I ever contacted "that enemy orphan" again.
"Miss Harper?" A staff member interrupted my thoughts. "Alpha Weston requests your presence for final preparations."
I nodded and followed her inside, full of memories of the past.
Tomorrow, I'd face the boy who'd become something lethal. The orphan who'd overthrown an Alpha, built an empire, transformed from prey to apex predator.
Did he remember the girl who'd saved him? The silence that followed when her words simply stopped?
I touched my belly where Ava kicked, strong and alive, and wondered what he'd become.
What happened to this boy who'd once written that I was the moon in his darkness?