Chapter 2: My former Fiancé (Celeste’s POV) “Celeste?” His voice sliced through the frozen air like a blade, the deep timbre steady and commanding. I blinked against the swirling snow. My legs felt as though they might buckle under me, but I locked them in place. I couldn’t let myself seem weaker than I already was. It felt like a dream—or maybe a nightmare—to look up and see Alexander Steele. My one-time fiancé. He hadn’t changed at all, apart from looking even more formidable. His dark hair now had more silver streaks than I remembered, and his ice-blue eyes were sharp, focused. They bore into me, unwavering. I struggled to steady my breath. In that instant, my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat, before curling back into the cold cage I’d built to protect it. I was dejected, weak, barely standing in the snow. My ragged prison uniform clung to me like it was determined to advertise my disgrace. A man like him—untouchable, perfection wrapped in iron—shouldn’t be here. But he was. “Get in.” His voice was clipped, the command in it so effortless it was like breathing for him. “You’re too weak to walk.” I hesitated. My fingers trembled, half from the cold and half from the sheer weight of this moment. “I’m fine.” It sounded pathetic even to my own ears. “You’re not,” he countered bluntly. His wolf’s glowing silver eyes flashed beneath the surface for a fraction of a second. “Your body is barely holding on. Stop being foolish.” My pride flared, weak and brittle. I pressed my lips together and shook my head, trying to make sense of his presence. “Why are you here?” Dealing with Lucas was expected, but seeing Alexander? That felt unfair. “It doesn’t matter why.” A tinge of irritation coated his words, though his expression was stony. “Elder would be upset if you showed up like this. Get in the car, Celeste.” Grandmother… Guilt and longing tore through me at the mention of her. She was the only one who ever defied them for me. She’d saved me, fought for me when no one else would. How could I let her see me like this? Wobbling and broken in the snow, just a shadow of the person I used to be? My breath hitched, and I finally dipped my head in reluctant agreement. “Fine.” I limped toward the car, my shoes soaked with slush. Alexander moved briskly around to open the passenger door. Not once did he offer to help me in, though his eyes never left me, cold and calculating as if assessing every staggered step. Sliding into the car, I could feel the tension radiating off him. The leather seats were warm against my frozen body, but comfort was a luxury I didn’t let myself feel. The door slammed shut, trapping me in a space that already felt suffocating. As he slid into the driver’s seat, a sharp floral scent hit me like a tidal wave. Scarlett’s favorite perfume. It filled the car, invading every corner, wrapping around me like chains. I froze, my fingers clutching the frayed edges of my coat. That scent wasn’t just familiar—it was haunting. How could I forget the night Luna Victoria broke my heart? The soft, perfumed scent lingered in the background even then. Luna’s words stabbed deeper than any blade: “For Scarlett’s happiness, you must let him go. True mates belong together.” I had felt my entire world crumble that night. And now, sitting in Alexander’s car, the nightmare replayed itself over and over in my mind. Alexander said nothing as he drove. The silence was almost worse than words. I stayed stiff, forcing my breaths to remain steady even as the ghost of Scarlett’s presence threatened to suffocate me. When the pack house loomed into view, my stomach tightened. The once-warm home was now no more welcoming than the prison walls I’d just left. — (Luna Victoria’s POV) The cold seeped into my bones as I stood near the grand windows of the pack house, watching for any sign of her approaching. I had barely slept the night before, overwhelmed with nerves and guilt. Was she okay? Did she hate me too much to come back? I pushed away the doubt. All that mattered was that she was returning. My Celeste was coming home. The sound of the car tires crunching against the driveway jolted me from my thoughts. My heart raced as I hurried outside, clutching my shawl tighter against the biting air. The car slowed to a stop, and my breath caught when I saw her step out. At first, I only saw remnants of the girl I once cherished: her delicate features and platinum hair were unmistakable. But reality struck me with vicious cruelty. She was frail, so thin that every movement seemed painful. Her hair hung lifelessly around her face, and her violet eyes lacked the vibrant sparkle I remembered. My throat tightened, and before I could think, I rushed toward her. “Celeste!” Her head lifted, and for a fleeting moment, I thought there was recognition in her gaze. But then she sank to her knees, too weak to stand—a shattered image of the proud girl I once knew. I reached for her without hesitation, my instincts as a mother overpowering reason. But as I got close, my hands froze mid-air. Would she even want my touch? Her body flinched slightly, but I wasn’t sure if it was from pain or rejection. The guilt clawed at me again. How could I let this happen to my daughter? “You’re too thin,” I whispered, my voice trembling as tears pricked my eyes. “Celeste…what have they done to you?” And then— “Sister.” Scarlett’s soft, melodic voice broke the fragile tension. She stepped out into the snow, her crimson dress pristine and her auburn hair glowing even under the gray sky. Her emerald eyes glistened with unshed tears, brimming with practiced guilt. She leaned toward Celeste ever so slightly, as though hesitating. “I’ve missed you so much. I…” She bit her lip, letting her voice trail off just enough to seem sincere. Celeste didn’t even look at her. My heart cracked. “Celeste!” Lucas’s voice snapped through the air like a whip. I turned to see him storming over, towering and hot-blooded. He looked frustrated—no, enraged. “Why are you acting like this? Mother’s been thinking about you every day for four years, and you—” I held up my hand to stop him—a silent command as his mother and Luna. “Enough, Lucas.” He faltered but fell silent, his golden-green eyes flashing with restrained anger. “She’s just not used to it yet,” I said softly, more to myself than anyone else. I stepped closer to Celeste again, pushing through her resistance. “Let me help you.” But she shrank back, her body stiff and unyielding. The rejection broke something inside me, but I didn’t let it show. “Come inside,” I said gently. “You’ll feel better after resting. Grandmother is waiting to see you.” She gave me no response, only rising to her feet in labored silence. I gestured toward the house, hoping the warmth inside would soften her closed heart. (Celeste’s POV) The pack house’s main hall was as grand as I remembered, yet it felt colder than ever. Fresh flowers were arranged in crystal vases, their heady scent too sweet and perfect. The polished wooden floors gleamed. Everything looked flawless, as if nothing in this house had ever gone wrong. Not a single sign of the life I once had here remained. I was a guest now. I walked silently behind Luna Victoria, feeling the prick of Scarlett’s gaze and Lucas’s simmering irritation. I didn’t belong here, and the tension in the air made sure I didn’t forget it. “This way,” Victoria said gently, guiding me to a room on the far end of the hall. She opened the door to what was unmistakably a guest bedroom. The room was richly furnished, warm and inviting—everything I should have wanted. And yet, all I could focus on was the glaring truth. This wasn’t my room. Scarlett had taken that long ago. “You can clean up and rest here,” Victoria said warmly, her voice full of maternal softness. “You’re still the Alpha’s eldest daughter. Everything will go back to the way it was before.” Her words cut sharply through me, though their tone was tender. The way it was before? My hollow laugh came out unbidden. Did she really think I could pretend? That I could forget the past four years or erase the scarred memories of a prison cell? I said nothing, stepping forward without acknowledging her words. The silence between us felt heavier with each passing second, but I was too tired—too defeated—to answer. The door clicked shut softly behind me. I stood in the center of the unfamiliar room, staring at the polished floor, my fingers clutching the frayed edges of my coat. My chest tightened painfully. No matter how rich the furnishings, or how warm the fire glowed, I still felt small and cold. I would always be a guest in this house. “`