Chapter 5: Mistake Or Not!

Phoebe's POV

I walked into the hall, and nothing had changed. The same crystal chandeliers hung glittering overhead at the far end, the same rich, smoky incense curled through the air, the same marble floor stretched out beneath my feet like it remembered me even if I wished it didn't.

Famous wolves from packs across the region filled the room, their voices a low murmur beneath the string quartet. I walked the red carpet exactly as I had in my past life — chin high, spine straight, gown trailing behind me like a whisper.

Except this time, I wasn't naive. This time, I walked like the room already belonged to me.

The moment I crossed the threshold, every head in the hall turned. The ceiling above had been left open to the sky, and moonlight spilled down in silver sparkles, catching the deep red of my gown as I moved. In my first life, I'd assumed the stares were about the dress — the way it clung to my hips, the way my mask matched it perfectly, blood-red against pale skin.

I knew better now.

I turned slowly to my left, easing my mask down just enough to see clearly, and found the source of every gasp still rippling through the hall.

Stella.

Mascara streaked down her cheeks in dark, ruined lines, her eyes fixed somewhere just past me, glassy with a grief too raw to hide. And then it hit me, cold and sudden as ice water down my spine — the moonlight overhead wasn't decoration. It was the moon goddess's gift, the rare, sacred light that let a wolf finally see their fated mate standing in front of them.

Fated mate.

The words from my past life clicked into place all at once, and my stomach turned. Simon had rejected her. Rejected Stella — the most breathtaking wolf I had ever laid eyes on, poised, powerful, born into a bloodline any Alpha would have killed to bond with — all so he could chase power through me instead.

That was how far his hunger went. He'd looked at perfection standing in front of him under the full moon and thrown it away like garbage, because I came with a pack and a birthright he wanted more than he'd ever wanted a mate.

The spotlight swept across the hall and landed on me before I could steady my breathing. Simon crossed the floor toward me, every step deliberate, his hair perfectly styled, his smile calibrated to look effortless when I now understood it had probably taken him a mirror and twenty minutes to get exactly right.

He knelt.

My heart betrayed me instantly, fluttering hard against my ribs despite everything I knew, despite the blood I could still feel pooling beneath me in another life's memory. This was it. The exact moment it had all begun the first time. I hated how much of me still wanted to believe in it.

I forced my spine straight, my resolve harder than the ache in my chest, and smiled.

"Will you be my bond mate next week, Phoebe?"

The hall exploded into gasps. I stayed perfectly still, watching the ripple of shock move through the crowd, and understood immediately that this wasn't a room full of happiness. This was a room full of horror, dozens of wolves realizing exactly what I hadn't yet the first time — that Simon had just publicly humiliated a fated mate standing not thirty feet away, in front of everyone who mattered.

Before I could stop it, before I could even fully process the danger of the words, my own mouth betrayed me.

"Yes, I will."

Simon rose and pulled me into his arms, every motion so warm, so convincingly genuine, that for one terrifying second I forgot I already knew how this story ended. He was a better actor than I'd ever be — smooth, practiced, utterly believable, even to a woman who'd already died once at his mate's hands.

I can't fall for him again.

Or can I?

The thought scared me more than anything Stella's face had shown a moment ago.

The celebration that followed was suffocating — forced smiles stretched across every face in the hall, wolves clinking glasses while the tension in the room sat thick enough to choke on. I drifted through it on autopilot, nodding at congratulations I didn't want, until my eyes caught Stella sitting alone at a table near the back, a glass of wine untouched in front of her, staring at nothing.

I don't know what pulled me toward her. I know I shouldn't have gone.

"Are you okay, miss?" I asked, keeping my voice soft, careful. She didn't answer, didn't even blink. "What's your name?"

The silence stretched long enough that I almost turned to walk away. Then she spoke.

"Wow." Her voice was low, almost amused, and when she finally lifted her eyes to mine, her mouth curled into something far too sharp to be a smile. "You did it again, Phoebe."

I froze. Every hair on my arms rose at once, some ancient animal instinct screaming that whatever came next would matter more than anything else said in that hall tonight.

"I killed you before." She rose slowly from her chair, smoothing her dress like she hadn't just said the single most horrifying sentence I'd ever heard spoken so casually. "And I won't hesitate to do it again."

She walked away without another word, leaving me standing frozen in the middle of a celebration I could no longer hear over the roaring in my own ears.

She remembers.

The realization crashed over me like ice water, drowning out the music, the laughter, Simon's hand finding mine again somewhere behind me.

Had Stella been reborn too?