Chapter 1

I was born with the ability to see the Grim Reaper.

It was a shadowy figure cloaked in black, radiating a bone-chilling cold, appearing only right before death struck.

The first time I saw him, I was seven years old.

He was standing quietly in the corner of my grandfather's study.

"Grandpa, there’s a dark shadow behind you," I said, tugging at his sleeve.

He just patted my head, chuckled, and said I must be sick and hallucinating.

The next morning, Grandpa was found dead in the recliner in his study. A sudden heart attack.

A month later, the shadow appeared again.

This time, he was trailing my father's car.

"Don’t get in! Please, Dad, don't go!" I screamed, hugging my father's leg for dear life, trying to stop him.

I shouted at the top of my lungs that I could see the Reaper.

My terror spooked him, and he eventually canceled his trip, choosing to stay home.

I thought I had changed fate.

But late that night, while going downstairs to grab a bottle of wine, my father missed a step.

He broke his neck and died on the spot.

His death struck like a lightning bolt.

My mother, nine months pregnant, was so overwhelmed by the shock that she suffered a massive hemorrhage that same night.

I stood trembling outside the operating room.

Because the black-cloaked Reaper was waiting silently right by the door.

A few hours later, accompanied by the loud cries of a baby, the doctor walked out.

"I'm sorry, ma'am didn't make it. But the good news is, the little miss is perfectly healthy."

That was my younger sister, Chloe.

The pack’s new baby, paid for with my mother's life.

It rained heavily on the day of my mother's funeral.

Drenched in my black dress, I stared blankly as the casket was lowered into the muddy earth.

Suddenly, a massive force slammed into my back.

Caught off guard, I crashed to the ground, my knee striking the sharp edge of a tombstone base.

Flesh tore, and blood mixed with mud as it ran down my leg.

"You damn monster!"

Declan, my third brother, glared at me with bloodshot eyes, roaring like a rabid beast.

He grabbed me by the collar, hauling me halfway off the ground. "It’s you! Your cursed mouth killed Grandpa and Dad! And you killed Mom!"

"I didn't..." I trembled, trying to defend myself. "It wasn't me..."

Declan hurled me away, and I fell hard into the muck.

All around me were the disgusted, fearful glares of our pack members.

Kieran stood in the distance. It wasn't until I finally broke down sobbing that he coldly called Declan away.

Rhys, holding newborn Chloe, didn't even look at me. He just gave me a side profile full of revulsion.

"Stay away from Chloe. Your stench of bad luck will taint her."

The crowd dispersed.

I sat alone in the pouring rain in the cemetery.

From that day on, I completely became the ghost of the family—and its greatest sinner.

My room, which used to be the largest and brightest in the house, was given to Chloe.

I was moved into the leaky attic.

Everything I had enjoyed as the pack's eldest daughter vanished overnight.

Kieran took over the pack and became the new Alpha.

He was aloof and incredibly busy. He wouldn't speak more than half a sentence to me all year. Even when we occasionally crossed paths, he looked right through me like I was air.

Rhys became a top-tier senior healer. He saved all his smiles and gentleness for Chloe.

But whenever he turned to me, his words were sharp and vicious: "Rhea, could you just stay out of our sight? You make me feel like the air is polluted."

As for Declan, the mere sight of me sent him into a rage.

"Get lost! Out of my way!" That was what he said to me the most.

Even during meals, if they saw me, their happy faces would instantly sour.

To avoid angering them and just survive, I learned to hide. I would only go to the dining room to eat the scraps after they had finished.

But over time, the servants also realized my standing in the family.

"Oh, so sorry, Miss Rhea," the cook sneered falsely, dumping the last bit of leftovers into the trash right in front of me. "No leftovers today. You'll just have to deal with it."

I could only swallow the sour bile rising in my stomach, turn around silently, and head back to the leaky attic.

When I was dizzy with hunger, I’d drink a few mouthfuls of cold water, wrap myself in a tattered blanket, and suffer through the long, dark nights.

That was how I lived until my eighteenth birthday.