SOMEONE

ANASTASIA’S POV

Clara, my head maid, tugged gently at my hair, weaving strand after strand into a neat braid, while the other maids fussed over my face and dress. Blush dusted my cheeks, lipstick applied on my lips, flower clips nestled into my strands, gold placed around my neck and wrists. Everything about me was being polished, perfected, packaged into a bride ready to be handed over like a gift.

Except I felt like a total wreck.

My whole body was humming with nerves, the kind that made your stomach flutter and your chest feel too tight. Earlier, at the fated box ceremony, I’d been fire and defiance, daring Amelia to hate me openly, standing my ground against my family in a way I've never done.

But now, sitting here in front of my vanity, that spunk had withered into something smaller. Anxiety clawed at my insides.

This was happening.

I was really going through with it. Leaving home. Marrying Nicholas Bloodhound. Going head to head with Amelia.

My throat tightened. My hands trembled in my lap.

“Clara,” I whispered, my voice rougher than I intended. Her dark eyes flicked up at me through the mirror, questioning but obedient. “Could you… give me a moment? You, and the others.”

She stilled instantly. “Of course, my lady.” With a small bow, she signalled to the other maids. They filed out quietly, shutting the door behind them, leaving me with my reflection and the suffocating silence.

I dropped my gaze to my lap, twisting my fingers together. Amelia’s words from our last confrontation circled in my head like birds.

I WON’T STOP COMING AT YOU.

At the time, I’d been furious, all spit and claws, too blinded by rage to feel the weight of what she’d said. But now, with the heat gone and only the quiet left, the truth hit harder. Amelia wasn’t bluffing. She never did.

She hated me. Not petty-sibling rivalry kind of hate. No, Amelia’s hate was sharp, deliberate, dangerous. She had promised I wouldn’t have peace, and I believed her.

I was terrified.

I didn’t know how to protect myself from her this time. I had no one. No one to confide in, no one to lean on. This second chance, this twist of fate the Moon Goddess had given me, it came with nothing but isolation. I couldn’t tell Clara; she wouldn’t believe me.

I couldn’t tell Nicholas, even if he turned out to be decent. Would he even believe me if I told him the truth? That I was living again, remembering a life where I’d already been betrayed and broken? He’d probably call for the healer to check my head. I could barely believe it myself.

I lifted my chin to the mirror, staring at my own pale reflection. My braid was half-finished, white flower clips hanging loosely from the point Clara had stopped. My own eyes looked too wide, too haunted.

I tipped my chin up at the mirror, eyes stinging. MOON GODDESS, PLEASE… I didn’t even know what I was asking for. Courage? Wisdom? Protection? Maybe all of it.

I thought desperately, the words silent, buried deep.

LET ME SEE THIS THROUGH.

Slowly I exhaled a deep breath and another another, willing my nerves to calm down and my mind to quiet. Resolve settled in slowly, like sand sinking to the bottom.

My fate wasn’t in Amelia’s hands. It wasn’t in Nicholas’s either. It was mine. Mine alone.

I squared my shoulders, forcing breath into my lungs. Then I called softly, “Clara.”

The door opened at once, my maids filing back in, Clara leading. I offered her a small smile, though it felt shaky on my lips. “Let’s finish this.”

***

By the time I stepped out into the courtyard, the sun was high and merciless. Two sleek cars waited, polished until they shone.

And Amelia was already there.

She turned the second she spotted me, her painted mouth curving into that same deceptively sweet smile that she used to trick others into thinking what she's not. We were outside, with servants, guards and a few warriors lingering about. So she had to play the good sister, the best sister.

Like she'd done all our lives.

Her eyes flicked over me slowly, deliberately, as if she were cataloguing everything she despised.

I clenched my jaw, trying to steady myself. We looked nearly identical in these dresses, our hair braided the same, flower clips catching the sunlight. But that was where the similarities ended. Amelia radiated sharpness, allure. I had always been softer, milder, more reserved.

It was frustrating being the only one that knew her true self. Everyone else just saw her as the sweetest, kindest soul. And for every time I pointed out her pretence, well, I was obviously called bitter and jealous.

Amelia walked up to me, her eyes gleaming with that cruel light I knew too well. I braced myself.

“Does your stupid plan also involve copying me now?” she whispered, her voice honeyed for the benefit of the onlookers.

I almost laughed. She was the one whose blonde hair, two shades darker than mine, was in a single braid. She never braided or tied up her hair, always left it to fall to her back in waves.

The flower clips were something she never opted to use, she used to mock them, calling them childish.

She was all eyeliner and red lipstick, soft makeup was something she never did.

Nor did she wear pastel colours or pearl jewellery.

Every aspect of her look right now screamed ME, not her. She was the imitation.

I rolled my eyes, unwilling to feed her immaturity.

If she only knew how obvious her own mimicry was, how desperately she clawed to wear a mask that didn’t fit her. But I was too tired. Too drained to trade words. Our last confrontation had sucked up all my energy so I turned to walk away.

Her hand landed on my shoulder, gentle enough to fool others, but the weight of it pressed down like a warning. “You can’t ignore me for long,” she murmured through a clenched smile.

True. I’d have to face her sooner, fighting fire with fire until my life is completely safe from her and her attacks. I forced a small, weary smile. “You’re right.”

Her eyes widened briefly, my agreement catching her off guard. Her lips parted, but before she could sharpen her words again, our parents and brothers appeared.

Mother burst into tears instantly, sobbing dramatically as if we were being sent to war instead of our marriages. She clung to Amelia, showering her with kisses, whispering advice.

“Promise you’ll visit often,” she pleaded before proceeding to press more kisses on her forehead.

“Of course, mother. I will.” Amelia said between laughs.

I watched the whole thing play out before me and when my mother was done, when she finally realised Amelia wasn't the only daughter that was leaving, she turned to me.

I stood silently as she gave me a brisk pat on my back. “Be good.” She said flatly.

She wasn't crying, she wasn't making me promise to visit, she wasn't showering me with kisses. Not that I expected the last bit but at least I could have gotten something more.

Our brothers stepped in and the same pattern played out—warmth and affection for Amelia, a few disinterested nods in my direction.

And Father… he didn’t even look at me. Not once.

Clara’s hand brushed gently against mine, a quiet comfort. My throat burned. Tears threatened. Even now, even on the day I left their house forever, they couldn’t muster affection for me.

I turned abruptly, before the dam broke, skirts swishing, as I headed straight for the car prepared for me. Clara trailed behind, loyal as always.

She went around to load my belongings into the trunk as I slipped into the backseat, and in that small pocket of solitude, the tears spilled free. Hot, choking, unstoppable. The rejection seared through me until I had to press a hand to my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

Outside, my family was still fussing over Amelia. Still weeping, still kissing, still clinging as though she were the only daughter they had. I laughed bitterly through the tears, the sound jagged. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe leaving was the only good thing that had ever happened to me. Why stay in a place where I was invisible? Unloved? Unwanted?

Maybe in Nicholas Bloodhound’s home, I could build something different. Something better. Something where I mattered.

Somewhere I wouldn’t be invisible.

I lifted my gaze just in time to see Father kiss Amelia’s forehead, tender in a way he hasn't been with me for many years. He walked her to her car. It gleamed, subtly more luxurious than mine. Most wouldn’t notice the difference, but it was there. It was newer and wasn't the same car that had gone through multiple repairs after my younger brother crashed it on a wild night out—that was mine.

My sister has always gotten the better of everything.

Our pack’s old saying floated through my head: Send off a bride well, and her journey will be blessed.

What did that mean for me? That I was cursed before I even left the yard?

Still, I supposed I should be grateful for the car at all.

Clara slid in beside me just as Amelia’s vehicle began to roll. Ours followed. Through the glass, I watched my family waving, every hand and tear directed at Amelia. None of them noticed my ride pulling away as well.

A hollow ache spread through me. I leaned back, clutching my skirts, letting my pain fester. All I wanted, wished for, was simple. Pathetic, maybe, but simple.

That one day, when I had to leave for wherever, someone, anyone, would be sad to see me go.