Reborn as the Alpha’s regret

Calla’s POV"Calla! Get your ass over here and bring those damn refreshments for the Elders! Quit standing around like an idiot and move that sorry ass!"Marla’s voice blasted through the grand hall, cutting the silence like a sharp blade. She barked the order at me, treating me exactly like one of the servants running around under her feet.Before I could respond, she was already calling out again. "Calla! Do you have wax in your ears, or are you just stupid? The Elders want refreshments, not excuses!”I froze halfway down the hall, my hands automatically tightening around the tray. I forced myself to swallow the sudden sting of pain in my throat before slowly turning to confront her.I was Luna of the Nightmoor Pack, in name if nothing else. And Marla? She was just a distant cousin of Alpha Lucien Thorne. But somehow, she strutted through this mansion like the owner, while I, the Alpha’s mate, was treated like a mere servant. She was also the only one who dared call me by name inste

Calla’s POVI waited silently in the corner, pressed against the cold stone wall, heart hammering so loudly I swore they could hear it. Familiar, sharp, impatient voices started echoing from further down the hall.My father’s.I could picture him even before I saw him—shoulders straight, face full of false worry, acting like the devoted parent who had “lost” his daughter in the Alpha’s quarters. But I knew better now. I’d lived this scene once already. He wasn’t here out of concern. He was here to trap Lucien and me shamelessly.The Elders murmured among themselves, their footsteps slowing as they approached the Alpha’s chamber.“Ulric,” one of them said, “are you certain she’s here?”“I’m certain,” my father replied, speaking with heavy, self-righteous confidence. “My daughter went missing after the feast. We must make sure she’s safe. For both families’ sake.”Safe. Right. I almost laughed.Then the sound of the latch turning made me freeze. The door opened, and I caught my breath.

- Calla I closed the door to my old room, leaning back against the wood. The lock clicked, a small, mundane sound that, for the first time in five years, felt like a shield. I was alone, truly alone, and the sheer absence of Marla’s sniping voice or Lucien’s chilling indifference was intoxicating. It was over. The trap had been foiled. I hadn’t married him, hadn’t carried his child only to die in a blaze of fire. Willow. My sweet, hopeful daughter. The pain of her loss was a hollow ache in my chest, a constant reminder of the future I had just erased. That pain was my strength now. I wouldn’t allow that future to happen. I wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt us again. I peeled off the robe and let it drop to the floor. My skin was still flushed and sensitive, a stark reminder of the mating heat and the night's undeniable passion. Passion. It was a cruel word for what had happened. It was a chemical reaction, a surge of wolf instincts fueled by drugs. Yet, the memory of his lips, his

- CallaThe old Greystone Estate was just as I remembered it: silent, neglected, and surrounded by a thick, protective wall of pine and brush. The small cabin was dusty and smelled faintly of mouse droppings and aged wood, but it was mine. No guards, no Marla, and no scent of Alpha Lucien Thorne. Just freedom, purchased with a ruthless transfer of money and a clean break from a destiny I refused to accept.I spent the first few hours cleaning, not resting. Scrubbing the dirt from the windows, sweeping the dead leaves from the porch, and airing out the stale sheets. The work was simple, physical, and blessedly mindless. Every action was a small act of defiance against the past life where I had always been treated like a burden or an idiot.By noon, the cabin was clean enough. I ate a simple meal of canned soup—the first step in my new regimen. No more comfort eating. No more hiding behind food.My body was still soft, weak, and tired easily. This was the result of years of emotional mi

- CallaThree weeks.That’s how long I had been hiding in the old Greystone Estate. Three weeks of nothing but sweat, exhaustion, and the bitter taste of canned soup. The routine was brutal, but it was working.I stood in front of the small, cracked mirror in the bathroom, pulling the loose gray hoodie tight around my waist. The change wasn’t huge yet, but it was real. My clothes, which used to strain across my chest and hips, now hung looser. My face was still round, but the heavy puffiness around my jaw was starting to recede, showing the sharper bone structure beneath.More importantly than the looks, I was stronger.I could run the perimeter five times now without wanting to collapse. My wolf felt less sluggish, less buried under years of comfort and fear. When I punched the rotten training post, it didn't just hurt my knuckles—the wood actually gave a little. My movements were quicker, more precise, fueled by the cold memory of the cabin fire.This progress was my shield. Every m