CHAPTER 5 – The First Day of the Rest of My Life

- 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 hands, the possessive weight of his body… it felt terrifyingly real.

In my past life, I had convinced myself that because we were mates, that night meant something. Now, I knew it meant nothing except manipulation and a forced bond. But Lucien’s reaction this time—his surprise, the momentary flicker of desire in his eyes when he finally looked at me, and his offer to take responsibility before my father burst in—that was the part that was different. It didn’t matter. I had refused him. I had walked away. And that was the only victory that counted.

I walked over to the full-length mirror, a piece of furniture I usually avoided. The woman staring back at me was Calla Greystone, the one everyone called fat, ugly, and pathetic. My face was round, my skin marred by stress acne, and my body was soft and shapeless beneath the thin chemise. The sight was painful, but it wasn't surprising. This was the body that had died in the fire. This was the past.

“Not anymore,” I whispered to the reflection, a fierce resolve tightening my jaw.

My journey to change wasn't about pleasing Lucien or anyone else. It was about survival and freedom. In my previous life, my physical weakness had been a part of my humiliation. This time, I needed strength. I needed resilience.

The first step had to be immediate, irreversible, and physical.

I needed to clear the drugs, the heat, and the emotional wreckage of the past life from my system. My small room had an attached, private shower—a luxury my father had secured before his reputation crumbled. I turned the water to freezing cold and stepped under the harsh spray. The shock made me gasp, but I stayed there, letting the icy water wash away the last remnants of the past night and the fear of the last life.

When I stepped out, my skin was tingling, and my mind was sharp. The immediate plan formed easily: Leave the packhouse.

Staying here, even for another day, was dangerous. The Thorne mansion was a cage, and the walls held too many ghosts. My immediate goal was to establish my independence and start my training. The perfect place? The old Greystone Estate.

Before my father, Ulric, lost his status as the respected Beta, our family owned a small, isolated property a few miles from the main Nightmoor territory line. It was rundown, neglected, and far from the watchful eyes of Lucien, Marla, and the Elders. It had a small, private training yard and was surrounded by thick woods—perfect for me to start running, shifting, and conditioning my body without judgment.

I started packing with ruthless efficiency. I didn't need much. Clothes, toiletries, and the few mementos I had of my mother, who had died when I was young. I rummaged through a dusty chest and pulled out a small leather-bound journal. It was my mother’s. I didn't remember what was inside, but I knew she was the only pure memory I had left.

Next, the most vital thing: money.

My father was many things—weak, cowardly, and desperate—but he was not penniless. He still had access to his ancestral accounts, which, by law, were shared with his only daughter. In the past, I never dared to touch them, relying instead on the meager allowance Lucien provided. This time, I needed capital to secure my independence.

I found the old bank book hidden beneath loose floorboards, took a deep breath, and wrote out a transfer note for a substantial sum. It wasn’t stealing; it was taking what was legally mine. My father wouldn't notice the money was gone for weeks, and by then, I'd be untouchable.

I dressed in the simplest clothes I owned—a thick, gray hoodie and dark running pants. I laced up my sturdiest sneakers. Looking at my reflection one last time, I didn't see the future Luna of the Nightmoor Pack. I saw a refugee preparing for a long journey.

The problem, of course, was my father.

He had told me, "Go back to your room. We'll talk about this later." This meant he was waiting for the Elders to leave before he cornered me to demand an explanation for my strange behaviour and my defiance of his marriage-trap plan.

I had to be gone before he returned.

I slipped out of my room and silently padded down the main staircase. The mansion was still asleep, the only sounds the creak of old wood and the distant hum of the security system. I reached the back exit—a small door near the kitchens used by staff.

Just as I reached the latch, a low voice spoke from the shadows.

“Calla.”

I froze, my hand hovering over the cold metal. My heart leaped into my throat. The voice wasn't my father’s, but it was just as unwelcome.

Marla.

She stepped out of the darkness near the pantry, already dressed impeccably, a glass of water in her hand. Her eyes were sharp, glinting with suspicion.

“Where are you going at this hour? Are you trying to sneak off to Alpha Lucien’s room again? The little Beta’s daughter trying to force a second chance?” Her lips twisted into that familiar, cruel smirk.

I took a deep breath, fighting the old instinct to shrink away. I remembered her in the cabin fire, her smug face in the moments before my death—even if she wasn't the direct killer, her hatred had poisoned my life. I wouldn’t let her know she still had that power over me.

“I was going for a walk, Marla,” I said, my voice steady, pulling on the simple-worded, non-confrontational tone I had decided to adopt. “It’s a big pack. I have every right to use the training grounds.”

“Training grounds? You?” She let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed slightly in the quiet hallway. “You can barely jog ten steps without getting winded. Don't lie to me, Calla. You're running away. You messed up your father’s little scandal and now you’re scared the Alpha will punish you. Good.”

She took a slow, deliberate sip of her water, watching me over the rim.

“The Alpha only sees you as a desperate, overweight liability. You might have fooled the Elders yesterday by popping out of the dark, but you didn't fool him. You never will. Go back to your room before I tell everyone you tried to abandon your Beta father.”

My fingers tightened into fists inside the pockets of my hoodie. The anger was a slow burn, but I kept my face utterly calm. I was not the weak Calla who had died. I was stronger now.

“I’m not running away from anyone, Marla,” I said simply. I held her gaze, a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in my expression that I knew she wouldn't miss—a look that said, I know more than you think I do. “And I am not my father’s liability. Perhaps you should worry about your own position in this pack, given how hard you try to impress Lucien.”

Her smug confidence wavered. Her eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

I didn't give her the satisfaction of repeating it. I just held her cold stare for a moment longer, then took my hand off the door latch and walked past her, toward the main grand entrance.

Marla was too surprised to speak for a moment. "Where are you going? I told you to go back to your room!"

"I'm leaving the mansion, Marla," I replied, not stopping. "And if you want to tell anyone, feel free. But be careful. People who spread gossip sometimes lose things they didn't even realize they had."

I pushed open the heavy front door and stepped out into the pre-dawn air. The cold hit my skin, welcome and sharp. I didn’t look back. I didn't need to. The silence behind me was more satisfying than any victory cry. Marla was frozen, shocked by my sudden confidence and the unspoken threat in my words.

I walked quickly down the stone driveway. I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a short text to the estate manager—a simple, formal notification that I, Calla Greystone, would be moving to the Greystone ancestral property for an extended stay, effective immediately. By doing this, I made the move official and legal.

As I reached the gates, I felt the unmistakable pull of the woods, the instinctual call of my wolf to run, to be free. The sheer weight of the mansion lifted from my shoulders. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, clean and full of possibility.

I was finally free.

My journey started now. The journey to lose the weight, to grow the strength, to learn to fight, and, most importantly, to find the truth behind the murder that cost Willow her life.

Lucien Thorne can have his pack and his power, I thought, pulling the hoodie tighter around me. I will have my life, and I will have my vengeance.

I broke into a steady jog down the road towards the old Greystone Estate, the first day of my second life already in full motion.