Chapter 1: The Awakening of Celeste Vale

Darkness tasted sharp and metallic.

It clung to Celeste’s tongue, bitter as old coins, and stuck in her throat as she clawed her way out of the void—past the memory of blood soaking her shirt, hot and sticky and impossible to scrub away, past the look on her fiancé’s face as he shoved the knife in, sharp with triumph and disgust, past the shrieking of the pregnant bitch he’d cheated with, her voice raw and jagged, screaming that Celeste had it coming, that this was justice.

Then—just like that—the world snapped back.

She sucked in air like she’d been struck by lightning, every nerve sparking awake. Her chest heaved, lungs desperate. The taste of death lingered, metallic and cold, but was fading, replaced by something electric, alive.

Celeste shot upright, gasping. Not on the warehouse floor where she’d bled out alone, abandoned, but in a bed—a bed so massive it seemed to swallow her whole. Velvet, lush, sheets soft as a whisper, draped in silk, smelling faintly of moon lilies and old money—a scent that belonged to a life she’d lost.

Her eyes darted around, wide and wild.

White marble floors, gleaming, chill beneath her feet. Silver curtains, heavy and luxurious, pooling like liquid metal. Amethyst details catching the light, each facet sparkling with memories of childhood. A window so big it nearly ate the wall, pouring moonlight into the room in thick, syrupy streams.

Her heart skipped, then thudded hard, as if trying to punch holes in her chest.

No way. No way.

This was her childhood room.

The Vale Estate.

Perfect, untouched—like nothing had ever gone wrong, like her life hadn’t been ripped apart, like the last nightmare had never happened.

She shoved the covers off and nearly lost her balance as raw energy flooded her veins—crackling, bright, alive, more real than anything she’d ever felt. Her hands lit up with a faint, silvery glow, moonlight swirling under her skin like living magic, like the promise of something ancient and powerful awakening inside her.

Her breath caught, sharp. “What the hell…?”

That’s when she heard it.

About damn time.

A voice, deep and smooth as sin, rumbled in her head—warm, wicked, alive.

Celeste yelped, spinning to scan the empty room. “What—who—?! Where are you?!”

In here, the voice laughed, purring, wicked. I’m your wolf, sweetheart. You finally woke up.

Her wolf.

A Vale White Wolf.

Old blood. Rare as hell. Legends whispered about them—creatures of magic and moonlight, spirits that marked the Vale line and protected their own.

She’d never awakened it before. Not in her last life. Not even close.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Her voice shook, thin as thread.

Death set you loose. Rebirth set me free.

Her pulse hammered. She staggered toward the mirror, every step electric. The reflection nearly knocked her flat.

Her hair wasn’t dark anymore. It fell long and silver-white, shimmering like frosted glass under the moon, every strand aglow. Her skin glowed, too—ghostly, fierce, almost ethereal, as if she’d been carved from starlight and vengeance. Her eyes—

Holy shit.

Violet. Swirling like galaxies. Amethyst, burning, alive with a light that wasn’t entirely her own.

She looked like some goddess carved out of vengeance and moonlight, a being not meant for mortal halls.

Her wolf gave a smug purr, amusement and pride coiled in every syllable. We look fucking incredible.

Celeste barked out a half-crazed laugh, the sound sharp and wild. “I—I’m really back? Alive?”

Alive, strong, and royally pissed, her wolf agreed. Perfect.

Before she could even breathe, a soft chime cut through the room.

A phone.

Not hers—sleek, new, gleaming purple metal, weighty in her trembling hand. The screen blinked on, cold and impersonal.

1 new message—unknown number.

The air around her turned to ice, her breath frosting in her lungs.

She opened it.

A video. The thumbnail froze her blood—her ex-fiancé, shirtless, smirking, sprawled in their old bed, that same cruel mouth twisted in satisfaction.

Next to him? The mistress. The pregnant, lying, cackling bitch who’d helped kill her—her eyes glittering with malice, lips curled in contempt.

Celeste’s stomach dropped out. Her pulse roared in her ears like a hurricane.

She tapped play, hands shaking so hard she nearly missed the button.

The video kicked off with jittery, almost nervous footage—like someone was sneaking around with a hidden camera. It zoomed right in on the guest bedroom. That king-sized bed, messy white sheets bunched up, just like always. And there she was: Cassandra. Her old college best friend, lounging on the bed in a red dress that looked basically painted on. She tossed her dark hair back and laughed, right as Adrian walked in. He had on that usual button-down, sleeves pushed up, but his gaze? Locked on Cassandra. Hungry. A look Aurora had never seen aimed at her.

“Finally alone,” Adrian said. His voice sounded rough, lower than usual. He didn’t waste time—crossed the room, grabbed Cassandra by the waist, and pulled her in. Their mouths crashed together, messy and desperate. Cassandra moaned, and Adrian’s hands slid down, squeezing her ass through that dress before yanking it up to her hips. No panties. Just skin and a quick flash of her bare pussy.

Aurora forgot all about her coffee. She leaned in, heart thudding. No way this was real. But the video rolled on, sound sharp and clear. Cassandra broke the kiss, slid down to her knees, and unzipped Adrian’s pants. She shoved them and his boxers down. When his cock sprang free, thick and hard, she wrapped her hand around it—stroking him once, slow. Then she leaned in, tongue flicking at the bead of pre-cum.

Adrian groaned, fingers tangling in her hair. “Suck it,” he said, and Cassandra didn’t hesitate. She took him in, lips parting, her cheeks hollowing as she worked up and down, each time taking him deeper. Saliva glistened, her tongue swirling around the head. Adrian started thrusting, steady and hungry, the wet sounds filling the room—and Aurora’s kitchen, too.

Celeste—tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Adrian pulled Cassandra up, shoved her back on the bed, stripped the dress off with quick, rough hands. Her breasts spilled out, nipples dark and hard. He sucked one, pinched the other, made Cassandra arch and cry out. “Fuck me, Adrian,” she begged, legs spread, her pussy glistening and swollen.

He didn’t even pause. He lined himself up, rubbed the head against her, then slammed in. Cassandra gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself deep. He started pounding, the bed creaking. Her tits bounced with every thrust. She locked her legs around him, dragging him in. “Harder,” she panted. Adrian hammered into her, hips slamming, balls smacking her ass.

The camera shifted, caught the stretch as he slid in and out, her juices shining on his shaft. Cassandra’s hand flew down, rubbing her clit, desperate. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpered—and then she did. Her body shuddered, muscles clenching tight, her voice breaking as she screamed his name.

Adrian kept going. He flipped her over, dragged her hips up, and pushed back in from behind. This angle was even filthier: his cock disappearing into her, her ass rippling with every thrust. He spanked her, sharp and loud, redness blooming on her skin. Cassandra just moaned louder, pushing back against him. “

Then her ex’s voice, sharp as glass, as cold as the blade he’d put in her:

“Celeste is so fucking clueless. I’ll have her money, her company, and when she’s dead—well… we’ll celebrate properly.”

The mistress giggled, then spat out the line that made Celeste’s vision swim with rage:

“She’s pathetic. A useless virgin who thinks you love her.”

Celeste slapped a hand over her mouth, choking back a sob. The betrayal stung—god, it burned—but a twisted, shameful heat built inside her, too. On screen, Adrian sped up, grunting, almost animal. He pulled out at the last second, jerking himself over Cassandra’s back. Cum streaked across her, thick and white—her ass, her spine, even dripping down to her pussy. Cassandra slumped forward, spent, a lazy smile on her lips. Adrian bent down, kissed her shoulder.

Then the video cut to black.

Her hands shook so bad she almost dropped the phone, the urge to throw it against the wall nearly overwhelming.

Her wolf snarled, low and hungry. Play it again.

“No.” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I heard enough.”

Not enough to kill them slow, her wolf growled, voice thick with hunger and heat. But enough to start.

Her heart thundered, wild and unrestrained. She slammed the phone face-down, the screen going dark, and wiped her eyes with a trembling hand.

That rage—pure, electric, animal—burned through her. It lit her up from the inside out, sharper and brighter than any fear she’d ever known.

God, it felt good.

It felt dangerous.

It felt like, finally, she wasn’t weak anymore—like the world had handed her back every weapon she’d ever needed.

Then a knock froze her in place, heartbeat stuttering.

“Celeste? Sweetheart?” Her mother’s voice—alive, warm, painfully familiar—floated through the door, gentle and steady, grounding her in a reality she’d thought forever lost. “Are you awake?”

Celeste nearly collapsed, knees buckling with the weight of hope and grief.

Her mother was alive.

Her eyes stung, but this time from something softer, something tender. She stumbled to the door and flung it open, desperate to see, to touch, to believe.

Evelyn Vale stood there. Beautiful, graceful, breathing. Her lavender perfume wrapped around Celeste like a blanket from a forgotten life, soothing and safe.

“Mom…” Celeste croaked, voice thick with unshed tears.

Her mother looked her over, gentle concern in her eyes. “Your heart’s racing. Did you have a nightmare?”

“Something like that,” Celeste managed, clutching the doorframe to keep herself upright.

“Well, come down when you’re ready. Your father’s waiting for breakfast.” A pause, a smile. “And don’t forget—the Moon Ceremony’s tonight.”

Celeste blinked, mind whirling. “The… what?”

Her mother laughed, light and easy, the sound ringing with old comfort. “Your wolf awakening, darling. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Her wolf snorted, amusement rumbling through Celeste’s mind. Oh, we’re ready for that.

Celeste swallowed, trying to steady her voice. “Right. I’ll be there.”

Her mother kissed her forehead, tender, and drifted away down the hall, her presence lingering like a promise.

As the door shut, Celeste pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the wild, living magic pounding beneath her skin.

A second chance.

Reborn.

A heart full of vengeance, and a soul blazing with moonlight.