Sophia Moore's POV

Icy water crept up my fingers like a swarm of biting insects. Numbly, I kept scrubbing the clothes in the basin, my movements mechanical, detached.

The frostbite on my wrists scraped against the washboard with each pass, a sensation like rusted wire sawing through bone.

Six years. Enough time for pain to dull into a background hum. But every time my hands plunged into freezing water, the jolt of memory struck me anew—these hands, once so nimble on the piano, now swollen like over-proofed dough, joints grotesquely misshapen.

"What the hell are you dawdling for?"

The barked order slammed down like a falling stone.

A hoodie emblazoned with a skull slapped against my shoulder. I looked up and locked eyes with Lucy, her gaze sharp and empty.

"If it's not clean, I'll shove your hands down the damn drain."

I lowered my eyes and rasped a hoarse, "Okay." The sound of my own voice was alien—raw and unfamiliar.

My hands moved on their own, submerged in icy water that had long robbed me of sensation.

I wasn't singled out by accident. In this prison, I was the only Alpha's daughter—and the only inmate convicted as a minor. For six years, I had been a convenient target: a servant, a punching bag, a scapegoat for every frustration.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. The sound made my blood run colder than the water. Officer Sam stood in the doorway.

Terror gripped me. Instinct made me recoil, but the shackles around my ankles dragged like anchors, making escape impossible.

He noticed. Of course he did.

A cruel smile played on his lips as he stalked toward me.

"Trying to run, little bitch?"

His voice dripped with mockery and venom. Without warning, he drove a boot into my side.

Pain exploded in my ribs, sharp and blinding—like a metal pipe had been rammed into my spine. My old injury flared, and agony surged in waves.

Sam loomed over me, triumphant and twisted. "Get out, bitch. You're done."

I shut my eyes, forcing my breath to even out.

Then it hit me.

Today was my release day.

Today, after six years, I was finally walking out of this hell.

Sam's laugh slithered around me like oil.

"Can't wait to see you back here, sweetheart. Next time, I'm gonna make sure I fuck you properly."

His words made my skin crawl, but I bit down on my rage and pushed myself upright, pain screaming from every joint.

I wouldn't fall here. I'd survived too much. I couldn't let it be for nothing.

Six years ago, I had a family. A home. Love.

My mother, Evelyn Moore—Alpha's daughter of the Black Rose Pack—was grace and strength incarnate. Her beauty had weight, but it was her warmth that lit our home like sunlight.

My father, William Moore, had once been just a warrior. But my mother loved him without flinching, brushing off the caste divide like it was dust. Because she believed in him, so did my grandparents—pushing past the council to crown him Alpha.

We lived in the heart of the pack, often gathered together, sharing stories, laughter, the comfort of routine. I thought it would last forever.

But after my grandparents passed, my father changed.

He came home one day with an Omega—a werewolf named Avery Wilson—and her two bastard children, Lucas and Isabella.

Avery. Poison wrapped in beauty. She stood in front of my mother like a queen victorious, her voice dripping with smugness.

"Evelyn," she said without shame, "William and I are true mates. You? You're just the placeholder. He married you to become Alpha. Without me, he wouldn't even be happy. Let go already. Let us be together."

My mother's face went bloodless. Her eyes searched my father's for denial, for truth. For love.

But he looked away. Silent.

Her tears began to fall, slow and devastating.

At last, he spoke. "Evelyn... you'll always be my Luna, I swear. But since my wolf met Avery, he's been... wild. She's my mate—chosen by the Moon Goddess. If I reject her, my wolf's power will falter. The pack could be in danger if we're attacked."

What a coward's excuse.

My mother took it all—betrayal, humiliation, pain—and bore it without a word.

But Avery wasn't satisfied. She provoked and needled until my mother, crushed by grief, swallowed wolfsbane and took her own life.

It hollowed me.

My heart became a black void where pain echoed endlessly.

I accused my father and his whore of murder. He denied it all, shielding her with sickening loyalty.

At the funeral—if one could even call it that—hardly anyone came. The pack she had served, protected, and loved turned their backs on her to curry favor with her replacement.

There was no dignity, no honor. Just a crude coffin made of rough, unfinished wood, a wilted wreath tossed on top like garbage. Some flowers were already dead; others had lost half their petals.

This was the send-off they gave a Luna.

The guests who did show up stood at a distance, exchanging pleasantries with false tears and smirking glances. It felt less like mourning, more like a social hour.

Even my father's grief was a performance.

And then Avery arrived—decked in diamonds, hair immaculately styled, children in tow.

Fury surged through me. I turned on them.

"This is how you honor the wife who gave everything for this pack? The Luna? The Alpha's daughter? You couldn't even give her a proper funeral?"

My father lowered his head, avoiding my eyes.

Avery sighed like I was the difficult one. "The pack's budget is tight, Sophia. We have to make cuts. Why can't you understand your father?"

My voice sliced through the air. "Tight? Then how are you wearing this season's most expensive diamond ring? Why are your children dressed in couture? But my mother—our Luna—wasn't worth a simple funeral?"

My father flushed. Avery's eyes hardened, her lips curling into something venomous.

Lucas, her attack dog in human form, snapped, "Watch your mouth, bitch! Your mom's dead. Show some respect to our Luna—or I'll make sure you regret it."

Rage ignited inside me, burning hotter than I could contain.

"The Luna of this pack is my mother!" I screamed. "Not that fucking bitch!"

And then something deep within me stirred. A force—fierce, primal—rose from the depths.

A voice echoed in my mind.

"I am Amelia, your wolf. Do you want revenge?"

"I do," I whispered through clenched teeth. Not from fear—but from wrath.

In a blink, I shifted—fur, claws, fangs. My wolf had awakened.

I lunged.

Avery's face twisted in disbelief. "You... you're twelve... you can't—your wolf shouldn't be awakened yet—"

Before my claws could reach her throat, the pack's strongest Gammas swarmed me.

They tried to pin me down, but I was too strong, too fast. For a moment, they couldn't restrain me at all.

I heard Isabella shriek. "She's a monster!"

And others chimed in—

"Even the Gammas can't subdue her!"

"What is she?"

"She's possessed!"

Then—blackness.

When I woke, I was in a cell—cold, damp, and stinking of iron and filth.

My body screamed in pain. My clothes had been torn to rags. Whip marks crisscrossed my back, raw and bleeding.

Amelia was gone.

No trace of my wolf remained.

But the witnesses at the funeral confirmed it: I'd awakened my wolf at twelve. I'd attacked high-ranking members of the pack. The matter reached the Federal Council of Lycans.

Avery demanded my execution, branding me a threat.

Because I was underage, they spared me death.

Instead, I was sentenced to six years.

Six years that felt like a death of their own.

In prison, I was nothing but prey. The guards—especially those who knew what I had been—took special pleasure in breaking me.

Scar layered over scar. Old wounds split open to make room for new ones. My back was a map of suffering.

Some nights, I couldn't sleep from the pain. I would stare at the cracked ceiling, counting the fractures in the plaster until despair swallowed me whole.

Amelia came back once, briefly, when I turned eighteen. But she was faint, curled up like a wounded pup deep in my mind. No longer strong enough to fight.

Six years. Over two thousand days and nights of survival.

Every beating, every torment, I endured with one thought whispering like a prayer:

I must live. I must get out. I must have vengeance.

That thought became my only flame in the darkness—small, flickering, but unyielding.

And now, as I stood before the prison gates, free at last, a guard's voice shattered the silence:

"Someone's waiting for you."

My body tensed.

Who?

A friend? An enemy?

A trap? Or salvation?

I stood frozen, trembling, caught in the grip of fear and uncertainty.