JACKLA

She stepped into view with that same smug calm she wore like a second skin. She was dressed in black, like always. Every inch of her was perfect—gloves, boots, sleek red hair tucked behind one ear.

Her lips curved, but there was no smile. Just something cold, calculated, and cruel. Her eyes moved slowly over me, like she was trying to decide if I was still useful.

The ropes dug deeper into my wrists each time I shifted, but I didn’t bother struggling anymore. My breath came out in quiet, shallow huffs, and the cold floor beneath my bare feet did nothing to steady the tremble in my bones.

“I see you still haven’t learned how to stay out of trouble,” she said, her voice smooth. I laughed under my breath, but it sounded dry and bitter.

“And you still haven’t learned how to keep your legs closed around men who raised us.” She blinked. For the tiniest second, I saw her jaw tighten, but she was too good at hiding her emotions.

She stepped closer. “You’ve always been jealous of me,” she said softly. “Even as kids.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sure. I’ve always dreamed of being the daughter who spread her thighs for her own father and called it power.” Her hand moved fast. Not a slap.

Just a sharp tug to the side of my face as she grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. I hissed through clenched teeth but held her gaze. She leaned in, her breath brushing my cheek.

“You were always weak, Jackla. You ran away, remember? I stayed. I did what needed to be done.”

“Of course you did,” I whispered. “Because you liked it.” Her fingers curled tighter in my hair before she let go, smoothing her gloves like she hadn’t just tried to rip the scalp from my head.

I sat still, every muscle in my body tense. I hated her. I hated how she always walked into a room like she owned it. Like nothing ever touched her. Like she didn’t come from the same broken hell I did.

She sighed, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. “Well, you’re getting married,” she said suddenly. The words landed like a stone in my stomach.

I stared at her, blinking slowly, trying to decide if she was joking. “You’re going to take my place. It’s already arranged. You’ll change the color of your hair, learn to walk like me, speak like me. Just until I finish my assignment.”

My eyes narrowed.

“What kind of assignment?” I asked. She smiled too sweetly. “Let’s just say someone important might be having an accident soon.”Her voice was calm, but her eyes gleamed with something sharp and cold.

I laughed. Just once. Loud and bitter. “Oh, you mean until you finish licking Father’s boots and murdering people for attention?” Her eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed calm.

“Until I finish protecting the family.”

“The same family that neglected me? The same family that pretends I don’t exist?” She didn’t respond. She just walked to the side, her arms folded again.

“You’re going to do it,” she said. “Because Father said you will. And because deep down, you still want to belong.” I turned my face away, but it was too late. She saw the flicker in my eyes.

The part of me I still hadn’t killed off. The part that remembered when we were little and still shared a bed. When she used to whisper to me after nightmares and braid my hair. Before she changed.

Before she became his sex toy.

“Who am I marrying?” I asked, even though my voice came out like sand.

She waited a beat too long.

“Alpha Morano Salvatore.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I knew that name. I’d heard it whispered in the club, spoken in warning. Ruthless. Cold. Unforgiving. The kind of man who slit throats without blinking.

My heart thudded louder.

“Jayla…” I breathed. “I can’t. Anyone but him.”

Jayla didn’t even blink.

“Why not him?” she asked, tracing her fingers on her gloves.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell her that I might have met this man before. Even now, in a room full of cold silence, I could still feel his breath on my neck. I looked away.

“Because he’s dangerous.”

Jayla raised one brow. “Well, you don’t have a choice Jackla. You’d be taking my place.”

“I do,” I said quickly, my voice rising. “I’m not going to be a pawn in Father’s games. I won’t do this, Jayla. I’d rather die than marry him.” She smiled faintly, too faint to mean anything kind.

“Then die,” a deep voice cut in from the shadows. My stomach turned and then I saw him. Our stepfather. He emerged from the dark room, hands tucked into his expensive coat, face as smooth as the lies he used to feed us.

“You think this is about what you want, Jackla?” he asked softly, walking toward me like a man already bored of the conversation. Jayla straightened a little when he entered, like a dog sitting for its master.

“You think you matter enough to refuse?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He came closer, crouched to my level, his breath cold and sharp like winter smoke. I lifted my chin. My hands balled into fists behind the ropes.

“It’s been years,” he said, his voice smooth like oil.

“And yet here you are.”

“Didn’t exactly come back on my own,” I muttered. He smiled. Not with his mouth. Just with the cold amusement in his eyes. “You always needed direction. Your sister understands duty. You ran.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “I ran because I didn’t want to rot like the both of you.” That wiped his smile off. Fiorello leaned in slightly, lowering his voice until it was just for me.

“Let me make this very clear, Jackla. You will go through with this marriage and you will play your part. And if you so much as think about refusing—” he paused.

I met his eyes, trying to keep my voice steady.

“And if I don’t?” He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll burn down that little convent of yours. With all those orphans still inside. Every nun. Every girl you used to protect. I’ll leave nothing behind but ash. And when the fire clears, you can keep your pride and their ghosts.”

My whole body went still. He leaned in closer, as if testing how far my silence could stretch before it snapped. “And what then?” he whispered. “Will you still be the girl who ran?”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t because at that moment, I knew I wasn’t being asked to marry Morano. I was being warned what would happen if I didn’t.

The convent.

The only place I’d ever felt safe.

The kind nurses. The children who clung to me like I was something good. That wasn’t just a roof over my head. It was the first place I ever learned peace. And now he was threatening to turn it to ash because of me.

“They have nothing to do with this.” I swallowed hard, my throat thick.

He shrugged. “Then don’t make them part of it.” Fiorello's eyes swept over me once again, his head tilted just slightly. “She’s thinner,” he said, like I wasn’t even human.

“Fix it. The Salvators don’t marry strays.” Jayla nodded and stepped forward with a folder in her hand. She dropped it on the table beside me.

“You’ll be trained over the next few weeks. You’ll eat better, speak softer, walk like you were raised with diamonds under your feet.”

Fiorello looked down at me one last time. “Do this right, Jackla,” he said. “For once in your life, be useful.” Then he turned and walked out. Jayla stayed a second longer.

“Don’t pretend like you’re some victim,” she said quietly. “You always knew what this family was. You just didn’t want to be part of it.” I blinked slowly, feeling the hot pressure build behind my eyes.

And for the first time, I didn’t argue.

Because it didn’t matter anymore.

I was already trapped.

And this time, I wouldn’t be running.

This time, I’d be walking straight into the lion’s mouth. Wearing my sister’s face.