Emily walked as the snow began to fall, her hand gripping the handle of a small suitcase tightly. The suitcase wheels squeaked, scraping against the stone pathway of the Blackridge family villa—the home of the Alpha bloodline.

Mr. Raymond, the elderly driver who had long served as the Blackridge family's gatekeeper, stood beside the long black sedan. His suit was damp, his hands wringing his old chauffeur's cap. The moment he saw Emily passing through the large stone gate, he jogged toward her.

"Emily! At least let me drive you."

Emily stopped at the end of the pathway. Under the garden lamp, her face was pale, her hair stuck to her cheeks, her eyes red from holding back tears she refused to let fall in front of anyone.

"There's no need. I've troubled you enough."

The old driver stepped forward, trying to shield Emily with his body.

"But where will you go at this hour? Looks like the snow will get heavier tonight. Rogues sometimes wander near the border," said Mr. Raymond.

Emily looked at the road beyond the pack's gate, already dusted with snow. No taxis, no passing cars, only a thin fog among the pine trees and the distant howls of wolves.

"If I ask you to drive me, you'll get into trouble. Your Alpha has decided to cast me out. I'm just a burden, Mr. Raymond," Emily said hoarsely.

The old driver fell silent for a moment. To him, Emily had been the best she-wolf he'd ever known. She had shared her food, visited the orphanage, and treated the children as if they were her own.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything."

"You're the only one here who still sees me as family. Thank you, Mr. Raymond. Take care of yourself—they need an omega like you in that house."

Emily began pulling her suitcase, glancing one last time at the grand gate marked Blackridge Estate, standing proud between the stone pillars. All her memories there flashed before her eyes, and now she had to leave them behind. Her steps were heavy as she pushed through the falling snow, moving away from the ancestral land she once protected.

Not far from the gate, an old yellow taxi emerged from the fog. Emily raised her hand. The taxi braked with a squeal, the driver rolling down his window. His eyes quickly scanned her, taking in her soaked, thin jacket, messy hair, and battered suitcase, before he unlocked the back door.

"Where to, Miss?"

Emily clutched the suitcase handle. "Midtown. Find a cheap hotel."

The man raised an eyebrow. "There're plenty of five-star hotels in Midtown. Want me to take you to The Grand Sterling? Or The Royal Moon?"

"No need. I don't have that kind of money," Emily answered.

The driver chuckled softly and turned on the wipers. The car pulled away slowly, leaving that place behind. In the back seat, Emily leaned back. Her eyes watched the snow form random patterns on the window.

"If I had to guess, you just fought with your boyfriend, huh?"

Emily turned to him, her eyes still red but her lips twisted bitterly. "My Alpha mate, not just a boyfriend."

The driver asked nothing more. One word—Alpha—and any curiosity vanished. He only turned on the radio quietly, the sound of an old saxophone filling the night.

The car stopped in front of an old motel on the corner of the block. Its neon sign flickered, the M in MOTEL burned out. Emily paid in cash—no bargaining, no caring about the change. The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror, hesitating as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't.

At the reception desk behind dusty glass, an older woman with messy blonde hair chewed gum. Her eyes looked Emily over like she was pricing junk.

"How much for a night?" Emily asked.

"One hundred dollars, cash. No breakfast, no refunds."

Emily opened her wallet. Only a few damp bills left, slick from the snow. She placed a hundred on the counter. The woman tossed her a room key lazily, her long, painted nails a glaring red.

"Room 208, stairs at the end of the hall. If the door sticks, just kick it."

Emily dragged her suitcase up the narrow wooden stairs covered in worn red carpet. The hallway smelled of stale cigarette smoke and peeling paint. Some doors were cracked open, pairs of eyes peeking out before shutting again. The rusty key slid into the lock of 208—one turn. The door opened halfway with a creak. The smell of dampness and peeling paint filled her nose. Emily set her suitcase on the floor and sat at the edge of the creaking bed.

She pulled an old phone from her jacket pocket. The screen was cracked, and the battery bar was red, indicating it was nearly dead. She opened the photo gallery. The only folder she'd never deleted: Family. Her trembling fingers tapped the screen. A photo of her mother appeared, that gentle smile in front of their old house, the home before the Blackridge family took everything away.

Tears fell. Emily bit her lip to stop it from turning into a sob. Her hand clutched the phone as if hugging her mother, then her gaze landed on the cracked mirror. For the first time, she saw her own eyes, shattered and exhausted.

"Are you going to stay like this? You're Emily Davis, daughter of George Davis, heir to a wolf bloodline that once had honor. How long will you let yourself be the victim, huh?"

She let out a short laugh. Her sob turned into a bitter scoff as her hand opened her contact lens case. The first name at the top was Dad.

She hesitated for a second. The last time she spoke with George Davis, the old Alpha of her family—

"You chose him? Leave this name. Leave this blood. Never come back if you choose Blackridge," her father had said in disappointment.

Emily pressed the call button, and a voice came through on the other end.

"Emily? Is that you?"

Emily took a deep breath. "I want to come home, Dad."

"After you brought that shame into this pack? After you left the Davis name for Blackridge?"

Emily closed her eyes, tears falling onto the phone. "I'm sorry. Please give me one chance. I want to clear our name, Dad."

George didn't answer right away. She heard the rustling of papers, then a long exhale.

"Morning flight. Do you understand what you'll face if you come back to the Davis pack?"

Emily stared at the cracked mirror, seeing the ghost of a Luna still there. "I know—and I'm ready. I want Alexander Blackridge to see exactly who he threw away."

"Alright. I'll be waiting for you to come home."

The call ended. Emily set the phone down on the rickety table, her hand reaching for her mother's photo, clutching it to her chest.

"Tomorrow I'm going home—and Alex will know the rejected Luna will be the one to bring him to his knees."