ELARA'S POV.

“Clean the hell off!” I snarled at the graffiti in front of me, as if my spit of rage could scrub it away. My rag hit the concrete hard, the sting burning through my palm. I didn’t care. All I saw was the mark I hated most, the cruel emblem I could never escape.

The logo of the Volkovs.

That single stroke of gold and black paint, curling into the shape of a wolf’s head beneath the iron “V,” ruled every corner of New York like a shadow cast over the sun. Their empire stretched everywhere, clubs, docks, skyscrapers, the alleys where people like me walked with our heads bowed.

And to me, it wasn’t just a logo. It was a curse because I think, no, I knew they killed my parents.

Twelve years hadn’t dulled the memory. It wasn’t some blurry dream. No. I remembered every detail, every sound, every scream. Like it had happened just last night.

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“Elara!!”

Her voice was laughter made flesh. My mother’s voice, carrying down the corridor of our old apartment. I had been eight, still clumsy with my braids flying wild, sprinting toward the door like my legs belonged to the wind. She caught up with me just in time, breathless, her cheeks glowing pink.

“Softly, Ellie! You’ll get hurt if you don’t slow down.”

I remember giggling back at her, the stubbornness already in my blood.

“Dad says running is good! He says I should keep my little energy in check.” Her smile faltered, but she tried to keep it. “Yes, but he also said no hurting yourself.” She smoothed my hair as Dad’s car rolled up to the curb outside.

He stepped out, broad-shouldered, sharp suit, still wearing the smell of the city on him. My dad had always seemed invincible to me, the kind of man who couldn’t be moved by anything. But that day….....noticeably, something was different. He knelt down, tipped my chin with a finger, and his eyes were heavy, serious.

“Little Elara, what do we say about forgiveness, baby?”

I puffed out my chest and recited the line he’d drilled into me since before I could even spell my name. “We are not to carry grudges. Our hearts should be free so love can build.”

His lips curved faintly. But his eyes stayed somber. “Good. Remember the Alpha?”

I frowned. At eight, the word meant nothing to me, just a name in a bedtime story. Still, I recited what he had taught. “He’s not a bad man. The Volkovs are to lead, and we humans are not to disobey any command given by them.”

It was like an anthem. My anthem. And I had no idea what it really meant. Oh, Gods above, if I had.......

“Good,” he said, voice flat now. “Now let Mummy and Daddy talk. Go stand by the steps.”

I obeyed, but I didn’t go far.

---

Mom’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Anything Volkovs, I don’t want to hear it.”

Dad pressed his forehead with a weary hand. “We need to let her go, Lydia. It’s the only way to keep her safe. She deserves a life better than what’s coming for us.”

“I could never leave my daughter!” Mom’s voice cracked. “She’s ours, not some property for exchange. I birthed her, I raised her, and now some leader claims her? She’s not even ten! You want them to take her as what? His plaything? He already has a young Luna and a mate! I refuse and besides, what happened to you promising to keep us away from your business ventures??

Whatever it is, my daughter will not grow up as some Alpha’s second Luna because of some deal you made. Never!!.”

The words seared themselves into me. Alpha. Luna. Deal. None of it made sense then. But even then, I knew. I wasn’t supposed to hear.

My small body buzzed with unease. I did what I always did when scared, I hid away.

---

“Doggie!” I squealed, spotting movement on the sidewalk.

It looked like a dog. Should have been a dog, but it wasn’t, Not really. Its eyes glowed with an amber too sharp, too knowing. Its muscles rippled under a pelt darker than shadow, body too large for any ordinary canine.

Dad’s face drained of blood. “It’s one of them.”

“Stay the hell away from her!” Mom shouted, voice shrill with terror. She lunged forward, but Dad caught her wrist, dragging her back. Their argument swallowed me again, but I wasn’t listening. The wolf’s eyes had locked with mine.

The sound of the car door slamming made me look away for just a second. Dad was sliding back behind the wheel. Mom stood frozen beside it, trembling.

Without as much as a permission or warning,

Then the world burned.

The car erupted in an explosion so loud it stole the air from my lungs. Fire chewed through metal, through glass, through flesh. Shards rained across the pavement.

“MUMMMMYYYY!!” My scream tore out raw, unending. The heat seared my skin, but I couldn’t move. My mother’s figure, engulfed, writhing, crumpled beside the flames. My father was gone entirely, swallowed by fire and shrapnel.

Sirens came. Neighbours screamed. Water hissed against fire. But nothing could undo what I’d seen. Nothing. That night carved itself into me, sharper than any blade.

Three weeks later, I stood in Aunt Jasleen’s kitchen, feet dangling off a wooden chair. She scrubbed dishes too hard, knuckles white.

“Aunt,” I whispered, “what if they were killed?”

She froze. “Why would you say that, Ellie?”

“What if the Volkovs killed them? Or the Alpha? Maybe they exploded the car…”

She turned, her lips trembling as if the words had burned her. Then she forced a smile, thin and fake. “Your parents are happy now, wherever they are. Especially my sister, your mother. She wanted peace. Away from the Volkovs.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking downward. “And your father’s… other side.”

Other side. Alpha. Volkovs.

The puzzle pieces never stopped moving.

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The present came crashing back as I glared at the Volkov emblem on the wall. My rag trembled in my hand, soaked with black paint. The letters mocked me, grinning through my fury. A sound ripped out of me—half scream, half sob.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

My throat burned as I shrieked for my mother, for my father, for the family I’d lost. But the city didn’t care. It never did. People walking past only shot me looks of disgust. Like I was the crazy one. Like I was dirt for daring to scream out loud.

My chest heaved, lungs on fire. That was when I heard them.

“The slaves of the mighty ones.”

“From peas to feed.”

“Disgusting things.”

“Once more she cleans. Why not wipe yourself out and spare us your face?”

A cluster of teens lounged by the corner, sneers sharp as knives. Their laughter echoed, cutting deeper than they knew. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed. But I refused to give them the satisfaction of tears. Instead, I burned their faces into memory. Every smirk, every insult. One day, when I rose, they’d choke on them.

Straightening, I forced my trembling hands to gather my cleaning rags, shoved them into my bag, and walked away. Not a glance back at the Volkov crest. Not today.

But inside, a vow echoed like thunder: I will never forget. I will never forgive.

---

By the time I slammed my apartment door shut, my body ached. My refuge was small, cracked in the corners, but it was mine.

The bathroom mirror reflected hollow eyes, cheeks streaked with dirt. I scrubbed my skin raw, but nothing could wash away the stain of the day.

Finally, I collapsed onto my couch, springs biting into my ribs. “Finally… peace and quiet.”

The silence lasted exactly thirty seconds.

Ding Dong. Ding Dong.

I flinched upright. The doorbell. At this hour?

I wasn’t expecting anyone nor did I relate with any of the neighbours. I couldn’t afford deliveries. Nobody visited me. Nobody even remembered my real name anymore.

I froze, waiting. Surely they’d go away.

Ding Dong. Ding Dong.

A knock followed. Slow. Measured.

My heart thudded hard. I grabbed the bat leaning against the wall—a cheap aluminium thing I’d saved three weeks’ pay to buy—and crept to the door.

I yanked it open, ready to swing at the intruder and annoying disturbance, but no one was there.

Empty. It was Empty.

The hallway stretched empty, shadows curling along the walls.

Except…..........My eyes dropped to the ground.

A single envelope. Black, edges trimmed in gold. The kind of stationary no one in my world could ever afford. My breath hitched. I snatched it, slammed the door shut, and pressed my back against it.

The envelope sat in my shaking hands, heavier than paper should be. A wax seal marked the flap—intricate, gleaming faintly under my flickering lamp. A stylized “V.”

The Volkov crest.

No stamp. No postmark. Just one word inked across the front.

Vance.

The name no one used anymore. The name no one even knew belonged to me. Hands trembling, I slid a finger under the seal and tore it open.

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Dear Elara,

You have been deemed worthy of our attention. As such, your services are required.

Time: 9 PM

Location: The Silver Crescent Club

Do note to come alone.

With all regards.

---

The room tilted.

My eyes widened, my mind spiralling.

The Silver Crescent. The most exclusive club in the city. A fortress where the powerful gathered, guarded by myths and rumours of a pack created by the moon Goddess, loyal only to the Volkovs. People like me didn’t even dream of it, let alone walk past its doors. And yet, someone there wanted me. Needed my services?

I closed my eyes, inhaled once, then twice. A slow smile curved my lips.

“Whatever it is,” I whispered into the heavy silence, “I’m going to give them more than an iceberg.”

I tightened my grip on the letter, veins burning with something fiercer than fear.

“I will bring them disaster.”

Twelve years of waiting. Twelve years of rage. Twelve years of dreaming of revenge. Finally, the chance had come. And to whoever had sent this letter, Volkov or not, was about to pay in blood.

A funeral was coming their way.

Wrapped in a pretty pink ribbon.