STIGMA

Kalea POV:

"Sister, Emory Lambert is destined to be mine," Dessie Richmond whispered, her voice a poisonous thread slipping through the frigid breeze of the Royal Lunar Garden. "A wolfless cripple like you should crawl back to the gutter where you belong."

Her amber eyes gleamed with malice.

Before I could even process the violent sting of the freezing air on my face, Dessie tilted her body backward, angling herself toward the black waters of the royal ice pond.

She was setting up the exact same trap from my past life.

She wanted the entire court to see her fall, to hear her screams, and to watch me take the blame for attempting to drown the favored younger daughter of the Richmond Pack.

In that past life, everything had favored her. I had screamed in panic and lunged to grab her, my fingers clamping hard around her wrist and leaving livid grip-bruises on her skin.

When we fell, I thrashed and begged Emory to save me, so when he swam straight past me to lift Dessie first, onlookers called it justice — the Champion saving the victim from her attacker.

The healers found my marks on her, and nothing of hers on me. That was enough for a charge of attempted murder.

Now, everything is different. The terrace is crowded with high-ranking nobles, and I know exactly where her nails will land.

I already saw through her act completely. I would play along — and turn her own trap against her.

I did not flinch. Instead, I calmly extended my left arm toward her, offering the loose silver-blue cuff at my wrist as if trying to catch her. Dessie, already falling backward to fake her accident, instinctively clawed out and seized my wrist hard to make it look real, her nails digging deep into my sleeve.

Dessie's smug grin instantly froze.

Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she had grabbed me first. Before she could let go, I stopped resisting. I leaned into her pull and let her own backward momentum drag us both off the marble edge together.

A chorus of shrill gasps erupted from the noble onlookers lining the snow-dusted terrace.

Then came the deafening crash of freezing water.

The shock of the sub-zero pond slammed into my chest, squeezing every drop of air from my lungs.

The weight of our velvet winter gowns pulled us straight into the dark depths.

Dessie thrashed wildly, her arms flailing like a dying bird as her silken skirts tangled around her legs.

Even as she thrashed, her right hand remained locked around my left wrist, her nails tearing frantically at my silk cuff.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream under the water, bubbles bursting around her terrified, contorted face.

Unlike my past self, I did not scream, did not beg, did not leave a single mark on her. I stared back at her through the murky blue, cold and completely still.

Pain tore through my limbs, but my mind was clearer than it had ever been in my two lifetimes.

Above the surface, muffled shouts vibrated through the water.

"Someone help! The Richmond ladies have fallen in!"

Through the rippling surface, a familiar silhouette tore off his heavy velvet cloak on the bank.

Emory Lambert.

The newly crowned Champion Knight of the Grand Royal Trials, and my betrothed.

He dove into the water with a clean, powerful slice.

His eyes scanned the depths, searching desperately.

He looked right past my sinking form.

Without a single glance in my direction, Emory swam furiously toward Dessie, wrapping his strong arms around her waist to haul her toward the light.

A bitter, silent laugh bubbled in my throat.

He was supposed to be my promised mate by royal decree, yet his body reacted purely on instinct to save my illegitimate half-sister.

I let my limbs go limp, allowing the darkness of the pond to drag me downward.

I needed this.

I needed every high-ranking noble on that terrace to see him choose her over me.

Darkness began to creep into the edges of my vision.

My lungs burned for oxygen.

Then, the water exploded behind me.

A massive shockwave ripped through the freezing depths, stirring a violent current that pushed the weeds aside.

A shadow moved with terrifying, predatory speed.

Before I could even register the beast-like force tearing through the water, a pair of scalding, calloused hands locked onto my waist.

The grip was unyielding, made of pure steel.

I was yanked violently against a broad, rock-hard chest.

Even submerged in ice, the overwhelming scent of crushing cedar and raw, wild musk flooded my senses, piercing straight through the freezing haze in my mind.

It was the aura of a dominant, top-tier Alpha.

Yet the moment his skin touched mine, the suffocating pressure of his command miraculously softened, wrapping around my freezing body like an invisible shield.

I forced my heavy eyelids open.

Through the distorted water, I looked directly into a pair of piercing, golden-amber wolf eyes.

Gaines Moss.

The notorious young lord of the Moss Pack, heir to the northern iron legions, and widely feared across the capital as an uncontrollable, violent rogue Alpha.

There was no cruelty in his gaze.

Only a dark, frantic intensity that bordered on madness.

The moment my wet shoulder pressed against his collarbone, a sharp, electric jolt surged from his palm straight down my spine.

My frozen muscles trembled beneath the sheer heat of his touch.

Gaines's jaw tightened.

His arm banded around my waist with possessive force, pulling me flush against him as his powerful legs kicked against the current, launching us toward the surface like an arrow.

On the other side of the pond, Emory was already breaking through the surface with Dessie clutched tightly against his chest.

The freezing air hit my face in a violent rush as Gaines hauled me out of the water, his long fingers instinctively cradling the back of my head to shield me from the jagged marble edge.

The deafening roar of the royal court swept over us in an instant.