She was born to shine… but they buried her in darkness.

The girl’s name was Liora Amethyst Willowind, and even after everything, she still looked like she’d stepped out of a forgotten prophecy.

Her hair—long, soft, and cascading like moonlight spun with lilac—held a rare color: silvery lavender, shifting gently between pearl and purple in the light. Her eyes, wide and deep-set, were violet with starburst flecks of silver around her pupils—eyes so rare they made people stare once… before looking away in jealousy or disgust.

Her skin, though pale now from malnutrition, had once been a radiant ivory kissed with a golden undertone—skin that had once glowed in sunlight like polished opal. But now it was bruised, dirt-streaked, and thin. Her lips, once full and petal-soft, were cracked and pale, bleeding slightly from dryness.

Her beauty had become a curse.

Today, she was on her knees, her bare fingers trembling as she scrubbed the Alpha’s floor without any tools. Her body ached all over—her back, her arms, her neck stiff from exhaustion. Her stomach had been empty for three days, and not a drop of water had touched her lips.

She was dizzy. Cold. Her vision blurred at the edges.

But she couldn’t stop.

She wasn’t allowed.

And as always, the hole in her right hip—a deep, open wound never treated, a punishment from long ago—burned every time she leaned forward. It had started to smell faintly, like something rotting, but she said nothing. Complaints only brought more pain.

The marble was cold beneath her knees. She could feel the bones pressing through her skin.

The Alpha’s girlfriend, Sylara, stood in the doorway like a queen admiring her favorite slave. Her icy blue eyes scanned the room before landing on Liora with a smirk.

“You call this clean?” Sylara sneered, stepping forward. She looked perfect, as always. Her dress shimmered with silk. Her hair was in flawless curls. “Redo it. Use your hands. I don’t want a single smudge left.”

Liora opened her mouth slightly. She wanted to say something… anything. Her throat moved but no sound came out.

“You deaf too now?” Sylara snapped, and with a cruel laugh, she tipped the bucket of water, spilling it all over Liora’s hair and the floor she had just cleaned.

The water was ice cold. Liora’s thin, ragged clothes clung to her skin.

“I said redo it,” Sylara hissed, stepping back like Liora’s presence disgusted her. “Maybe if you do a good job, you can lick the crumbs off my plate later.”

She left the room, slamming the door.

Liora stayed kneeling for a second, shaking. The pain in her hip made her body stiffen. The wound was getting worse—she could feel it. But if she told anyone, they’d laugh. Or beat her for “faking weakness.”

So she dipped her already-bleeding fingers into the icy puddle and began again.

No one would help her.

No one had since the day her parents died.

The day the Blood Fang Pack found her, dragged her from the forest, and threw her into their cold stone servant quarters.

She had been five years old. And even back then, her eyes had shimmered like starlight.

But now, at seventeen, Liora was a ghost in her own story. A forgotten girl in a world that hated her.

Yet despite it all, something in her refused to break.

There was power in her blood—power that was beginning to hum softly beneath her bruises. And one day soon…

They would all regret what they did to her.

Because the stars hadn’t forgotten her.

The Moon Goddess hadn’t either.

And neither had her mate

The room stank of fresh polish, blood, and cruelty.

Liora kept scrubbing, her fingers now raw and shaking uncontrollably, the water mixing with her blood on the floor. She didn’t lift her head when the heavy scent of dominance entered the room—Alpha Damon.

She didn’t need to see him to know he was there.

His scent—oak and smoke—always carried with it the weight of pain. Wherever he went, silence followed. And fear.

The door creaked open wider. His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Predatory.

Then a pause.

Then a smirk.

“That face again,” he said coldly, voice dipped in amusement. “You always ruin my mood.”

Liora froze, her body stiff. She didn’t dare meet his gaze.

But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have to.

The kick came without warning.

Straight to her right hip.

The injured hip.

A sharp, sickening crack echoed through her body as her side twisted unnaturally. Pain unlike anything she’d felt before screamed through her nerves, and her vision blacked out for a second as she collapsed fully on the soaked floor, gasping silently, tears leaking out despite herself.

She bit into her cracked lip hard enough to taste blood.

He walked past her like she was a piece of dirt. Like she didn’t exist.

“Get out,” he said lazily. “You're an eyesore.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The door shut. Silence returned. But inside Liora, it wasn’t silent.

It was breaking.

She dragged herself out of the Alpha’s room, leaving behind a trail of blood that no one would bother to clean. The hallway was empty, but she could hear laughter echoing from the dining area—pack members sharing meat, wine, warmth.

Her stomach twisted violently. She hadn’t eaten in three days. Hadn’t slept. Hadn’t had a kind word in years.

And now her hip… it felt like it was tearing apart with every step.

She finally reached the cramped storage closet that had become her room. No bed. Just a thin, stained blanket in the corner and a cracked window that let in cold night air. She collapsed onto the floor with a shaky breath, too tired to cry.

She wanted to disappear.

Her eighteenth birthday was just a week away.

But it meant nothing.

She wasn’t even sure she’d live to see it.

Eighteen was supposed to be special. It was the age when most wolves got their first shift. When they’d finally feel the bond of their wolf soul, the other half of them finally waking.

But Liora… she had no hope left. Her body was too weak. Her heart too broken.

No one even knew her birthday.

Not that they’d ever cared to remember.

To them, she was just a name they spit on. A maid. A mistake.

Even she had forgotten what it felt like to be hugged. To be asked, "Are you okay?"

But somewhere in the dark, beneath her skin, something stirred.

Not a voice.

Not yet.

But a flicker.

Like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.

Her wolf… wasn’t gone.

She was waiting.

Waiting for the right moment.

The moment Liora broke completely.

Each day after the Alpha’s kick blurred into the next, like a never-ending nightmare.

Liora's hip was getting worse. The wound was now swollen, infected, oozing with blood and pus. But no one checked on her. No one asked.

She was still forced to work.

Six days before her birthday, she was made to mop the training grounds after the warriors’ practice. The sun blazed down mercilessly. The blood-stained mud clung to her knees, her hands, her ragged clothes. Sylara stood on the sidelines, sipping cold juice, and threw her empty glass into the dirt.

"Oops," she smiled. "Clean that too."

Liora bent slowly, her body trembling with weakness. Her stomach burned, her lips were cracked so deep they bled when she tried to speak. Her hip gave out beneath her, but she clenched her jaw and crawled.

One of the young warriors laughed, "Damn, is she still alive?"

"She doesn’t die easy,” another chuckled. “Like a cockroach.”

She didn’t look at them. She didn’t cry. She just kept scrubbing with numb hands.

But inside…

A quiet scream echoed in her soul.

Four days before her birthday, Sylara pushed her into the scullery and dumped raw meat into a pot of dirty water.

“Use your hands. No gloves.”

The meat was crawling with flies. It stank. She gagged as she pulled it out piece by piece. Her fingers were bleeding from cracked skin and old cuts, and the raw meat made her wounds sting like fire.

"Faster," Sylara said. "The Alpha wants stew."

By nightfall, Liora collapsed in the corner of the kitchen, shaking uncontrollably from fever. Her breath came in shallow, sharp gasps. No one noticed.

No one cared.

Two days before her birthday, she was forced to carry buckets of water to the third floor, again and again, with her injured hip and swollen arms.

She collapsed on the stairs, and one of the warriors stepped over her like she was garbage.

"I don’t know why the Alpha keeps her around," he said. "Even rogues would reject that thing."

They all laughed.

She didn’t get up right away. She stayed there, curled up, staring blankly at the wall, praying for death.

The night before her birthday, she was finally sent to clean the Alpha’s private study. It was full of glass furniture and mirrors, every surface spotless but still needing “extra shine,” as Sylara put it.

Liora limped inside, rag in hand, heart barely beating. She hadn’t eaten in five days now. Her lips were white. Her skin, ghostly pale. Her eyes were sunken. Her body moved like a dying leaf in the wind.

She reached up to clean the tall mirror above the fireplace…

And froze.

Because in the reflection…

She saw her.

A second set of violet eyes. Silver fur with streaks of lavender and faint glowing patterns across the forehead. Regal. Ethereal. Watching her through the glass.

A wolf.

Her wolf.

Liora blinked. Her hands shook violently. Her heart didn’t leap the way others described it. There was no joy. No warmth.

Only… fear.

And then the voice came—soft, feminine, and sorrowful.

“Liora…”

The wolf’s lips didn’t move, but she spoke directly to her mind.

It wasn’t loud. It was heavy.

Tired.

Wounded.

Like it had been waiting too long in the dark.

Liora fell to her knees, clutching her chest. "Are… are you real?"

“I’m Valeria,” the wolf said gently. “Your wolf. I’ve been here, buried beneath the pain.”

Liora couldn’t speak. The tears ran freely down her cheeks now. Her shoulders shook.

"I… I thought I didn’t have one," she whispered.

Valeria lowered her head in the reflection.

“I wanted to come sooner. But your body… it's too weak. I… I can’t heal you.”

Silence.

“Even if we tried to shift now… it wouldn’t work. You’d die, Liora.”

And that broke her more than anything.

Others rejoiced when their wolves awakened. It was the greatest moment of their lives.

But Liora’s wolf came with a warning of death.

Valeria’s eyes shimmered with something soft.

“You have to fight, Liora. You have to try. I can’t do this without you.”

Liora stared at her own reflection, hollow and broken.

"I’m so tired…" she said quietly. "I don’t think I can."

“You can.”

Her wolf stepped forward, pressing her head to the other side of the mirror.

“You’re stronger than what they’ve made you believe.”

And just like that, the reflection vanished. The mirror showed only the girl again—filthy, shaking, scarred… and completely alone.

But somewhere inside, a heartbeat answered.

Weak.

Faint.

But still alive.