Rosella’s blood turned cold.
Marcus Dune walked toward her as if the lake had never existed, as if he had not ordered her death.
As if he had not stood on the shore and watched the water close over her head while she fought for air.
Pridda walked beside him, smiling the same sweet, empty smile she wore whenever she wanted something.
A third woman followed a step behind, but Rosella barely saw her.
“What’s wrong?” Beta Elias whispered.
“It’s him,” she breathed.
“He’s here.” Elias frowned.
“Who?” She couldn’t answer, her throat had locked.
Henrik reached the group first.
He spoke a few quiet words to Marcus, then shook his hand.
The gesture was easy, and Familiar.
The kind of greeting shared between men who had known each other for years.
Rosella’s nails dug into her palms until they nearly broke skin.
They were coming straight toward her.
Every part of her screamed to move.
To shift.
To pull the dagger from her bag and drive it into Marcus’s throat before he took another step.
The blade she had taken from Colette’s weapons room sat heavy against her side.
One clean strike.
That was all it would take.
She stayed frozen.
Because she was no longer Rosella Shawn.
She was Alpha Colette Ansgard.
And Alpha Colette did not attack guests in another pack’s hallway.
Marcus’s eyes landed on her.
Recognition flashed across his face.
Rosella’s heart slammed so hard she felt it in her throat.
He knows.
He knows I’m alive.
Then Marcus lowered his head in a deep, respectful bow.
“Alpha Colette.” The name hit her like a slap, he did not know her, he only knew the reputation.
Relief crashed through her so hard her knees almost gave out, she locked them in place and forced her face into the cold expression she had been practicing for days.
Marcus straightened, his gaze moved over her with open interest, the same calculating look he used to give rival Alphas when he was deciding how useful they might be.
“It is an honor to finally meet the Wolf of Death,” he said.
“I have heard a great deal about your feats.” Rosella’s jaw ached from how hard she was clenching it.
The memory of lake water rose so sharply she could almost taste it.
She could still feel Alaric’s hands around her throat.
She could still see the satisfaction on Marcus’s face when he thought she was gone forever.
She wanted to spit the truth at him.
You killed me.
You killed my mother.
You smiled while I drowned.
Instead she gave the only response she trusted.
“Hm.” Marcus took the single cold word as confirmation of every dark story he had ever heard.
His smile widened a fraction.
Rosella stepped past him without another word, she did not trust herself to speak.
She did not trust herself to look at Pridda.
She felt their eyes on her back the entire way down the corridor, she felt Henrik’s gaze too, heavier than the rest.
She did not turn around.
For the first time since waking in this body, she had stood face to face with the man who ended her life.
And he had bowed to her.
Elias followed her to the guest suite in silence.
Only when the door closed did he speak.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right alone?” “Yes.” Her voice came out steadier than she expected.
“Thank you, Elias.” Something soft flickered across his face.
It vanished so quickly she might have imagined it.
“There it is again,” he murmured.
“What?” He shook his head.
“Never mind, just get some rest.” He left before she could ask more.
The moment the door shut, Rosella’s composure cracked.
She paced the length of the room, hands shaking.
It would be so easy.
Marcus was under the same roof.
One quiet night, one clean kill, and the man who destroyed her family would be gone.
But killing him now would be mercy.
She still did not know why her mother had to die.
She still did not understand what he truly wanted beyond the throne, she still did not know how deep the conspiracy went, or whether Alaric had acted alone that night at the lake.
Answers first, then revenge later.
She left the room again.
A young maid in the corridor nearly dropped her tray when she saw her.
“Where is Alpha Henrik?” “H-he has retired for the night, Your Grace.” “And Alpha Marcus?” The girl swallowed.
“He left a short while ago, he only came to invite Alpha Henrik to his stepdaughter’s funeral.” Rosella went still.
Her funeral.
They were burying an empty casket while she stood here in another woman’s skin.
“What is his relationship with your Alpha?” “I’m not certain, Your Grace.
I believe they were acquainted through the late Alpha.
Old friends, perhaps.” Rosella nodded once and pressed a few bills into the girl’s hand, the maid stared at the money, then scurried away with a string of nervous thanks.
Old friends.
That single piece of information settled into her mind like a stone.
She would need it later.
Back in her room, she locked the door and pulled Colette’s diary from her bag.
Most of the entries were fragmented, the handwriting growing more frantic toward the end.
She turned to the page she had left unfinished.
While everyone fears me, I fear… The next lines were nearly illegible.
…I fear death’s approach like an outstretched hand trying to catch me.
The fear claws at my chest.
I cannot die.
Not while they are still out there.
Rosella’s breath caught.
They.
Not the curse.
Someone specific.
She stared at the words until her eyes burned.
Then, without fully deciding to, she turned to a blank page, picked up the pen, and began to write.
The rage came easily.
It poured out of her in sharp black strokes—everything she had not been able to say to Marcus in the hallway.
Every memory of the lake.
Every unanswered question about her mother’s death.
Every promise she had made to herself while the water filled her lungs.
She did not notice the shift at first.
The more she wrote, the clearer the memories became, not only her own.
Fragments of another life bled through the ink: a child’s scream, the smell of poison in a royal tea set, the weight of a crown forced onto a too-small head, the moment a knife slid between ribs in a bath filled with rose petals.
By the time she reached the bottom of the page, her hand was trembling and the room felt colder.
A voice spoke.
It was Clear, not just calm but also, Closer.
“Finally.
You can hear me.” Rosella jerked so hard the diary slid from her lap.
She spun, heart hammering, scanning every corner but it was empty.
The windows were locked and the bathroom door stood open onto darkness.
“Who’s there?” It was Silent.
Then the voice came again, softer this time, almost amused.
“The mirror.” Goosebumps raced down her arms.
Rosella rose slowly with her bare feet and it made no sound on the carpet as she crossed the room.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
The large standing mirror in the corner reflected the dim lamp light, ordinary and still.
She stopped in front of it.
For a moment she saw only herself—Colette’s silver-white hair, Colette’s violet eyes, Colette’s sharp, beautiful face.
Then the reflection smiled.
Rosella had not moved her mouth.
The woman in the glass tilted her head, studying her with open curiosity, and spoke in a voice that was both familiar and completely wrong.
“Hello, Rosella.” She stumbled back, her eyes wide when she saw it, Starting back at her was something she was not prepared for.