After My Mate Betrayed Me, I Stole His Heir

Five years passed like a dream.

The Tuscan sun warmed my skin as I stood on the balcony of my Florence studio, watching Hattie play in the garden below. At five years old, she was the spitting image of me—dark hair, determined chin—but her eyes held flecks of gold that reminded me painfully of Greyson.

"Mama! Look what I made!" she called up, holding a small clay figurine. Even from this distance, I could see it was a wolf.

I smiled, waving back. "Beautiful, sweetheart!"

Aria stirred contentedly within me. *She has his strength.*

"And your creativity," I whispered back.

The door behind me opened, and Lorenzo Salvatore stepped out, his tall frame casting a shadow across the terrace.

"The spring collection is a triumph," he said, his Italian accent warming the words. "The Lycan King himself requested your designs for his daughter's coming-of-age ceremony."

I turned, accepting the glass of wine he offered. "Thank you, Lorenzo. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You saved yourself, Gianna. I merely provided the opportunity."

As Lorenzo returned inside, I gazed out at the city skyline. Five years ago, I'd arrived here broken and pregnant, fleeing a betrayal that still burned in my memory. Now, Gianna Rossi was one of Florence's most celebrated designers, creating clothes that blurred the lines between human and Lycan fashion.

---

Miles away, across an ocean, Greyson stood at the edge of the cliff where my car had plunged into the sea. His once-powerful frame had grown gaunt, his eyes hollow from sleepless nights.

"Still nothing?" Marcus Kane asked, approaching cautiously.

Greyson didn't turn. "She's not dead."

"Alpha," Marcus sighed, "it's been five years. The mate bond—"

"The mate bond is silent, not broken," Greyson snapped, his voice ragged. "There's a difference."

Behind them, Briana approached, her copper hair gleaming in the sunset. "Greyson," she called softly, "the council is waiting."

He didn't acknowledge her.

"The Elders want an answer about the Luna position," Marcus continued. "The pack needs stability."

Greyson finally turned, his eyes flashing with madness. "There will never be another Luna."

Briana's face contorted with rage and humiliation. Five years of waiting, of believing she would finally take my place, only to be denied again and again.

"You're a fool," she hissed. "She's dead!"

Something dangerous flashed in Greyson's eyes. "Careful, Briana. Remember your place."

---

My parents arrived in Florence three months after I did. I'd sent word through Alexa's secure channels, and they'd abandoned their retirement home near Silverclaw territory to join me.

"Gianna," my mother wept when she saw me, her arms wrapping around me protectively. "My baby girl."

My father stood back, his warrior's eyes scanning me for injuries before pulling me into a fierce hug. "You did what you had to do," he said gruffly. "We're proud of you."

When Hattie was born, they became her doting grandparents, teaching her Italian words and telling her stories of their travels—carefully edited versions that omitted the werewolf world she'd been born into.

"Nonno, tell me again about the stars," Hattie would beg my father, who would take her onto the balcony and point out constellations.

One evening, as we sat together in our villa's garden, my father received a message through old pack channels.

"Greyson offered us land and money," he said quietly. "Compensation for your... passing."

My mother's lip curled. "Blood money."

"We refused," my father continued. "Told him we wanted nothing from a coward who couldn't protect his mate."

I squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

They'd chosen me over pack loyalty, becoming Rogues to protect their granddaughter from a world that might have claimed her as a pawn.

---

The fashion show was my biggest yet. Models strutted down the runway in designs that merged human elegance with subtle Lycan influences—hidden pockets for claws, flexible fabrics for shifting, and colors that shifted in different lights.

From the front row, I watched my creations come to life, Hattie sitting beside me with wide eyes.

"Mama, you made those?" she whispered.

"Every stitch," I replied proudly.

Later that night, as I tucked her in, she traced the wolf pendant I always wore. "Why do you always keep this, Mama?"

I swallowed hard. "Because it reminds me of where I came from."

"And where is that?"

I hesitated, wondering how much to share. "Somewhere far away, across the ocean."

"Daddy's there?" she asked innocently.

The question caught me off guard. We'd never discussed her father, but children are perceptive.

"Yes," I admitted softly. "But he doesn't know about you."

Her small hand reached up to touch my cheek. "Someday, will we go back?"

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. With trembling fingers, I opened it.

"I know you're alive," it read. "And I'm coming for you."

Aria growled within me, recognizing the sender even before I did.

Greyson had found me.