Rejected By The Pack, Reborn An Alpha Queen

Gillian POV:

Kneeling in the snow, another memory from my past life surfaced. After they had broken my hands, I had managed to escape the basement. I'd burst into a banquet my mother was hosting, and I had begged Princess Genevieve for help.

I remembered how I must have looked-disheveled, my hands wrapped in bloody rags, screaming like a madwoman that my family was trying to kill me.

The princess had frowned, her eyes filled with wary distaste. She saw a crazed woman trying to cling to royalty for attention.

Annis had immediately rushed to my side, wrapping me in a tearful embrace. "Your Highness, please forgive us," she had cried. "My daughter is not well. She has delusions that she is her brother."

The princess had given a cold, dismissive wave of her hand. Johnathan had dragged me away, back to that hell. That was the closest I had ever come to hope, and the fall had been brutal.

But now, I was reborn. I was back in this snowstorm, back at the exact moment Amara was charming Lady Kensington.

I chose to get out of the carriage for a reason. This was my only chance. I could not appear as a "madwoman" again.

I swear, I will take back my life. What they owe me, I will have them repay a thousand times over.

I pushed the humiliation and pain of my past life deep down, transforming it into the raw grief that now filled my eyes.

The snow fell harder, frosting my hair and eyelashes. The cold was a physical thing, a predator gnawing at my bones. But I clutched the bloody uniform as if it were my only source of warmth.

Bryn followed behind me, her small hands holding the tattered red banner high. It snapped in the wind, a mournful cry of defiance.

People on the street began to notice us. They stopped, pointing, their whispers growing into a murmur.

"Look, isn't that the banner of the 'Wraith of the Spine'?"

"Gods, who is that girl? Is she holding a blood-stained uniform?"

This was what I wanted. I needed the story to begin before the princess even arrived.

My knees were numb from crawling on the frozen flagstones. The cold seeped through my thin dress, a creeping parasite. But I couldn't stop.

This was a battle of will. The me of the past died in despair. The me of this life would be reborn from it.

I thought of Amara. Right now, she would be in a warm room, dressed in fine silks, soaking up the praise that was mine. She would be gracefully recounting her "brother's" heroic deeds.

She was playing the part of the perfect, grieving sister, while I, the real family, was here in the snow, performing a ritual to call home the soul of my "brother"-myself.

My lips were blue with cold, but a small, humorless smile touched them. Amara, your good days are over.

The outline of the North Gate Bridge grew clearer. It was the main artery in and out of the capital. The princess's carriage had to pass this way.

I had to time this perfectly. The moment her carriage appeared, I had to "happen" to collapse in front of it, in the most shocking and pitiable way possible.

"Remember," I whispered to Bryn, my voice barely audible over the wind, "when you see a black carriage with the royal crest, cry out 'General' as loud as you can."

Bryn was trembling, whether from cold or fear I couldn't tell, but her voice was firm. "Yes, miss."

I closed my eyes, picturing my family's ugly, greedy faces. Hatred was the best fuel. It burned away the cold.

The murmuring from the street grew louder. Some people were even following us now, curious to see what would happen.

Then I heard it. The sound of wheels crunching on snow, the sharp calls of guards clearing the way.

A carriage, understated but undeniably luxurious, appeared at the end of the street. On its side, the golden crest of the Roth family gleamed in the snow-swept gloom.

It was time.

I gathered all my strength, clutched the bloody uniform, and prepared for the climax of my performance.

My life, my revenge, my honor-it all began now. I would not fail again.