The forgotten daughter

Rachel’s POV

“I accept your condition,” I said. “I’ll return to the pack… as the heiress.”

I gripped the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, but my voice came out steady. Before I could hear the reply, I ended the call.

Silence blanketed the room.

The kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. It vibrated. Like a scream caught between cracked walls, echoing endlessly. I stared at the phone in my hand, the words I’d just spoken ricocheting inside my skull.

A shaky breath left my lips as I turned to face the dimly lit bedroom that had been my prison for eight years. The walls reeked of memories I didn’t want to keep, the bed where I once cried myself to sleep. The windows I stared through, dreaming of an escape that never came.

The faint scent of lavender lingered in the curtains—Amelia’s favorite. It had once calmed me. Now it only made my throat tighten. A cruel reminder of what had been taken.

All for nothing.

Eight years of patience, loyalty, and sacrifice. And what did I have to show for it?

Pain. Betrayal. A life that was never mine to begin with.

I clenched my fists. Not anymore.

The mirror caught my eye. My reflection was thinner, colder, eyes dulled with years of trying to be something I wasn’t. My hair was longer now, cascading down my back like a shadow. The dress I wore shimmered faintly in the muted light, a soft blue silk that clung to me like the past.

Amelia’s dress.

No. It wasn’t hers. Not really.

A sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“How dare you wear my mother’s dress!”

I turned to see Ivan standing at the doorway, his small frame trembling with anger, golden eyes burning with hatred.

I sighed, here we go again.

“You aren’t going to say anything?!” His voice rose, sharp as a dagger.

I didn’t bother responding. It didn’t matter what I said. It never did.

“Go to your party, Ivan,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Your friends are waiting.”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, his little fingers wrapped around the silver mug on the table. Before I could react, he hurled the contents at me.

Pain exploded across my skin.

I screamed as the liquid burned my arms and chest.

Not just hot coffee. Silver-infused.

The scent of burnt flesh filled the air, and my wolf whimpered inside me, retreating from the agony. My vision blurred for a second, and through the haze of pain, I saw Ivan smirking.

“Yes,” he spat. “Serves you right. You can never replace my mother. You killed her with your wicked heart, and now you’re wearing her favorite dress?”

The pain was unbearable, but the words cut deeper.

A maid rushed in, gasping as she saw me scarred and trembling.

“Miss, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Ivan ran off from the guards again.” She grabbed his arm and led him away, his mean laughter ringing in my ears.

I stood frozen, breathing through the pain.

This wasn’t Amelia’s dress.

It was mine. A gift from my late mother before she died. But Amelia stole it just as she'd stolen everything from me. My place in the pack, my title as the Alpha’s mate, my life.

And when she died giving birth to Ivan, they blamed me.

I was labeled bad luck. A cursed wolf, unworthy of love, unworthy of a pack.

But instead of banishing me, Sarah made me stay. Forced me to care for her grandson. To live in the same house as Michael, my childhood sweetheart. The mate who should have been mine.

I obeyed for eight years. I cleaned their wounds, raised their heir, and swallowed my pain.

Because Sarah made a deal.

"Stay until Ivan turns eight. After that, you’re free.

I held onto those words for years. Let them be the chain that kept me going. Endure for eight years. Then leave.

And today… Today was the eighth year.

I stepped into the bathroom, watching my reflection in the mirror. The red, scalding burns stood out against my pale skin.

It would heal. But my scars would remain.

I pulled back the neckline of the dress, inspecting the raw patches where the silver had touched. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them away. Not today. No more tears.

I reached for the first-aid box, hands trembling. Every movement was a battle between pain and necessity. The salve inside smelled like pine and mint, and as I dabbed it over the burns, a sharp breath hissed between my teeth. I gritted my jaw, forcing my hands to steady as the sting met raw skin. Slowly, the relief seeped in.

The silence returned, heavier this time. It clung to the air, wrapping around me like smoke. My mind wandered to the what-ifs, the endless possibilities of a life I might have had if things had gone differently. If Michael had chosen me. If Sarah had accepted me. If Amelia hadn’t existed.

But that life never belonged to me.

I’d played the role of the ghost long enough.

Another memory hit me—Michael cradling Amelia after a training accident, brushing her hair from her face, whispering words I had once longed to hear. I'd stood in the shadows then, watching, wondering how he could turn so easily from one heart to another.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Enough.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

I already knew who it was.

The door opened, and Michael stepped inside. He looked at me, really looked at me for the first time in years. His lips pressed into a thin line when he saw the burns.

“I heard what Ivan did.” His voice was low, almost apologetic. Almost. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just a child. He loves you.”

A bitter laugh slipped from my lips. Loves me?

I turned my gaze to him, meeting his familiar amber eyes. The eyes that once held promises. Now, they held nothing but duty.

“That child doesn’t know the first thing about love,” I murmured.

Michael sighed. “Don’t talk like that.” He took a step closer, reaching for the soothing balm on the nightstand. “Let me help you.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

His fingers brushed my skin as he applied the ointment. Slow, careful movements. Too familiar. Too much like the old days—when his touch made my heart race.

Now it made my stomach turn.

Memories bubbled to the surface. Of our childhood days running through the forest, our secret kisses by the riverbank, the promises whispered under the moonlight. Promises he shattered the day he chose Amelia.

He was good at pretending. Pretending his heart hadn’t once beat for me. Pretending his loyalty to Amelia wasn’t built on guilt and obligation.

I remembered the day he told me it was over—Amelia had claimed him, and Sarah supported the match. His eyes were glassy, his voice tight, as if convincing himself more than me.

“Be patient with him,” Michael whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “With time, he’ll—”

I yanked my arm away, stepping back.

“I have something to tell you,” I said, my voice steady.

Michael frowned. “Can’t it wait? The party has already started.”

I met his gaze, heart beating wildly, but schooled my features to neutrality.

“No. It can’t.”

A slow, deliberate breath.

"Today marks eight years. I want to leave."

Silence.

His brows knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

"Yes."

I had nothing left here.

Michael’s jaw clenched. "And where will you go?"

My lips curled into a knowing smile

"Home."

His expression shifted—shock, realization, and something else. Something dark.

He took a step toward me, voice lowering to a growl.

“You’re returning to them?”

The Royal Pack.

My birthright, my blood. My true home.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his wolf rising to the surface.

“They’ll never accept you,” he said.

I lifted my chin. “We’ll see.”

Another step. I took a step back.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, too tightly.

"You think I’ll let you leave?"

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, sensing the threat in his tone.

I smirked.

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

And with that, I ripped free from his grasp.

This time, for good.