Francesca Kelley POV: A heavy thud hit the back of my skull, and my eyes flew open. Dim light from the ruined side courtyard burned my retinas. I drew in cold air, chest heaving, and pushed myself up off the hard wooden bed planks. The searing agony of starvation and frostbite lingered deep in my bones. I have been reborn. I died right here in my past life — I begged my husband for mercy over and over, only to perish from hunger, cold and shattered body. But death tore my soul away, hurling me across time into the modern world. For years I lived there, drilling relentlessly to master special‑forces combat, tactical thinking and lethal close‑quarters fighting. I was Francesca Kelley, the disgraced wolfless wife of Curtiss Taylor, Pack Alpha of the Taylor territory. In this world, a werewolf with no inner wolf could not shift or use the mind‑link. To the nobles, I was worth less than dirt. In this life before death, I had been quiet and compliant. Now I carried hard‑earned modern combat knowledge inside this fragile flesh. The weak, yielding wife they knew was dead. I glanced down at my pale, thin hands. My fingertips shook from leftover fever. This body was still weakened by neglect, yet my mind held every strike, every joint lock, every trick I had learned in the modern world. I curled my hands into tight fists until my knuckles popped. No more would I bow and suffer. Bam! The rotting wooden door to my room tore off its hinges and crashed to the floor. Wind and snow howled into the space. A stout heavy‑set woman stomped inside, four armed pack guards behind her. Her gaze swept over me like I was trash. "Francesca, grab your rags and get out!" I narrowed my eyes, sorting through my native memories of this world. This was Martha Kowalski, personal servant to Delma Travis, my husband's mistress. I stayed seated on the bed edge and stared at her in silence. Seeing I did not react, Martha thought I was still the weak target she was used to bullying. She barked a laugh and stepped forward, her leather boots crunching over dirty floorboards. She folded her thick arms and lifted her chin. "Lord Curtiss gave the order! Today is his Bonding Ceremony with Lady Delma. This shack will be torn down to build a greenhouse for the new Luna." Before I moved, my Omega maid Chloe ran out from the small corner room. Her face went white. She threw herself in front of my bed, trembling. "You cannot do this!" Chloe cried, voice breaking in fear. "My Lady still has a fever! If you cast her out into the snow now, she will die!" Martha sneered and pulled her thick arm back. Slap! Sharp skin‑on‑skin sound bounced off the stone walls. Chloe screamed, blood spilling from her split lip as she fell hard to the floor. The air in my lungs turned cold. I threw off the tattered blanket and set bare feet on the frozen wood, biting back the sting of ice against my skin. I walked toward Martha. She rubbed her stinging wrist, a smug grin on her face. Martha noticed me coming. Surprise flashed briefly in her eyes before rage took over. She raised her hand to strike my face. "Wolfless garbage, how dare you glare at me?" Her palm swung down. I shifted left. My left hand shot out, seized her thick wrist, and pressed my thumb hard into the nerve cluster of her joint. "Actions speak louder than words." I twisted my torso and dropped my weight. Using a standard special‑forces shoulder throw I had mastered in the modern realm, I lifted her heavy body and slammed her spine against the floor. Floorboards creaked under the impact. Martha let out a pig‑like shriek, gasping for air. The four guards froze, mouths hanging open as they stared at the outcast standing over her. They had only ever known me as a helpless, quiet wife. Martha tried to get up. I planted my bare‑but‑sturdy foot on her chest and pressed down, pinning her to the ground until her face turned purple, ignoring the sharp cold biting into my soles. The four guards snapped out of shock. They drew iron swords from their waists and charged, roaring. I hooked my toe under a broken bed slat, kicked it up and caught it. I moved between the four men and swung the wood. Crack! Crack! Crack! The heavy plank hit their sword wrists, the backs of their knees, and the soft spots under their throats. In three seconds, all four tall guards collapsed, clutching injured joints and screaming in pain. I tossed the splintered wood aside, knelt, grabbed a handful of Martha's grey hair and pulled her head up. "You said Curtiss will strip me of my Luna title?" My voice stayed soft, yet Martha's teeth chattered. Blood covered her nose and mouth. She stared at me in terror, lips shaking without sound. My eyes fell to her waist. It was the Taylor Pack's Alpha Token — the very symbol of Alpha authority over the entire territory, which Curtiss had dared to place around Delma's waist while I still lived, and she actually let Martha carry it to flaunt before me. I reached out and ripped the Alpha Token from her belt. The sharp edge sliced through her leather belt and tunic, and she let out a high, panicked squeal. I stood, tossed the blood‑stained Alpha Token high and caught it hard in my palm, looking down at the moaning bodies at my feet. "Take your men and leave." I kicked Martha in the ribs. She tumbled out the broken door like a sack and rolled twice in the snow. The four guards scrambled onto their hands and knees, dragged Martha into the blizzard, not even stopping to pick up their swords. I turned, pulled stunned Chloe to her feet, and wiped blood off her lip with my sleeve. "My Lady... you..." Chloe's eyes widened, breathing fast. "Get a basin of warm water and help me dress." I walked to the cracked bronze mirror and looked at my pale, sharp reflection. After cleaning up, I tied my long silver‑white hair high. I pulled a dark red heavily embroidered gown from the bottom of my trunk. Before I left my chamber, I tucked the folded Rejection Pact scroll, which I'd stashed away long ago, deep inside my bodice. I closed my hand around the cold Alpha Token, the weight of it thrumming like a living claim to power. Then I pushed open the courtyard gate and stepped into swirling snow. I walked down the stone corridor toward the main castle hall.

Francesca Kelley POV: I walked through the snow-covered stone corridor, the dark red hem of my dress whipping around my ankles in the freezing wind. Ahead of me, laughter and the lively music of lutes poured out from the main hall of Taylor Castle. Servants carrying trays of wine froze in their tracks when they saw me approaching. A few guards opened their mouths to block my path, but the moment my cold gaze swept over them, their throats constricted and they backed against the stone walls without daring to breathe. I stopped in front of the heavy oak double doors of the great hall. Through the wood, I could hear the Elder officiating the ceremony inside, chanting prayers to the Moon Goddess. Without slowing down, I raised my right leg and drove the heel of my boot straight into the seam between the two massive doors. Boom! The iron latch snapped. The heavy oak doors flew wide open, slamming against the interior stone walls as splinters rained down onto the red carpet. The music died instantly. Hundreds of richly dressed nobles from across the kingdom turned their heads in unison, gasping as they stared at the entrance. I held my chin high, stepping over the wooden debris. My heels clicked rhythmically against the polished marble floor as I walked down the center aisle under hundreds of shocked eyes. My gaze cut past the crowd and locked onto the high dais at the front. There stood my husband, Curtiss, dressed in ceremonial black and gold, holding the hand of Delma, who wore a lavish white wedding gown. Curtiss's handsome, arrogant face twisted from shock into towering rage. His hand dropped to the ruby-encrusted hilt of the sword at his waist. "Francesca! Have you lost your mind?" Curtiss roared, his voice echoing off the high vaulted ceiling as he released his Alpha pressure to crush me. "Who gave you permission to crawl out of the side courtyard!" I didn't stop walking until I stood right at the base of the dais, looking straight into his amber eyes with a cold sneer. "This Luna never gave her consent. Who dares hold a Bonding Ceremony while I still hold the Luna title?" My voice wasn't loud, yet it carried clearly to every corner of the dead-silent room. Delma's eyes flashed with venom for a split second before filling with tears. She shrank back into Curtiss's chest, her shoulders trembling pitifully. "Sister, I only wanted to stay by the Alpha's side to serve him," Delma whimpered, biting her lip. "Why must you humiliate me in front of all our guests like this?" I rolled my eyes in disgust and raised my right hand, holding the silver wolf-head badge high under the chandelier light. "Open your eyes wide and look closely! The Alpha Token is in my hand. Under the sacred law of the Silvermoon Kingdom, as long as I draw breath and hold this token, I am the sole legal Luna of the Taylor Pack!" An uproar broke out among the nobles. Whispers spread like wildfire; in our rigid hierarchy, the holder of the Alpha Token possessed absolute domestic authority granted by ancestral law. Curtiss's face turned the color of rotten liver. He never expected his timid wife to use pack law to corner him in public. "Hand over the token, you shameless madwoman!" Curtiss snarled, stepping toward the edge of the steps. I tossed the token lightly in my palm, my gaze sweeping over Delma's pale face. "She wants a title? Fine. According to royal custom, when a lowly concubine enters the pack, she must kneel on the floor and serve tea to the Luna." Delma's face lost every drop of blood. She looked up at Curtiss in panic, her fingers digging into his sleeve for help. Curtiss let out a furious growl and drew his blade an inch from its scabbard, but I raised the token higher. "What is it, Lord Taylor? Is a Pack Alpha going to openly defy the hierarchy set by the Moon Goddess in front of the entire nobility?" That accusation hung over his head like an executioner's axe. Defying ancestral law in public was treason against the crown. Curtiss clenched his jaw so hard the veins on his forehead bulged, his chest heaving violently. "Delma," Curtiss ground out between his teeth, turning his head away from her pleading eyes. "Serve her the tea." Delma's whole body shook like a leaf in a storm. Big tears rolled down her powdered cheeks as a guard hurried over with a silver tray holding a porcelain cup of steaming black tea. She picked up the cup, lifted the heavy hem of her white gown, and walked down the steps. Stopping in front of me, her knees buckled, and she knelt hard onto the cold marble floor. I looked down at her from above, my face completely expressionless. Trembling violently, Delma raised the porcelain cup above her head with both hands. "Sister... please drink your tea." I didn't reach out. I simply stood there with my arms crossed, watching the white steam rise from the cup as the seconds ticked by. Her arms began to shake from the weight and the heat spilling over the rim onto her fingers. A full minute passed in suffocating silence before I slowly uncrossed my arms and extended my right hand toward the cup. The moment my fingertips brushed the porcelain rim, a vicious glint flashed in Delma's lowered eyes. Her wrists twisted sharply forward in an unnatural motion. The boiling black tea flew straight out of the cup, splashing directly toward my face and chest in a scalding wave. Gasps echoed through the hall, and Curtiss's lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smirk on the dais. My eyes narrowed, and my muscle memory kicked in instantly as I dropped my weight backward.

Francesca Kelley POV: Right before the scalding liquid touched my skin, I twisted my waist and slid half a step left. The boiling black tea missed the hem of my red dress by an inch, splashing across the marble floor with a cloud of white steam. Delma had thrown all her weight forward for that malicious toss, so she lost her balance entirely. She let out a shrill scream and crashed face-first into the puddle of hot tea on the floor. I did not give her time to recover. I lifted my right foot and stomped hard on her back, pinning her writhing body to the wet mess. "Ah!" Delma shrieked. The hot liquid soaked her neat white wedding gown, staining the silk brown. I bent down, grabbed a handful of her styled hair, and yanked her head back so everyone could see her twisted, tear-streaked face. "Cheap trick," I said flatly. "You dare pull this in front of me?" "Francesca! Let her go!" On the dais, Curtiss snapped. He let out a deafening Alpha roar, his eyes blazing blood-red. His heavy Alpha Dominion rolled across the hall. Several low-ranking Omega servants dropped to their knees, hands clamped over their ears in pain. I only frowned and pressed my foot harder into Delma's spine. I looked up at Curtiss, my voice cutting through the room. "You sent your servants to ransack your Luna's courtyard. Now your concubine tries to scar me in public. Curtiss, do you treat Taylor Pack law like dirt under your boots?" Each line landed like a slap. The nobles around us started muttering, staring at the stained bride on the floor with open disdain. Curtiss's pride broke in front of the crowd. He drew his ruby-hilted silver sword fully from its scabbard with a metallic scrape. "You bitch, I'll cut your head off right here!" He jumped down from the high dais. The silver blade sliced the air, aimed straight for my throat. Silver was deadly to werewolves. Even a scratch burned off healing power and destroyed an inner wolf forever. Ten feet away, the cold aura of the blade made my lungs ache and my skin prickle. I released Delma's hair, my right hand brushing the small iron dagger strapped to my thigh under the skirt. The silver blade came within two feet of my neck. Wind from the swing blew loose silver strands across my forehead. A heavy pressure burst out from the shadowed pillars at the hall's side. It was not ordinary Alpha power. An ancient, suffocating aura froze the air, forcing every werewolf in the room to their knees as if facing a top predator. A tall, broad figure in a black military cloak moved between me and Curtiss like a dark bolt, carrying a scent of pine and winter snow. Clang! Sparks flared. A sharp metallic ring echoed through the hall. Curtiss's full downward slash stopped mid-air. The deadly silver blade was trapped tight between two gloved fingers, unable to move an inch closer. My breath caught. I looked up into deep storm-gray eyes set in a face carved from cold granite. It was Jerrell Hatfield, undefeated Gamma General of Silvermoon Kingdom, the warlord leading the feared Nightshadow Legion. Curtiss's face went pale. He gripped the hilt with both hands and pulled with all his Alpha strength, but those two fingers held fast like welded steel. "Drawing silver against an unarmed woman with royal witnesses present," Jerrell said in a low gravelly rumble that vibrated through the room. "Lord Taylor, have you no honor?" "Jerrell! Stay out of my family business!" Curtiss shouted, his voice shaking with fear in front of the kingdom's deadliest warrior. Jerrell let out a cold laugh. His arm tensed under the black sleeve, and he twisted his fingers sharply. Snap! The forged silver sword whined and split clean in two. The violent jolt tore the skin between Curtiss's thumb and forefinger. Blood sprayed. He stumbled seven or eight steps back, crashed into a banquet table and knocked wine goblets flying. Sharp gasps filled the hall. Snapping a royal silver sword with just fingers was beyond any normal Alpha. Jerrell tossed the broken silver tip onto the floor and turned. His dark gray eyes locked on mine. The second our eyes met, my heart skipped. A strange hot burn bloomed deep in my chest, sending a shiver down my spine to my toes. He tilted his head slightly, glancing at the few tea drops on my red skirt. A faint line formed between his brows. "Are you hurt?" I calmed my racing pulse, straightened my back and met his gaze without flinching. "Only a few splashes. Thank you for intervening, General." My tone stayed polite, keeping clear distance. Jerrell watched me for two long seconds, then stepped half a pace aside. He gave the scene back to me, standing guard like a quiet mountain. I took a deep breath, pulled a rolled parchment scroll from my bodice, and walked toward Curtiss. He lay on the floor, clutching his bleeding hand and groaning.