YOU SAY YOU HATE ME

Chapter One: DILLION'S POV- I never wanted to come back. Not here. Not to this place that swallowed me whole and spat out my name like it was a curse. The trees look the same. Dark, towering, suffocating. Even the wind feels the same—sharp like judgment, cold like memory. I pause at the pack's boundary, just long enough for my fingers to tremble around the suitcase handle. Three and a half years. That’s how long it’s been since I last stood on this land. Back then, I was fifteen. Small. Fragile. A beta's daughter from a respected family. Quiet, studious. Unremarkable, except for the blood in my veins and the unfortunate fact that I was Lori Everhart’s half-sister. I used to think I understood pain. But I didn’t—not until the Moon Ceremony. Not until the goblet of sacred wine touched the Luna’s lips and she collapsed beneath the moonlight, convulsing in front of the entire pack. Not until Lori pointed at me with wide, fake-innocent eyes and whispered the lie that ruined everything. “She did it. I saw her near the drinks.” I hadn’t even taken a sip. But that didn’t matter. Truth doesn't matter when you're fifteen, trembling in the center of a sacred circle, and someone else tells your story louder than you do. Now I’m seventeen, almost eighteen. Taller. Stronger. Sharper in all the ways that count. My wolf and I are no longer strangers, and puberty—along with the rage that bloomed inside me—blessed me with a glow-up most would kill for. But none of that matters. Not here. Here, I’m still the girl who murdered the Luna. Even if the council “cleared” me due to a “lack of evidence.” Even if the whispers quieted after the initial storm. Even if I didn’t do it. The truth didn’t save me then. I doubt it will now. The gate creaks open in front of me. I step through and feel the magic of the border tingle against my skin, almost like it’s warning the pack that the monster has returned. Two guards stand at either side, silent and stiff. They don’t nod. Don’t speak. But I see the way one of them watches me, like he’s expecting me to grow fangs and attack. Respectful fear. The kind reserved for a girl the law didn’t condemn—but the pack did anyway. The Everhart estate is colder than I remember. Ivy still clings to the brick like it’s trying to escape, and the same stained-glass windows reflect nothing but clouds. My father waits at the front steps. Beta Marcus Everhart. The man who used to carry me on his shoulders during festivals and braid my hair before full moon celebrations. He doesn’t smile. He looks at me like I’m a stranger. “You’re late,” he says. “I came as soon as you summoned me.” His eyes move over me, assessing. Judging. Looking for cracks. “You’ve changed.” I shrug. “People do.” His lips tighten, like my tone irritates him. “Your room is the same. You start Blackwell Academy tomorrow. Don’t make trouble. You’re not here to remind anyone of what happened.” Right. I’m here to play ghost. “I didn’t come back to stir anything,” I say. “You’re the one who called me.” He doesn’t respond. Just turns and walks up the stairs, expecting me to follow like the obedient daughter I used to be. I drag my suitcase behind me and step into the house. The walls feel smaller now. The halls darker. My mother’s portrait still hangs above the fireplace—her soft eyes forever frozen in paint—but I don’t feel comfort when I look at her. Just distance. Even she can’t protect me here. Lori’s room is still down the hall from mine. I feel its pull like a toxin. I wonder if she’s home. I wonder if she’s watching from behind those perfect white curtains with her perfect golden curls and snake venom smile. I don't even bother unpacking. Dinner is a silent affair. Just me and my father across from each other, pretending this is normal. He doesn’t ask about the private boarding school I was exiled to. He doesn’t ask about my classes, my wolf, or the nightmares that still wake me up gasping. Instead, he says, “Alpha Blackwell expects you to keep a low profile. His tolerance for your presence is thin.” A chill works its way down my spine. Lucien’s father. The Alpha. He used to laugh at my jokes. He used to ruffle my hair. Now he won’t even look at me. “Am I a threat, or just an embarrassment?” I ask, voice steady. “Don’t be dramatic,” my father mutters. “You're here because I said so. Don’t make me regret it.” Too late. The next morning is gray and wet. Rain mists against my blazer as I step out of the black car sent to drop me off. The driver doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even look at me in the rearview mirror. I guess that’s a new pack protocol: Don’t acknowledge the poisoner. Blackwell Academy hasn’t changed much. The gates still hum with protective magic. The students are still devastatingly beautiful in that supernatural way—tall, powerful, glowing with authority. Sons and daughters of Alphas, Betas, warriors, and council members. They see me before I even make it through the courtyard. The whispers come fast. “Is that her?” “The Luna’s killer?” “Didn’t they exile her?” “Why is she back?” They think I can’t hear them. But I do. My wolf does, too. She’s tense beneath my skin, claws prickling. Ready to defend, to run, to survive. The thing is—I’m not ashamed anymore. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still bleeding. I get my schedule from the front office. The receptionist doesn’t make eye contact. “Dillion Everhart,” she murmurs, scanning her roster. Then she hesitates. Her eyes flick up for a split second before quickly darting away. “Combat Theory. First period. You’ve been placed with…” Her voice falters. “Lucien Blackwell.” Of course. The universe doesn’t believe in mercy. The moment I step into the gym, I feel it—like a sudden shift in pressure. Lucien is here. He stands near the center mat, sparring with someone twice his size and making it look effortless. His movements are sharp, clean, lethal. He’s changed. He’s taller than I remember. Built like the Alpha he’s meant to become. His dark hair is longer now, messy like he doesn’t care, and his black uniform clings to every inch of power he’s worked for. And then he turns. His eyes lock onto mine. And every sound in the gym drops. He doesn’t say a word. But his glare hits like a blade to the gut. His silence is worse than if he’d shouted. I stand there, still as stone, letting the weight of it crush me for a moment. Then I lift my chin and walk to the other side of the room. I will not crumble. Not this time. When class ends, I keep my head down. I’m almost to the exit when a shoulder slams into mine. “Should’ve stayed gone,” someone mutters. I don’t look to see who. I’ve heard worse. I’ve survived worse. Lucien’s voice, however, stops me cold. It’s low. Deadly. “You should’ve never come back.” I turn slowly. He’s standing just inches away. I meet his eyes, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something in them. Pain. Anger. Confusion. I don’t know which. “I didn’t want to,” I whisper. He stares at me for another long moment, then turns and walks away like I mean nothing. Like I always meant nothing. That night, I wander the halls of the Everhart estate. The house is too quiet. Too clean. Lori’s door is closed, and I don’t have the stomach to knock. I end up in my old hiding place—the small corridor behind the east wing. There’s a loose floorboard there. I pull it up and find a box I left behind. Inside is a collection of old letters. Scribbled pages. A diary I barely remember writing. One page is folded and stained with age. I recognize Lori’s handwriting. “She told me not to drink it. She said the goblet wasn’t meant for the Luna. She was crying. She looked scared. I don’t know what to do.” — L. My heart stops. I read it again. And again. She wrote this? Why? Who is she talking about? Who was the goblet meant for? And why… why wasn’t this page ever brought forward? My fingers tremble as I clutch the note to my chest. I’m not crazy. I’m not wrong. There’s more to this story. And I’m going to find it. Even if I have to burn down the lies to do it.