CHAPTER2
Mirabella had learned to wake before the palace did. Every morning, she opened her eyes to the same cold room, the same faded curtains, and the same silence that seemed to settle around her like a second skin. At twenty, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, with long dark hair, delicate features, and eyes that often looked older than they should. But there was little joy in her beauty. Years of rejection had taught her not to look at herself for too long — because when she did, all she saw was the face of the daughter who had killed her mother.
She rose from her bed and prepared herself quietly. No maid was waiting to dress her, no servant bringing breakfast, and certainly no one asking whether she had slept well. Those privileges belonged to the members of the royal family. Mirabella had the royal blood but none of the treatment that came with it. She was the Alpha's firstborn daughter, yet at Silvermoon Palace, they treated her like a servant who had overstayed her welcome.
As she stepped out of her room to begin her usual routine, the familiar whispers followed — soft, sharp, and never far enough away.
"There she is."
"The cursed princess."
"Imagine being born without a wolf."
"She should have died instead of Queen Monica."
"Lower your voice. What if she hears you?"
Some servants glanced at her before quickly looking away, while others made no effort to hide their disgust. Mirabella had grown accustomed to the whispers. After twenty years of living in Silvermoon Palace, she had learned that sometimes, silence was kinder than the words people used when they thought she couldn't hear them. But knowing it did not stop the sting. It never did.
All she ever knew about her mother was her name and the stories that the beautiful Luna had died the day she was born. Mirabella had no memory of her, only stories. Neither her father nor the present Queen, Queen Jasmine, ever allowed her to have access to Queen Monica's locked room or even see a pictograph of her. No one had ever told Mirabella exactly what happened that night, but she had heard enough to understand what everyone believed. She was the reason her mother was dead. Even when nobody said it aloud, she could see the accusation in their eyes — and after twenty years, she had started to believe it herself.
Just as she was about to enter the laundry, a familiar voice called her name. "Mirabella." She turned and saw her two stepsisters, Hazel and Ivy, who found pleasure in bullying and taunting her every day. The coldness in Hazel's eyes made Mirabella's stomach tighten. She lowered her head and whispered, "I'm coming."
She was not fast enough.
Hazel closed the distance between them and slapped her across the face, hard enough to make her stumble and fall to the floor. The sound cracked through the corridor, and for a moment, the world went white with pain. "You i***t! Didn't you hear us calling you, or are you deaf now?" Hazel snapped.
Mirabella pressed a hand to her stinging cheek and said nothing. She had learned long ago that words only made it worse.
Ivy moved closer to Hazel and said, "We can't afford to waste our time on this i***t this morning. There will always be another time."
She then turned to Mirabella and said, "Now, get up and make sure everywhere, including the dining room, is sparkling clean before I return. And don't forget to lock yourself up in your godforsaken room. We have a guest, and I don't want to see you anywhere around."
Her two stepsisters left her on the floor. Tears streamed down Mirabella's face, but she quickly wiped them away, refusing to let anyone see how much the slap had hurt her. She took a shaky breath and slowly dragged herself to her feet, swallowing the lump in her throat. With her head lowered, she made her way down the corridor to start cleaning, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again.
Her life had always been this way. She had grown up within the palace walls, yet she had never felt like she belonged there. Her father was the worst of them all. Whenever their paths crossed, his eyes held nothing but disdain, as though her very presence offended him. She rarely saw him, but even those few encounters were enough to remind her of how unwanted she was. Mirabella had long since stopped hoping for his affection, though a small part of her still ached whenever she caught that cold look in his eyes — a small, stubborn part of her that refused to stop wishing he would one day see her.
Finally, after hours of cleaning, Mirabella finished everything she had been instructed to do. Exhausted, she made her way toward her room, longing for the quiet she had always found there — the one place in the palace where no one could look at her like she was a mistake. She had barely reached her doorstep when a strange scent suddenly filled the air. She stopped, her breath catching as the unfamiliar fragrance surrounded her. Her heart began pounding faster, and a strange sensation travelled through her body, leaving her confused and unsettled. She took another breath, almost as if trying to understand what had suddenly changed.
Mirabella slowly looked around the empty corridor, but there was no one in sight. Yet the scent remained, growing stronger with every passing second. Her brows furrowed as she stood frozen, unable to explain why something so unfamiliar could affect her so deeply. Where was the scent coming from? Why was her heart beating like this? And what exactly was happening to her?
