Riley's POV I wasn't fully awake when Lucien helped me to my feet. My limbs still ached, bruises nestled deep in my muscles like ghosts refusing to fade. His low voice-"Sleep"-still echoed in my mind, soft as mist, heavy as a command. I remembered the way his fingers lingered on my temple, the weight of the blanket he'd wrapped around me. In those moments, I felt less like prey, more like something sacred. But the moment we stood outside the banquet hall, and the heavy double doors opened again, the spell shattered. Lucien stood beside me like a shadow at my back-solid, silent, eternal. He didn't say a word, didn't need to. His presence alone pulled the room's attention like gravity. But this silence wasn't protection. It was permission. It was my turn now. The sound of our entrance echoed like a warning bell across the marbled floor. And then the whispers began. Gasps. A few stifled cries. I heard a crystal glass shatter to the ground. Every head turned. They had expected me to be gone. Destroyed. Disgraced. They had assumed Ronan had taken what he wanted. That I had crawled away afterward like some wounded Omega with nothing left but shame. But I was here. And I wasn't the same girl they remembered. I wore the pale blue moonweave gown Matriarch Duskgrave had given me with her own hands. The dress floated around my frame like starlight spun into silk, long enough to cover the bruises that still marked my skin, but cut just high enough to remind them I had nothing to hide. My hair was freshly dried, my face calm, eyes clear. They couldn't see the wounds beneath-but I knew they felt them. I carried them like a second skin, like armor. And with every step I took, the fear in their eyes deepened. They didn't see Riley, the forgotten daughter of the Ebonclaw Pack, raised in the mud and blood of rogue camps. They saw something else.A storm. A reckoning. Their past sins, wrapped in flesh and walking toward them with unshakable purpose. I heard the whispers swell, rising like a tide: "Is that her...?" "She's supposed to be in the infirmary-" "Gods... she looks like the Matriarch..." Their eyes flicked between me and the man at my side. Lucien-taller than any male in the room, dressed in all black, his expression carved in stone. He didn't speak. He didn't glare. But his silence dared anyone to look too long, to breathe the wrong way, to question why he stood beside me. They were afraid. Good. Let them feel the chill of knowing they'd chosen the wrong side. My gaze swept the room like a blade. It found Scarlett instantly. She was still in her party dress, though the hem had bunched awkwardly from all her pacing. Her heels clicked nervously against the floor as she turned, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Her curls were no longer pristine-she'd run her hands through them too many times. Her mascara had smudged beneath her lower lashes, and her usual mask of arrogance was cracked. For a moment, she froze. Then-too late-she tried to compose herself, straightening her spine, tilting her chin, as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Lucien's voice broke the air like a blade. "Miss Scarlett's hair looks a little messy." His words were cool, precise, almost idle. But in this room? It was the drop of blood in the water. My lips curved-not in cruelty, but something colder.I lifted a single finger and pointed toward her. "Shave it off." I didn't shout. I didn't need to. In the silence that followed, my voice hit harder than a war drum. Scarlett flinched like I'd struck her. "No! You can't-" she cried, but she barely got the words out before the guards moved. Two of Lucien's pack warriors-storm-black armor, faces emotionless-stepped forward. Scarlett tried to back away. She clutched at a nearby chair, but they pulled her forward with effortless strength. She screamed. They forced her to her knees at my feet. I took my time walking toward her, each step slow and steady, the room splitting open like water before me. She looked up at me, her lower lip trembling. Her voice was soft, pathetic. "Sister... why? Why would you have Alpha Lucien do this to me?" I smiled, just slightly. "You still think this is his command?" I asked. "No, Scarlett. This is me. My voice. My choice." Shock flickered in her eyes. And I knew, in that moment, she finally saw it: the girl she thought she could ruin was gone. This was someone else now. "You tore the embroidery my mother left me. You dragged me into a room with Ronan Duskcliff. You stood there while they beat me-and you smiled." I took another step. "You wanted me broken. But you forgot something." I leaned forward just enough for her to feel my breath. "I'm not yours to break." I turned to face the room-the women who had cheered Scarlett on, who had mocked me, struck me, spat on my name. "To those of you who raised a hand against me-your turn is coming." They lowered their heads, each one pale and trembling. Scarlett wasn't done. Still clinging to the last tool in her arsenal-tears-she turned toward Lucien. "Alpha... I didn't mean it. She's overreacting, she's confused. I didn't-" Lucien didn't even uncross his arms. "You're beneath her now," he said, voice like frost cracking stone. "Don't waste your breath." The guards moved. Scarlett screamed. I didn't look away. Not this time. Because this wasn't vengeance. This was balance. And as I turned toward the Matriarch's empty seat, her final words echoed in my mind: "Anyone who hurts my granddaughter... will pay." And they would. Tonight, it begins. I am Riley Vale. Blood of Ebonclaw. And I take back everything you stole from me-piece by piece, name by name.