The air hung heavy with the cloying sweetness of vanilla and the distinct scent of werewolves. Today was the day. My eighteenth birthday. The day I was supposed to find him, my mate, the one person destined to see past the pack's hatred and accept me for who I truly am.

I swirled in my grandmother's red ball gown, the silk rustling softly, a stark contrast to the usual drab clothes I wore. The diamonds on my neck and hand gleamed under the soft light of my room, a rare indulgence.

Raymond, my twin, burst in, his black hair in a ridiculous ponytail. “Let’s go!” he yelped, pulling me towards the door. My wolf, Lana, usually a vibrant presence, was eerily quiet today, a subtle unease settling in my chest.

We walked towards the ballroom, the whispers of a surprise party filling my hopeful mind. But as we stepped into the grand hall, it was empty. No cheers, no pack members. Just silence. My shoulders slumped, and Lana whimpered inside me. They forgot. Again. Just like they always forgot me.