The lingering scent of celebration hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the churning anxiety in Claire Black's stomach. She was back. Back in her old room, the soft, familiar duvet tangled around her legs, the morning sun casting golden streaks across the polished floor. It was the day after Liam had marked her, her eighteenth birthday, a day that had once been filled with naive joy, now tainted by the brutal memories of her future.

Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, a phantom ache blooming where a dagger had once pierced, where a life had been cruelly snuffed out. There was no bump, no wound, just smooth, unblemished skin. A chilling reminder of the nightmare she had escaped, and the fragile hope she now carried.

Then came the familiar sound, a soft creak of the door. Liam. Her 'mate.' The man who had been her undoing. He stepped into the room, his eyes wide with feigned concern, his voice laced with the sickeningly sweet affection she once craved. He approached her, his hand reaching out, and a wave of revulsion, raw and powerful, surged through her.