Seraphine stopped halfway up the staircase, her hand tightening around the banister as the weight of memory dragged her backward.
Daisy had grown up in her parents' house. She had been a sickly child, fragile, pale, constantly hovering between life and death.
Each time the doctors shook their heads, it was Seraphine's blood that saved her, again, and again.
A year older and utterly an only child, Seraphine had embraced Daisy as the younger sister she never had, filling the void left by her own solitude with loyalty and care.
But love, she had learned too late, did not guarantee trust. Her mother had doted on Daisy endlessly, smothering her with concern, indulgence, and affection, often at Seraphine's expense.
And Daisy had been clever, deceptively so. With tearful eyes and carefully chosen silences, she painted Seraphine as cruel, impatient, heartless.
Every scratch became an accusation. Every misunderstanding, a calculated performance.
In the end, Daisy won. She claimed the sympathy of everyone, pack members, elders, even Seraphine's own parents.
Inside her own home, Seraphine was branded ruthless, unfeeling, and dangerous. That reputation drove her straight into Kylie's orbit and, eventually, into Ravyn's territory.
At the time, they all lived within the Centenary Pack. Ravyn was still young then, not yet Alpha.
When he turned eighteen and ascended, his parents relocated to the outskirts of the territory. Seraphine, barely twelve at the time, followed behind, having lived within those borders for most of her life.
Ravyn visited often. When Seraphine turned eighteen, during the chaos and sacred madness of a moon festival, Ravyn forced himself on her. The moon bore witness, and the forest heard her cries, but still, when dawn came, she was the one blamed.
Only Ravyn's parents believed her innocence. They had always wanted her as a daughter-in-law, and they used the truth like a weapon, twisting circumstance until it bent in their favor. Marriage was forced upon her, burying her choice, and consent.
And now, that same Daisy wanted her blood again. Even after she had left the pack, and after her what they cruelly did to her daughter? Never.
"Ravyn," Seraphine said, her voice steady and cold as iron, "unless you can bring my daughter back from the grave, I will never help Daisy."
There was no cruelty in her tone. Only finality. The moment she left the Centenary Pack, she had sworn her feet would never cross its borders again. That oath had been written in grief and sealed with blood.
Ravyn saw it then, and understood there was no hope left to cling to. The irony burned. To be at her mercy now, when her actions had lit the fire that consumed everything.
Her daughter was dead, and the truth, one that twisted cruelly in his chest, was that he felt no guilt. He had never wanted a child to bind them together, especially not her child.
Daisy, at least, had given him Bryan. A son, and in the pack, he had declared it openly: a son was better than a daughter.
"If that is your decision," Ravyn said coldly, his jaw tightening, "then you leave me no choice. I will send word across the packs and throughout New York. No one will shelter you or help you."
His gaze locked onto hers, sharp and threatening but Seraphine did not flinch. Rather, her eyes were calm, resolute, and unmoved.
"Go ahead," she replied evenly. Ravyn's influence ended at state lines. New York was not the world, and Seraphine knew that better than most.
Her greatest advantage had always been her hunger for knowledge. She understood things far beyond her years. Politics, history, pack laws, hidden networks.
That was why she was never afraid. Love had weakened her once, stripped her bare, and left her vulnerable, but not anymore.
She was her own woman now, and she would do whatever it took to reclaim her peace and avenge her daughter, no matter where the path led.
She took two steps away, then paused and turned back. "But be careful," she said quietly. "The evil that men do does not live after them anymore. It lives with them."
Ravyn did not understand the warning. Anger clouded his reason as he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him with finality.
Silence settled over the house and Corvine immediately moved to help Edward repair the damaged gate while Seraphine turned toward Humphrey. Her voice softened. "Dad… do you think I'm being heartless?"
Humphrey frowned deeply. "Heartless? No. You are too kind." His jaw hardened. "You should have killed the bitch."
Seraphine let out a quiet chuckle, startled by his bluntness, but he wasn't finished. "Even if you had killed Ravyn," he added grimly, "I still wouldn't blame you."
A single tear slid down Seraphine's cheek. How she wished Humphrey and Kylie were her real parents. Blood or not, it no longer mattered because in her heart, they were.
"Thank you, Dad," she whispered. "I don't know how I would have survived this without you."
Ravyn was stronger than her physically, unquestionably. If not for his father's intervention earlier, he would have dragged her away by force.
Humphrey studied her carefully. "Go and rest. You look exhausted." Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in. "Why didn't you tell us you were hospitalized? You know we would have come."
They had heard nothing. Assumed she was fine. Learning afterward that she had suffered alone hurt more than they admitted.
"Don't worry, Dad, I'm fine now." She pouted slightly. "I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself."
For a brief while, peace returned to the Walker residence, but it was fragile. A few days later, Ravyn returned, calmer this time, and composed, but he was not alone.
Seraphine's parents stood beside him. Inside the living room, Seraphine was playing chess with Humphrey, the board between them like a battlefield of quiet strategy.
Corvine and Kylie stood nearby, cheering and teasing as Seraphine steadily gained the upper hand. Humphrey was sweating, glaring at the board in disbelief.
Even his wife had defected to Seraphine's side. Laughter filled the room until the sound of approaching footsteps cut through it.
The moment Seraphine looked up and saw them, her expression darkened instantly. She was not the only one.
Her parents' faces were thunderous, rage barely contained. This was no visit. Rather, it was another name for war.