Back when we were both students, art was my whole world—until she accused me of stealing her work. She framed me, and everyone believed her. I quit painting after that. I never held a brush again.
“You will,” my father snapped.
Before I could hang up, Kael spoke. “It’s for Elowen’s exhibit?” He hesitated, then added, “Just go. Please.”
For him, not for me.
Still, I went.
The Luna Gallery shimmered beneath a glass dome, moonlight spilling across marble floors. Elowen stood at the center, draped in a white gown like some celestial idol, glowing in the adoration around her.
I stayed in the corner, crimson dress clinging to my bruises like war paint. No one spoke to me. No one dared. I was the ghost sister—the scandal no one wanted to acknowledge.
Elowen smiled sweetly, voice pitched for sympathy. “Such a shame the Dravenwood Alpha still sleeps. I deserve a man of power, not one trapped in dreams.”
The guests laughed politely, oblivious.
My chest tightened. Soon, that “sleeping Alpha” would be mine to wed.
Then my gaze drifted to the canvases on the wall—and my blood ran cold.
They were mine.