The Savior He Rejected For Her Evil Sister

For years, I was nothing but a biological spare part for my sister, Isabella. My bone marrow kept her vibrant while I withered in the attic.

I thought my mate, Alpha Dante, would eventually see me. I was the one who saved him from the blizzard years ago, not her.

But when a neon sign crashed down outside the jazz club, Dante didn't look at me.

He tackled Isabella, shielding her pristine body, while I was crushed beneath burning silver-plated metal.

I woke up in agony, only to find Isabella accusing me of trying to kill her.

Dante didn't smell the lies. He only saw his "traumatized" fiancée.

"Fifty lashes," he ordered, his eyes cold. "Use the Wolfsbane whip."

I hung from the dungeon ceiling, the poison searing my bones, watching the man I loved cover Isabella's eyes to spare her the sight of my blood.

The final straw came during a car crash days later. Trapped and bleeding internally, I begged for his help.

He looked at the fire licking my legs, then at Isabella's scratched arm. He picked her up and walked away, leaving me to burn.

That night, the bond in my heart died.

I didn't beg anymore. I left a single cassette tape on his desk—the recording of me singing to him in that blizzard—and vanished.

By the time he realized he had tortured his true savior, I was already gone.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The pain hit first. Not the dull throb of a bruise, but a deep, drilling agony inside my marrow. It was a phantom sensation, a somatic flashback to the needle that had pierced my hip repeatedly over the years, extracting the essence that kept my sister, Isabella, vibrant while I withered.

I gasped, shooting up in the darkness. My hand flew to my chest, clutching the thin, sweat-drenched cotton of my nightgown.

Peeling wallpaper. Drafty window. The narrow cot that smelled of mildew.

I wasn't dead on the operating table. I was back in the attic of the Vitiello estate.

I glanced at the calendar. Present day. The red circle around tomorrow's date loomed like a threat: Isabella & Dante's Engagement.

The door creaked open.

Giovanni Vitiello, the Alpha of our declining house, stepped inside. He didn't look at my face. He scanned me with the cold utility of a mechanic checking a failing engine.

"You're awake," he grunted.

He tossed an envelope onto the foot of my bed.

"Ticket to London," he said. "One way. You leave tonight."

I stared at the envelope. Years ago, I would have begged. I would have promised to be invisible just to stay near Dante.

"Isabella and Dante's Mating Ceremony is coming up," he continued, a sneer curling his lip. "We can't have a Wolfless runt shaming us. Your scent... it's weak. It smells of sickness. It might offend the Bloodmoon Alpha."

My mother appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Pack your things, Seraphina. Don't make a scene. The best service you can provide this family now is your absence."

I looked at them. Really looked at them. The connection was gone. I had tried for years to reach them through the pack link, but to them, I was just static.

A memory clawed its way up: A blizzard. A safe house. Dante shivering in my arms, blinded by silver poison. I had poured my life force into him, feeling the electric snap of the Mate Bond. But he had been blind. He hadn't seen me. He had only smelled me.

And Isabella, masked by a witch's brew and my stolen blood, had hijacked that scent.

I looked back at the ticket. The sorrow in my chest had hardened into something calcified.

"Okay," I rasped.

My father blinked, thrown off by the lack of resistance. "Good. Be gone before sunrise."

They left. I walked to the cracked mirror. My reflection was gaunt, but deep in my irises, a speck of silver flashed—a dormant power I had always been forced to suppress.

"Dante Moretti is dead to me," I whispered.

I packed light. Just clothes and a stash of cash I'd hidden under the floorboards.

As I walked down the hall, I passed Isabella's portrait. She looked regal. Painted lies.

"Enjoy the spotlight," I thought. "The blood bank is closed."

I stepped out the front door. I looked up at the moon, making a silent vow: I will never beg again.

My phone buzzed. Not a text, but a command override that locked my muscles.

Alpha Dante: Come to the penthouse. Now.

The Alpha Command. Even through a screen, his dominance hooked into my nervous system. My body moved before my mind could object.