Bella had spent years burying the past.
Now, it had clawed its way out of the grave.
Lilia was alive.
And that meant everything Bella thought she knew about that night—the night she killed her sister—
Was a lie.
The realization burned in her chest, cold and suffocating, as she stood in the clearing, staring at the woman she was sure she had buried.
"What do you want, Lilia?"
Bella's voice was sharp, even.
But inside?
She was splintering.
Lilia smirked, tilting her head.
"Oh, little sister. You already know what I want."
Her golden eyes gleamed.
"I want you to remember."
Bella's stomach tightened.
Because she did remember.
She remembered the blood.
The battle.
The way she had stood over Lilia's body, heart racing, hands shaking, knowing there was no other choice.
She had killed her.
Had felt the life leave her.
So how—how was she standing here now?
Dante was silent beside her, his body coiled, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
"If you want the truth," he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, *"then tell us what really happened that night."
Lilia laughed softly.
"No, Alpha."
Her eyes flickered to Bella.
"She has to figure it out herself."
Then—
The shadows moved.
Lilia vanished.
And Bella?
Bella felt the past unravel.