Daphne's POV
Standing in the shadows at the rear of the ceremony hall, I watched with pure satisfaction as Lyra's perfect world shattered into pieces. Each shocked intake of breath from the gathered crowd, each scandalized murmur rippling through the room, each judgmental glare directed at her sent waves of exhilaration coursing through my veins. This moment exceeded every fantasy I'd harbored. The reality was far sweeter than anything I could have imagined.
My face pulsed with pain where the bruises had bloomed across my cheekbones and jaw, but the discomfort was insignificant compared to the euphoria flooding my system. These marks were my masterpiece. I'd crafted each one with precision, slamming my face against the bathroom tiles until my skin split and darkened to the perfect shade of victim. The torn fabric of my dress, the disheveled strands of hair falling from what had been an elegant updo, the carefully placed scratches on my arms – every detail had been orchestrated with meticulous planning.
At the altar, Lyra stood motionless in what should have been my wedding gown, her complexion drained of all color until she resembled a ghost more than a bride. The nausea written across her features filled me with vindictive pleasure. She deserved to feel that churning in her stomach. She deserved to experience the same suffocating shame and terror that had plagued my existence since the day she'd stolen everything from me simply by drawing breath.
Most people saw me as the villain in Lyra's tragic tale. They painted me as needlessly cruel to my sweet, innocent half-sister. But their ignorance blinded them to the truth. They hadn't witnessed my mother's face collapse with devastation when Father announced he'd found his fated mate, already heavy with child. They hadn't been a five-year-old girl suddenly forced to accept a stranger as their new stepmother. They hadn't watched their proud Luna mother transform from pack royalty into nothing more than a discarded ornament, cast aside for a younger model.
The memory remained crystal clear after all these years. Father's awkward explanation, delivered in our formal sitting room while my mother perched rigidly on the edge of her chair. The way she'd tried to maintain her composure for my sake, but I could see her composure fracturing like ice under pressure. She'd been Luna of Willow Brook Pack for years, standing at Father's side through countless challenges, bearing him a daughter, fulfilling every duty expected of her. None of it had mattered the moment some random Omega appeared with a golden mate bond connecting her to my father.
The cruelest part was everyone's expectation that we'd simply adapt. That we'd smile and graciously welcome this intruder and her unborn parasite into our home as if they belonged. As if they had any right to displace us from our rightful positions.
Night after night, I'd knelt beside my bed and begged the Moon Goddess to make them disappear. I'd prayed for complications during birth, for the baby to be stillborn, for anything that would restore my mother to her proper place as Father's only mate and Luna.
But Lyra survived her traumatic entrance into the world, even though her mother's weakened body couldn't withstand much more. She emerged tiny and fragile, with enormous innocent eyes that seemed to mesmerize everyone who looked at her. Even as an infant, she commanded attention effortlessly. People would gather around Father when he carried her, cooing and fawning over his precious new daughter, while my mother and I stood forgotten in the background. Lyra's mother lingered for several months, her frail constitution gradually failing as her compromised immune system finally surrendered. When death finally claimed her, Father wasn't left alone to grieve – he had us to help raise the child of his deceased mate under the watchful eyes of a pack that no longer considered us their primary family.
At least there was one small mercy. I'd lived in constant fear that Lyra might be born with Luna blood, which would have been the ultimate insult. The thought of an Omega's daughter outranking me in pack hierarchy had given me nightmares. But fate showed kindness in that single aspect. Lyra inherited her mother's Omega status, marking her as weak, submissive, and forever beneath me in the natural order.
That should have been sufficient. My position as the Luna daughter should have remained secure. I was destined to bring honor to Willow Brook through an advantageous marriage while Lyra faded into the background where Omegas belonged.
Except she refused to fade.
That was Lyra's most infuriating quality. Regardless of how viciously I tore her down or how systematically I destroyed her confidence, she always recovered. She possessed this inexplicable self-assurance that defied logic. As an Omega, she should have been timid, grateful for any scraps of attention, desperate to please her superiors. Instead, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who knew she deserved to be here. Someone who believed she had every right to claim space in our pack.
Worse still, people adored her for it. They called her beautiful, though obviously not as stunning as me. I possessed the refined features and elegant bearing befitting a Luna. But Lyra radiated this accessible, warm prettiness that drew people like moths to flame. They felt comfortable around her in ways they never did with me.
I exhausted every weapon in my arsenal trying to shatter that unshakeable confidence. I seeded vicious gossip throughout the pack. I ensured she was excluded from important social gatherings. I made cutting remarks about her and her deceased mother at every opportunity. I reminded her daily that she was merely the bastard daughter of a homewrecker who'd destroyed my family.
Nothing penetrated her armor. She continued smiling, holding her head high, acting like she belonged among us. She never even seemed to truly hate me for my efforts.
Then the unthinkable happened – she found her fated mate.
Cyrus. A common sentinel with nothing special beyond his warrior training, decent looks, and impressive physical attributes. But he was hers, chosen by the Moon Goddess herself. Suddenly Lyra possessed something I lacked – a divine connection that made her cosmically special in ways I could never achieve through birthright alone.
Watching my eighteen-year-old half-sister parade around with her destined partner while I remained mateless was torture beyond description. The way they gazed at each other, the obvious bond humming between them, knowing they shared something I might never experience – it consumed me with rage.
The injustice of it all demanded correction.
Seducing Cyrus proved surprisingly simple. His devotion wasn't as absolute as he pretended. A few strategic glances, some deliberately placed touches, subtle suggestions that maybe cosmic bonds mattered less than practical compatibility. He surrendered without much resistance.
The physical aspects were satisfactory enough. He certainly knew how to utilize his natural gifts, and the Moon Goddess had been generous in certain departments. But the real satisfaction came from claiming something that was supposed to be Lyra's exclusively. From proving her precious mate bond was worthless against what I could offer.
Still, victory felt incomplete. Cyrus was merely a sentinel, beneath my station. Pursuing him brought me no real advancement in pack hierarchy. If anything, the relationship was demeaning to someone of my breeding.
I needed something bigger. Someone whose status would elevate not just me, but our entire pack.
Then Alpha Kaelen of Ironfang began showing interest in Willow Brook, and everything changed.