The shriek of tearing metal on I-95 was the requiem for my last life.

In this life, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the center of the ballroom at The Plaza Hotel.

The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright—too bright for a place like hell.

Then I saw him.

Kyle Carlisle.

My "moon-bound mate."

The man I died for in my past life.

He was in a custom Brioni suit, his gray-blue wolf eyes filled with impatience. A few of his fraternity brothers, the top predators of Manhattan's financial world, circled him, the light catching the fake smiles on their whiskey glasses.

"Claire Winston?" Kyle's voice cut through the music. "She's just a fool high on hormones. No matter what I do, her damn wolf instincts will make her come crawling back."

The laughter from his brothers was like a thousand tiny cuts.

In that instant, my wolf awoke—not with heartbreak, but with pure, cold rage. The Alphas of New York always forget that the women of the Winston family have teeth sharper than diamonds.

Derek—my brother, the current Alpha of the Winston pack—sensed it immediately. He put down his glass, his pupils turning gold. "Claire?"

I didn't answer.

My gaze was locked on the girl by Kyle's side.

Anna Miller.

She was wearing a floral Reformation dress and reeked of cheap Victoria's Secret perfume.

She pressed herself against Kyle's side, her fingers tangled in his arm, wearing a smile that screamed, "I won."

In my last life, it was that exact smile that made me slam my foot on the gas on a stormy night.

Mrs. Carlisle—Kyle's mother—approached with an antique silver bracelet. The symbol for the future Luna of the New Moon pack.

"Of course Claire will choose Kyle," she said with a gentle, perfect smile, her voice carrying across half the ballroom. "They grew up together at summer camp in the Hamptons. Other packs can't compete with a childhood bond like that—"

"Mrs. Carlisle."

My voice cut her off.

It was calm. Clear. Like the first crack in a pane of glass.

The room went silent.

I turned to face Kyle, my heels clicking on the marble floor. These Jimmy Choos, a gift from him, were half a size too big—just like our relationship, they never truly fit.

"I think you've made a mistake."

I raised my hand, not to accept the bracelet, but to gesture for her to stop.

"Kyle and I are nothing more than a political alliance."

A pause. I let the words hang in the dead air.

"In fact," I added, my voice laced with a sharp smile, "as of tonight, we're not even an alliance anymore."

Mrs. Carlisle's smile froze on her face.

Kyle's expression shifted from arrogance to shock, then to rage.

"Claire, what the fuck are you talking about—"

"I'm talking about," I interrupted, each word a poisoned dagger, "the fact that I reject the moon-binding contract. I am formally requesting that the Elders' Council dissolve our bond. The disgust you feel for me? I'm giving it right back to you."

I turned my back on him.

It was the ultimate insult in wolf society—to expose your back to someone you utterly despise.

Just then, a sound echoed through the hall.

Applause.

Sharp, slow, and completely unapologetic.

Everyone looked up to the second-floor terrace.

A man was leaning against the railing, a glass of bourbon in his hand, his fox-like eyes glinting in the shadows like a predator's.

Finn Hunter.

The Alpha heir to the largest wolf pack in the West. The Hunter and Carlisle families were blood rivals. He had no business being here tonight.

"Spectacular," his voice was quiet, but it cut through all the whispers. "It's been a while since New York had a show this good."

He descended the stairs, and the crowd parted for him as if by instinct.

His scent—bourbon, a desert thunderstorm, and sun-scorched earth—hit me like a heatwave.

It was so potent, so overwhelming, that the Omegas in the room gasped, and the Alphas instinctively tensed up.

My body reacted before my mind could.

A wave of heat shot up from the base of my spine, and the wolf under my skin growled. My knees went weak—not from weakness, but from pure instinct. A top Alpha's pheromones were like the strongest tequila, injected straight into my veins.

But I wouldn't let them win.

I bit the inside of my cheek, and the taste of blood brought me back to my senses. My nails dug into my palms. Pain fought against instinct.

Finn stopped in front of me, a full head taller.

"Claire Winston," he said my name like he was savoring aged bourbon. "You're much more interesting than the rumors."

He was too close. So close I could smell a third scent on him, beneath the desert and whiskey—the pure, naked scent of a male predator.

My wolf wanted to respond, to release my own pheromones and let them tangle with his.

But I forced it down.

Kyle's face was dark with fury. "Hunter, get the hell off my territory."

"I wasn't talking to you, Carlisle." Finn didn't even glance at him. His eyes were locked on me—he saw the suppressed tremor running through my body, and a smile of appreciation touched his lips. "I'm speaking to the newly independent lady."

He offered me his arm. It wasn't a handshake; it was an invitation.

"Need an escort? I was just about to leave this boring party."

I looked at his outstretched arm. His hand was long and elegant, and a silver wolf-head bracelet—the sigil of the Hunter family heir—was clasped around his wrist.

Then, I placed my hand in the crook of his arm.

The moment my fingertips touched his skin, electricity exploded between us. His muscles tensed, and I could feel his pulse—it was just as fast as mine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hunter."

As we walked toward the door, I heard Kyle's guttural roar—the primal sound of an Alpha publicly humiliated.

But I didn't look back.

Not even once.