Chapter 2 Trapped by the Same Man

Stephanie Valerius's POV

The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, threaded with something softer — unfamiliar flowers.

I woke.

"Stephanie, how are you feeling?"

A warm, gentle female voice came from beside me.

I turned my head. A well-kept woman sat at my bedside, her eyes full of concern.

She called me Stephanie.

But I am Sophia.

I instinctively looked down at my hands — long, slender, elegant. Completely unfamiliar.

No tiny scar on my fingertip from the kitchen knife. No faint ink mark in my palm from late nights scribbling notes. None of the little imperfections that were mine.

"Does your head still hurt?" The woman reached out, her palm pressing lightly to my forehead.

Her touch was warm.

How long had it been since I felt something like this — that pure, maternal kind of care?

I wanted to say thank you, but my throat was dry, scorched as if I had swallowed fire.

"Water."

She rose immediately, poured a glass, and held it to my lips with careful hands.

Fragments of memory slammed into me. Silver bullets. Death. And rebirth.

I had not died. I was alive — in someone else's body.

Looking at the woman before me, at the raw, unguarded love in her eyes, my chest tightened painfully. I tested the question on my tongue.

"Who am I?"

Her expression shifted, worry clouding her features. She squeezed my hand.

"You are Stephanie Valerius. I am Isabelle Valerius — your mother."

Valerius Pack.

One of the top packs in the country.

And I was now their only heir.

Stephanie Valerius. The spoiled, reckless woman infamous for her obsessive infatuation with Bennett.

God must be laughing at me.

Both Stephanie and I had fallen for the same man — and been destroyed by him.

I let my features twist in feigned pain, pressing my fingers to my temple.

The door opened and a doctor stepped in, bowing respectfully to Isabelle.

"Mrs. Valerius."

After a series of checks, he gave his verdict.

"Miss Valerius was poisoned with a trace amount of silver. It has been purged, but there may be temporary cognitive effects. Memory confusion is normal."

A perfect excuse.

I hesitated for a moment, then looked at Isabelle.

"Mom?"

Her eyes filled instantly, and she cupped my face.

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm your mother."

For a heartbeat, I almost lost control of my emotions.

Later, after some rest, I asked if I could take a walk.

Isabelle agreed, but insisted on coming with me.

We walked down the bright corridor of the recovery wing. Halfway along, she spoke.

"Blackwood Pack's old Alpha is also recovering on this floor. His health is failing. Once you're stronger, you should visit. It would be good for our alliance."

Blackwood Pack.

The ones who burned my home to the ground.

My nails dug into my palms. I forced my voice to stay calm.

"I want to go now."

She blinked in surprise, but nodded.

She led the way. But as we turned a corner, my steps faltered.

Not far ahead, a man stood with his back to me — tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakable.

I would know that silhouette even in ashes.

Bennett.

And beside him, Clara.

Blood roared in my ears. Hatred coiled through me like a venomous snake, sinking its fangs deep.

My wolf snarled inside me, a low, guttural sound rising in my throat before I swallowed it back.

Clara leaned into Bennett's side, her hand brushing the hem of his tailored jacket.

"Bennett, your hands are so cold," she murmured, voice dripping with false sweetness. She laced her fingers with his, pressing his hand against her chest. Through the thin silk of her blouse, her breasts strained against the fabric.

Bennett didn't pull away. His thumb traced lazily over her curves.

"Not here," he said softly, though his eyes were already dark with want.

Clara rose on her toes, her lips grazing the shell of his ear.

"Then later, in your car? The backseat is roomy."

She let her breath fan against his skin. His gaze deepened, his other hand sliding to her lower back, pulling her closer.

"You never know when to behave."

"That's because you're impossible to resist." Her fingers traced slow circles on his chest. "I can't help myself."

His breathing grew heavier. But just as he leaned in, something made him turn sharply.

He saw me.

"Stephanie."

He spoke my name evenly, stepping away from Clara and straightening his slightly loosened tie.

"What are you doing here?"

Clara's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she replaced it with a polished, pleasant mask.

"Stephanie, are you feeling better? You still look so pale."

I looked at them — the two people who had destroyed my life.

The pain of my past life crashed over me like a wave, but my voice was cool.

"Mr. Lightwood."

Bennett's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

Clara's smile froze.

The old Stephanie had always called him Bennett, like a lovesick pup desperate for affection. This formal address — this distance — was new.

"You seem busy. I won't keep you."

I stepped past them without another glance.

"Stephanie," Bennett called after me.

I turned, catching the flicker of confusion in his eyes.

"You really don't remember anything?"

I tilted my head, as if trying to recall.

"What do you mean, sir?"