Chapter 31: The Girl in the Mirror

The morning after the Moon Court hearing, I woke up famous.

Not university-famous.

Not freshman-channel-famous.

Pack-famous.

My face was everywhere.

Nessa Arden, Lost Lunaris Heir.

Supreme Alpha Heir's Fated Mate Reclaims Slaughtered Pack.

Former Two-Hundred-Pound Student at Center of Lycan Political Crisis.

That last headline made me stare at my phone for a full ten seconds.

Then I threw it onto the bed.

Tessa picked it up.

"Oh, this one is worse."

"I don't want to know."

"From Fat Girl to Future Alpha."

I groaned into my pillow.

"Kill me."

"No. You have a recognition hearing."

"Then kill the journalist."

"More reasonable."

I sat up.

The strangest part was that the old photographs no longer hurt in exactly the same way.

I still hated seeing them used without permission.

I still remembered the comments.

Fat pig.

Catfish.

Ugly.

Desperate.

But the girl in those photographs no longer looked like someone I wanted to erase.

She looked young.

Soft.

Uncertain.

And painfully eager to be loved.

I opened one of the photos.

Tessa watched me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I spent a year thinking she was the problem."

"Who?"

I pointed at my old self.

"I thought if I could just get rid of her, everything would become easier."

Tessa sat beside me.

"And did it?"

"No."

I laughed quietly.

"I got thin and immediately discovered men could still lie, politics still sucked, and ancient conspiracies apparently don't care about waist size."

"Deep."

"Thank you."

I looked at the photo again.

"I don't want to become her again physically."

"Okay."

"But I also don't want to hate her."

Tessa's expression softened.

"Then don't."

Simple.

Maybe it really could be that simple.

My phone buzzed.

Rowan.

[Breakfast.]

I replied:

[Demand or invitation?]

[Desperate plea. You skipped dinner.]

I rolled my eyes.

Tessa looked over.

"Supreme Alpha boyfriend?"

"Probationary mate."

"Same thing."

"It absolutely is not."

Rowan was waiting downstairs with enough food for four people.

Eggs.

Toast.

Fruit.

Oatmeal.

Coffee.

And a pastry.

I stared at it.

He noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You looked at the pastry like it insulted your ancestors."

I sat down.

For years, food like that had been categorized in my head.

Good.

Bad.

Safe.

Dangerous.

Earned.

Forbidden.

I hated that a piece of pastry could still make me calculate how long I would need to run.

Rowan didn't push it toward me.

Didn't tell me to eat it.

He simply started on his own breakfast.

I ate eggs.

Toast.

Fruit.

Then, after several minutes, I tore off a small piece of the pastry.

Nothing happened.

The world didn't end.

My body didn't transform instantly.

Rowan didn't react.

I ate another piece.

He continued talking about the recognition process as if my breakfast wasn't a test I had secretly created for myself.

I loved him a little for that.

The thought startled me.

Love.

He had said it already.

I hadn't.

Not yet.

After breakfast, Garrick took me to the training grounds.

"Today we fix your conditioning."

"I have excellent conditioning."

"You have excellent endurance and terrible recovery habits."

"That's rude."

"Accurate."

He had reviewed my old training logs.

Apparently, losing ninety pounds in a year while doing intense werewolf conditioning had impressed him for approximately three seconds.

Then he became furious.

"You collapsed twice?"

"Maybe."

"Three times."

"Why ask if you know?"

"You trained through stomach pain."

"I was motivated."

"You were reckless."

Rowan, watching from the fence, nodded.

I pointed at him.

"Stay out of this."

He raised both hands.

Garrick made me train differently.

Shorter sprints.

Strength work.

Wolf-form balance drills.

Then rest.

Actual rest.

I hated the rest periods.

"They're too long."

"They're three minutes."

"I can go again."

"I know."

"Then why aren't we?"

"Because training isn't punishment."

The sentence stopped me.

Garrick adjusted a weighted strap.

"Who taught you it was?"

Nobody had.

Not directly.

I had taught myself.

Every missed workout felt like failure.

Every dessert needed compensation.

Every pound lost had felt like proof that I deserved the future I wanted.

I looked away.

"Nobody."

"Then unlearn it."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Of course."

He shrugged.

"Most useful things are."

By the end of training, I was tired but not destroyed.

It felt unfamiliar.

Good.

When I returned to the locker room, Elodie was waiting.

I almost turned around.

"What?"

She held out a small envelope.

"My formal withdrawal."

"I already know you withdrew."

"This is different."

I opened it.

It was a signed statement refusing any future Silvercrest-sponsored Lunaris succession challenge.

I looked up.

"Your father is going to lose his mind."

"He already did."

"Why give this to me?"

"Because lawyers lose things."

"Fair."

She hesitated.

"Also... I saw the headlines."

"Congratulations."

"No. I mean the weight ones."

I waited.

Elodie looked uncomfortable.

"I helped start that."

"The first time."

"Yes."

She looked down.

"I didn't leak the photos, but I made it acceptable for people to mock you."

I said nothing.

"I'm sorry."

This apology felt different from the garden.

Less defensive.

I folded the document.

"I don't forgive you yet."

Her face fell slightly.

"But I believe you're sorry."

She nodded.

"That's fair."

As she turned away, I stopped her.

"Elodie."

She looked back.

"Knox came to rescue you."

Her expression hardened.

"Don't."

"I'm not matchmaking."

"Good."

"I'm saying whatever happens between you two should be about what you want. Not Stormridge. Not Silvercrest. Not me."

Her shoulders relaxed.

"Do you want him?"

The question surprised me.

I thought about the boy I had loved online.

Then the real Knox.

The insults.

The transfer post.

The disgust.

The regret after he saw my new body.

"No."

The answer came easily.

"No, I don't."

Elodie searched my face.

"Even if Rowan wasn't here?"

"Even then."

Something inside me settled as I said it.

Knox had been part of my life.

He had hurt me.

But he wasn't the great lost love of it.

He was simply someone I had once mistaken for the future.

That evening, I stood before the bathroom mirror.

No makeup.

Hair tied messily.

Training clothes.

I looked at my face.

Then, for the first time in years, I imagined the rounder version of it beside me.

I didn't feel disgust.

I whispered to the empty room:

"You weren't ugly."

My eyes burned.

"You were just surrounded by people who made you think love had a weight limit."

A knock sounded.

Rowan's voice came through the door.

"Nessa?"

I wiped my eyes.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

I opened the door.

He took one look at me and frowned.

"Who do I need to fight?"

I laughed through the remaining tears.

"No one."

"Suspicious."

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

He froze.

Then carefully hugged me back.

"What happened?"

"Nothing bad."

I rested my cheek against his chest.

His cedar-and-citrus scent surrounded me.

"I just finally stopped fighting someone."

"Who?"

"Myself."