Author: Momo Chan

I had been with my childhood sweetheart Dante for eight years. We were finally going to get married. But the night before the wedding, I accidentally overheard him talking to his unerboss, David. “Tomorrow, once we leave the house, don’t go to the church. Drive the wedding car straight to Sinclair Manor.” “Sinclair Manor?” Dante’s voice was low.“Serena’s family went bankrupt. They owe the Sinclair family tens of millions. Her father wants to marry her off to repay the debt… to that old Sinclair godfather.” ” I can’t watch her life get destroyed. Bella will have to take her place.” David froze.“Boss… so you won’t ruin Serena… but you’re fine ruining Bella?” Dante answered calmly.“The Sinclair godfather is ninety. He’s already dying.” “After a couple of years, once he’s gone, I don’t care Bella’s been married before. I’ll still marry her.” David hesitated.“But do you really think Bella will go along with it?” Dante thought for a moment.“Tomorrow, my mother will put something in the champagne Bella drinks before she leaves.” “When she wakes up… she’ll already be in the Sinclair godfather’s bed.” “It’ll be done. She won’t have a choice.” I heard everything. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a sound. I just turned around and went back to my room and waited for the wedding that would never really be mine. When Dante found me again, trying to win me back, I was already five months pregnant. Just like he once said, the deal was already sealed. Now he was the one with no choice left. ****** The next morning, makeup artists and bridesmaids arrived early at the Moretti Mansion. Serena came too. The moment she saw me in my wedding dress, her eyes turned red. “Bella… I’m so jealous. You get to marry someone you love. You’re so lucky.” “Not like me. My father is forcing me to marry a ninety-year-old man to pay off debts.” She wiped her tears, then glanced at Dante.“But luckily… someone secretly took me to city hall yesterday. I’m already legally married. The old man can’t marry me even if he wants to now.” I froze. I thought being forced into a substitute marriage was already bad enough. I didn’t expect Dante had already registered marriage with her. My best friend Clara leaned in and whispered,“Why is she even here today? This is your wedding.” “And she’s crying on purpose. Is she trying to curse you or something?” “It’s fine,” I said quietly, patting her hand. Because this was never really my wedding anyway. Dante was just acting normal… to get me into the car and carry out his plan. Dante walked into the makeup room and glanced at me. “Almost done. Let’s go. Don’t be late.” He didn’t even really look at me. But when he passed Serena, he stopped to fix her coat collar. Then his eyes landed on my necklace. An emerald necklace. Only the godmother of the Moretti family could wear it. “Bella, Serena isn’t wearing any jewelry today. She looks too plain.” “Let her borrow your necklace for the day.” Clara immediately snapped.“Dante, that’s Bella’s necklace!” Dante frowned slightly.“It’s just a necklace. What’s the difference?” “This isn’t just—” “Clara,” I cut her off. “Let her have it.” Serena was the daughter of the Romano godfather. For two years, Dante always used that as an excuse. “Don’t offend the Romano family.” So I gave in again and again. My work. My pets. My clothes. My jewelry. And now… even my husband. Eight years, and in the end, it was all a carefully planned lie.

Serena put on my necklace, a smug smile on her face. “Dante, this necklace suits me so well. It’s like it was made for me.” She smiled sweetly, almost mocking.“Where did you buy it?” That necklace was personally put on my neck by Dante. When he was twenty, after the bloody gunfight at the harbor, he finally became the godfather of the Marchetti family. He was still covered in blood that day, but he was smiling as he held that necklace. “Bella, I’m not hurt.” “When we get married, you’ll wear this necklace.” “I want the whole world to know you’re my only wife.” “Bella, I’ll give you the best of everything.” Back then, Dante really loved me. He couldn’t stand seeing me suffer even a little. He wanted to give me everything. But everything changed after Serena appeared. The bridesmaids didn’t notice the tension between us and started cheering. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” Dante gave in to the teasing and leaned in to kiss me. But at that moment Serena suddenly “lost her balance” and fell straight into his arms. Dante reached out instinctively and their lips accidentally met. The room went dead silent. Clara snapped. “Serena, you did that on purpose!” “I’m sorry… I just lost my balance…” “Lost your balance? Out of everyone here, you just had to fall into Dante’s arms?” “Enough.”Dante helped Serena up, looking slightly annoyed.“She twisted her ankle. It’s normal.” Then he looked at Clara coldly.“Is this really something worth getting angry over?” “This is not a small thing—”Clara was about to explode, but I stopped her. Because in the past two years, Dante always said the same thing. Last year, Serena stole my three-month project. He said it was a small thing. Half a year ago, she ruined our anniversary. He said it was a small thing. Last month, she killed my cat of six years. He still said it was a small thing. Every time, he told me not to argue. So this time…I really didn’t need to argue anymore. Just then, Dante’s mother walked over with a glass of champagne. “Bella, I’ve finally waited for you to grow up and get married.” She handed me the glass with a gentle smile.“Come on, drink this blessing champagne.” I stared at the bubbles in the glass. For a moment, I froze. I lost both my parents when I was young. For more than ten years, the Moretti family adopted me and treated me as their own daughter. But now the two people I trusted most were about to push me into hell. I knew exactly what this drink meant. But I still took it and drank it all in one go. Dante took my hand.“Let’s go. It’s time.”

When I was little, Dante used to hold my hand like this. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car accident. I was devastated and hid away, not eating or drinking for three whole days. Dante found me and took me home, barely alive. He held my thin hand and said firmly, “Bella, from now on, my home is your home, my parents are your parents.” “Don’t be afraid, I’m here. I’ll always protect you.” His hand was still as warm and broad as before. But it no longer belonged to me. At the manor gate, a row of black SUVs were neatly parked. Dante opened the door and gestured for me to get in. Clara followed and sat beside me. But Dante didn’t get into the same car. He stood by the door, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. “Bella,” he said, adjusting my veil with a smile, “Take good care of yourself.” Clara’s tone was displeased: “What are you still standing here for? Get in the car!” Dante smiled and pointed to the car behind: “I’ll take the other one. I’ll escort you from behind.” With that, he slammed the car door shut. Clara frowned, her confusion deepening: “What’s wrong with Dante today? Why is he acting so strangely?” “Nothing’s wrong,” I explained softly, “He just wants me to be Serena’s substitute bride.” “What?” Before I could reply, Clara suddenly realized something was wrong. “Wait, driver, stop!” “You’re going the wrong way. Why are you driving that way? Turn around.” “Clara,” I interrupted her, “the driver isn’t wrong. I’m going to Sinclair Manor.” “Sinclair Manor?” I told Clara the whole story. Clara trembled with rage upon hearing this: “Damn it! How could Dante treat you like this? Has he lost all his conscience?!” I remained calm: “The Moretti family raised me for so many years; consider it repaying a debt of gratitude.” “They raised you for over ten years, but you saved Dante’s life back then. That debt of gratitude has long been repaid!” “Besides, these past two years, when Dante had intermittent back pain and couldn’t move, you took care of him without leaving his side!” “You’ve given him so much; why should he treat you like this?” Clara was right. In terms of repaying a debt of gratitude, I had already repaid it long ago. However, it no longer mattered. Thoughts drifted by when my phone chimed with a message. It was from Serena. [Bella, today is truly a joyous day! Dante just gave me a wedding gift. Isn’t it beautiful?] I stared blankly at the emerald bracelet in the picture, feeling as if I had fallen into an ice cave. This bracelet is a keepsake from my mother, passed down through generations in my family. Because I was too young at the time, Dante’s mother kept it for me. They promised to return it to me after my wedding. How could he give it to Serena without my consent? “Stop!”

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One lace bralette destroyed my reputation. The Championship Ice Hockey Game. Sebastian’s team won. During the post-game interview on the ice, he unzipped his gear bag to grab a towel. A lace bralette fell out. The crowd gasped. Olivia shrieked: “Natalie! Isn’t that yours?” Sebastian’s face flushed red as he stared at me. “Natalie, I just wanted to keep you close to me. I carried it with me. I didn’t mean for anyone to find out.” I tried to explain it wasn’t mine, but no one listened. I became the slut on everyone’s lips. Sebastian’s words—”We couldn’t help ourselves. Things got physical between us.”—sent me straight to hell. Lady Catherine declared I’d “corrupted the student body” and brought “shame to elite society.” My family—drowning in humiliation—sent me to a brutal reform school in the middle of nowhere, where I was abused until I died. When they wrapped my body in a tarp and dumped it behind the facility, Olivia’s wedding procession was rolling up to Sebastian’s estate gates. On the seventh day after my death, Sebastian burned that bralette at my memorial. “Natalie, the bralette thing—that was my bad. But when it happened, I panicked. I needed a scapegoat. Guess you just had shitty luck.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the Ice Hockey Game. …… I stared at Sebastian on the ice. In fifteen minutes, the game would end. That peach-pink bralette would fall out. The nightmare from my past life would replay. Mia, my life assistant, looked at me with concern. “Miss, are you okay?” Olivia, sitting beside me, glanced over too. “Natalie, you look pale. What’s wrong?” I stood, pulling Mia with me. “I don’t feel well. Need to use the restroom. Excuse me, Olivia.” I dragged Mia to a private corner and whispered instructions. Her face turned serious. She nodded and took off immediately. When I returned to the VIP box, I watched as the final buzzer sounded. Sebastian’s team won. Cameras swarmed him for the interview. He unzipped his gear bag to grab a towel. A flimsy peach-pink bralette fell out onto the ice. Under everyone’s eyes, it dropped onto the ice. That bright splash of pink sparked a wave of gasps from the stands. “Oh my God, did a bralette just fall out of Sebastian’s bag?” “I thought Sebastian was supposed to be Mr. Perfect. How does he have girls’ underwear on him?” “Guess the golden boy’s not so innocent after all. Bet some random hookup gave it to him.” Sebastian hadn’t expected the bralette to fall out in public. His face cycled between pale and red as he stood frozen on the ice, clutching the bralette he’d picked up. Olivia gasped in mock disbelief. “Natalie! Isn’t that your bralette?” Her shriek made everyone turn to stare at me. The second Olivia screamed, she covered her mouth like she’d made a mistake, looking at me apologetically. I said nothing. Sebastian’s eyes found mine, soft and pleading. His face flushed as he stammered: “Natalie, I just wanted to feel close to you. That’s why I kept it. I didn’t mean for people to know.” Then he turned to the crowd, rushing to explain. “We just—we couldn’t help ourselves. Things got physical between us.” Just like in my past life. One sentence. And I was nailed to the cross. Everyone’s eyes shifted, full of implications. The heiress to the Hale family. Her lingerie in a boy’s bag. The meaning was obvious. Whispers spread like wildfire: “Holy shit. Who knew the Hale heiress was such a slut?”

“You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Even Lady Catherine praised her as ‘the jewel of the state.’ Turns out she’s just another whore.” That peach-pink color burned my eyes. The filth poured over me, just like last time. I steadied myself and looked at Sebastian. I laughed. “Sebastian, you can stuff your face, but you can’t run your mouth. Whose lingerie are you holding? And why are you pinning it on me?” “You and I have spoken maybe ten sentences total. Where’s this ‘couldn’t help ourselves’ coming from?” “Besides, my family doesn’t play. When I step out, I’m got assistants, security, the whole entourage. When exactly would I have had the chance to be alone with you, let alone get ‘physical’?” “You’re the heir to the Ashford family, Sebastian, but my family isn’t nobody. You don’t get to trash our name and think we’ll just take it.” My words landed. People started thinking. Yeah. Who was the Hale family? Old money. Top-tier elite. Untouchable. A family that powerful had standards—iron-clad rules. There’s no way the Hale heiress would pull something like this. Sebastian’s face darkened. He gripped the bralette tighter. Olivia piped up beside me, playing the loyal best friend. “But Natalie, haven’t you always had a thing for Sebastian?” “At the Poetry Society Gala, you called him ‘brilliant.’ Everyone knows you’re into him.” “And that fabric—it’s custom designer. Only you have it.” Her words dripped with insinuation. If only I had that fabric, the bralette had to be mine. I smiled lightly. “You’re right, Olivia. But you said you loved the color. So for your birthday, I custom-made you a bralette from the same fabric. Remember?” “I’m not the only one in this city with that material. You have one too.” Olivia’s face went white. Her voice sharpened. “Natalie, what are you saying? A lady’s reputation isn’t something you can just throw around. You’re basically accusing me of hooking up with Sebastian.” “Sebastian and I don’t even know each other. How could it be mine?” I stepped closer. “Exactly. A lady’s reputation is everything. But you didn’t even look before screaming that it was mine.” “People who know you might say you’re just impulsive. People who don’t? They’ll think you and Sebastian have something going on and you’re trying to destroy me.” Olivia’s tears fell. “Natalie, I know I’m just an orphan. The board only let me into this school out of pity for my late father. Everyone knows my family’s broke. That bralette you gave me—the fabric was so expensive, I never even wore it. How could it end up with some guy?” A girl from the stands couldn’t hold back. “Natalie, you’re being cruel. Olivia’s your best friend and you’re twisting this on her?” I looked at her. “I’m being cruel? If she said that bralette was yours, would you smile and take it?” The girl went quiet, then snapped, “But Olivia said that fabric was custom for you. If it’s not yours, whose is it?” I scanned the crowd’s suspicious stares and smiled. “I used that fabric to make a dress. With the leftover material, I made two bralettes. I gave one to Olivia. The other one’s at my house.” “The one Sebastian’s holding? Definitely not the one at my place. I can prove it. Can you, Olivia?” Olivia paled. She couldn’t speak. Sebastian rushed to smooth things over. “Okay, Natalie, I know this is my fault. I shouldn’t have carried this around. I’m sorry.”

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They called me barren. Five years as Luna to Alpha Killian, we’d never once consummated our bond. The gossip had spread like wildfire— servants whispering in corridors, merchants trading stories at the market, nobles discussing it over wine. Some said I was as plain as dirt. Others claimed Killian’s heart belonged to a dead first love. The most ridiculous version? That I was barren—unable to bear the Alpha his heirs. I walked through the estate gardens, catching fragments of conversation from the servants trimming hedges nearby, my expression unchanged as I continued my path. Lily’s eyes reddened with rage. “Luna, how can they spread such lies about you? I’ll—” “Let them talk,” I interrupted softly, keeping my voice calm. “The worse they make it sound, the safer the Alpha stays.” Only I knew the truth. On our mating night, Killian stood by the bed, his face twisted with shame. After a long silence, his voice came out hoarse: “Maeve, I have… an affliction. I cannot fulfill a mate’s duty.” He told me he suffered from what the healers called Mate-Shame— A psychological condition that made him recoil from intimate touch since childhood, let alone consummate our mating bond. The condition was rare. If word got out, he’d be mocked across the realm, and the Pack’s honor would be ruined. “If you’re unwilling, I’ll petition the Lycan King tomorrow to dissolve this arranged mating.” Back then, his words were sincere. He’d been the only one to extend his hand when my family was slaughtered, my father murdered. I remembered Father’s dying words: The Winterpeak Pack can be trusted. Gently, I reached for his sleeve. “I didn’t accept this bond for that reason, Alpha. If you trust me, I’ll protect you.” That protection lasted five years. Five years of blocking every attack, swallowing every insult. Outsiders said I wasn’t favored. Said I couldn’t breed. Said this Luna was nothing but decoration. I never defended myself. Hell, I encouraged the rumors, shaping myself into a jealous, useless mate so everyone would believe I was the problem—not him. I thought we were protecting a secret together. Until three days ago. Killian came to my quarters for the first time in months, his eyes bright with something I hadn’t seen in years—hope. “Maeve, I found a healer. Says there’s a seventy percent chance he can cure me. I need to leave the Pack for a few days.” My heart jumped. Five years. I’d long stopped hoping for a real mating, but if he could heal, if we could be like normal mates— “Good.” I gripped his hand, smiling softly. “I’ll wait for you.” I waited three days. On the third evening, Killian returned. I heard the news and rushed out, barely smoothing down my dress. Then I saw him. Killian was holding a pup, maybe two years old, giggling as he tugged at Killian’s collar. Beside Killian stood a she-wolf in a pale green dress. The she-wolf was delicate, fragile-looking, with one hand resting lightly on Killian’s arm. My feet froze on the porch. Killian saw me. Something complicated flickered across his face. He walked forward with the pup and the she-wolf, his voice still gentle but carrying a new, unfamiliar distance. “Maeve, this is Bella.” He paused, looking down at the pup with soft eyes. “And this is my son. Leo.” The winter wind cut through the courtyard like a blade. I stared at the pup’s features—an exact copy of Killian’s. Stared at how Bella nestled against him. Suddenly, these five years felt like a complete joke. Mate-Shame. An affliction. Bullshit. He’d just been saving himself for her. And I—I’d spent five years shouldering every insult, every humiliation, all to be his fucking shield while he protected his true love. Killian kept talking, like he’d rehearsed this speech a thousand times. “Bella saved my life. Leo was… an accident. I’ve wronged her all these years.” “Now that I’ve brought them home, I want to give them proper status. Since Bella bore my heir, I need you to step down as Luna—” Every eye in the courtyard locked onto me, waiting for the show. But I just smiled softly. I raised my head, my gaze sweeping over Killian, over Bella, finally landing on the pup’s face. “Alpha, the healer cured you, didn’t he?” Killian’s expression shifted. He couldn’t find words. I didn’t wait for an answer. My voice stayed light. “Then congratulations, Alpha. As for the Luna position—whatever you say.” Killian froze. He’d expected tears, accusations. He’d already prepared excuses. But not this. “You really agree?” He searched my face, irritation rising in his eyes for no reason I could name. “Yes.” I nodded slightly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.” I turned without another word and walked back to my quarters. Lily hurried after me, voice trembling. “Luna…” I didn’t stop. “Get ready. We’re going to see the King.” I changed into my simplest dress and pulled out a dusty wooden box from a hidden compartment. Holding it close, I walked straight out of the estate. When I left the Royal Court, the box was empty. In exchange, I carried a sealed decree—effective in seven days: formal dissolution of the mate bond. In the carriage home, Lily finally broke. “Luna, you really asked for Rejection? After all this?” I nodded. “But I’ve seen it—these five years, you loved him. You’re just gonna walk away? Let that rogue bitch win? Can you really let go?” I stared at the swaying curtain, silent for a moment. These five years, yes—I’d felt warmth when he remembered to bring me soup from the West End on cold nights. When I’d poisoned myself testing medicine and he’d stormed the Royal Healers’ Hall in the middle of the night, staying by my bedside without sleep, I’d almost believed in happily ever after. But all those small sparks, all that warmth—today crushed them to dust. I remembered why I became his Luna. And I’d never forgotten this was never my real home. “I bonded with him to honor my father’s dying wish. That debt’s paid. We’re done.” “My mother’s apothecary—I never abandoned it these five years.” “Leaving here just means doing what I should’ve done all along.” I glanced at Lily, a faint light in my eyes. “Besides, someone is waiting for me.”

When we returned to the estate, Killian was already waiting outside. Bella was beside him with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re back?” Killian’s tone was mild, but his eyes scrutinized my face. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The Royal Court sent word you saw the King. Did you go to complain? Force Bella and Leo out?” “You’re joking, Alpha.” I met his gaze, my lips curving in the faintest smile. “Everyone knows I can’t serve my mate. Now she’s given you an heir—that’s cause for celebration. Why would I force them out?” Killian’s face went white. He knew what they said about me out there. But five years, and I’d never complained. He must’ve assumed I didn’t care. His voice came out stiff, avoiding my eyes. “Ignore the gossip. The innocent are innocent.” The innocent are innocent. My chest went cold. Right. He was innocent. All of the Northern Territories thought Alpha Killian was devoted, honorable—refusing mistresses, refusing brothels, staying faithful to his barren Luna. A rare gentleman. And me? I was the jealous, useless one who couldn’t give the Pack an heir. The villain. Five years. I’d sacrificed my reputation, swallowed every degradation, and got four empty words in return. My throat tightened. I opened my mouth— But Bella’s soft voice interrupted. “The Alpha’s right, Luna. You’ve endured so much slander for the Pack these years. It must have been hard.” “From now on, I’ll help shoulder your burdens. If anyone speaks ill of you again, I’ll set them straight.” Looking at the two of them, I suddenly laughed. “Bella, save your energy. Play your act for the one who needs to see it. No need to perform pity in front of me.” “As for defending me—don’t bother. Lies stay lies. And the truth always comes out eventually.” Killian’s face flushed with embarrassment and anger. “Bella’s just trying to help. Why be so cruel?” I ignored him, walking past them both into my residence. Back inside, I began quietly packing my belongings. My gaze swept the cold, sparse room, landing on a rosewood box on my vanity. Inside, neatly arranged, were all the gifts Killian had given me over the years. Earrings. Necklace. Bracelets. And a seal he’d carved himself, engraved with my name. He’d said: “Maeve, keep my private seal. Seeing it is the same as seeing me.” I’d treasured it back then, thinking it meant trust. Now I knew better. It was charity. I picked up the seal, stared at it for a long moment, then walked to the brazier and dropped it in. Then the jewelry. One by one, five years of memories turned to ash in the flames. Lily knelt by the brazier, tears streaming. “Luna, these were your most precious things.” “They were. Not anymore.” My voice came out flat. The fire died down slowly. I stood there a while longer before turning to Lily. “Pack. We’re leaving.” As we sorted through my belongings, I realized that after five years, the only things truly mine were a few old personal items. I looked at the half-empty trunks and felt lighter. The less I carried, the clearer the path ahead. Now I just needed to settle things at my mother’s apothecary.

The next day, I left the estate alone. Passing the West Market tavern, raucous laughter spilled into the street. A drunk’s voice carried through the open door. “Five years that Luna’s been warming his bed—nothing! Then some stray bitch waltzes in with a pup, and suddenly the Alpha’s got an heir. Heard the Luna’s face went white as a sheet when she saw the pup!” Another voice chimed in: “Right? If I were her, I’d hang myself. How’s she got the nerve to be still breathing?” The filth hit me like barbs, my face going pale. Five years of this. I’d heard it countless times. But right now, something inside my chest felt carved out, my fingers going numb. I quickened my pace, turning onto West Street. The apothecary was just ahead. But before I got close, I spotted Killian and Bella standing outside the cosmetics shop across the street. Bella held up a box of rouge, leaning close to show him. Killian bent his head, their postures intimate. I immediately turned around. “Maeve?” But Killian had already seen me. He crossed the street with Bella, blocking my path. “What are you doing out here alone?” Bella’s soft voice followed. “Luna, did you follow us? The Alpha’s just helping me adjust to the Pack—please don’t misunderstand.” She pressed closer to Killian’s side. I didn’t bother responding. I turned to leave. Suddenly, a horse’s scream split the air. A slop cart spooked it—it charged straight toward us. People scattered, screaming. Killian’s instinct kicked in—he yanked Bella hard into his arms, shielding her as they stumbled backward. His elbow slammed into my shoulder. I staggered back, falling. The cart flew past, missing me by inches. The next second, an entire barrel of rancid slop dumped over my head. The street went silent. Everyone stared. Someone covered their nose. Others looked disgusted. Then laughter exploded. “Oh my Goddess, isn’t that the Luna?” “Look at her—pathetic…” I sat frozen, slop dripping down my hair. Rotten vegetables, moldy bread crusts tangled in my hair and on my face. My vision blurred. A few steps away, Killian steadied a shaken Bella, his eyes full of worry and tenderness. When he finally registered my condition, he instinctively moved toward me—then seemed repulsed by the filth covering me, stepping back, frowning. “I told you not to go out. Now look at you. Get up.” Bella coughed delicately. Killian immediately looked down at her. “Are you scared? Let’s get you home.” He glanced back at me, his expression uncomfortable, impatient. “Clean yourself up and come back to the estate. Bella’s not feeling well. We’re taking the carriage.” Without another look, he helped Bella turn and walk away. The carriage disappeared in a cloud of dust. I slowly stood, and with the entire street watching, walked home step by step, covered in stinking refuse. From West Street to the estate—half an hour on foot. Even back at the estate, servants avoided me wherever I went, whispering and stifling laughter. Lily saw me and screamed, rushing over. “Luna, what happened?!” I waved her off. “Draw a bath.” Lily nodded, eyes red, and ran to make arrangements. But the hot water that usually took fifteen minutes never came. After a long wait, two servants finally appeared with a single bucket of lukewarm water. “Luna, the kitchens said the Alpha ordered household expenses reviewed. Hot water’s rationed. This is all they could spare…” I looked at the pathetic bucket, barely steaming, then down at the filth coating my body. I smiled bitterly. “Fine. This’ll do.” Lily’s tears spilled over. “How can the Alpha treat you like this? Even if he didn’t protect you, to deny you hot water…” “It’s deliberate.” My voice cut through the quiet.

Lily looked up, eyes wide. I lowered my gaze. “That cart was timed perfectly.” “I leave the estate, and he just happens to be there. The horse spooks at exactly the right moment. The barrel tips at just the right angle.” Lily’s mouth opened soundlessly, cold dread crawling up her spine. “Leaving me alone in the street, letting the servants disrespect me—that’s deliberate too.” Lily’s voice shook. “Why would the Alpha do this?” “Why?” I opened my eyes, staring at the darkening sky outside. “He needs me dirty. Needs me humiliated. Needs everyone in the Pack to see me as trash—so worthless even street slop can be dumped on me.” I took a slow breath, the last warmth in my chest freezing solid. “That way, no matter what Bella’s background is, as long as she stands next to me, people will heap all their scorn on me instead.” Once upon a time, Killian would frown over a scratch on my finger. Would go cold if anyone spoke ill of me. He’d promised to protect me for life when my family was slaughtered. And now, he orchestrated my public degradation for another she-wolf. How easily hearts change. That night, I spiked a fever, delirious for two days. On the third day, when I finally recovered enough, I headed out to the apothecary as planned. But stepping outside, I realized the estate gossip had gotten worse. “Cook told me herself—the Alpha’s ordering rare herbs from across the territory just for Bella’s tea!” “And yesterday? He took her jewelry shopping himself. Getting some expensive piece made for the kid—probably a christening gift.” “Since our dear Luna got doused in slop, the Alpha won’t even step foot in her courtyard. If I were her, I’d be too ashamed to keep living.” Lily’s eyes reddened with rage. She started forward—I gently stopped her. “Let them talk.” At the apothecary’s back courtyard—where we dried and prepared medicines—Healer Willow hurried over the moment I arrived. “Luna, we have a problem.” “This morning’s inventory—several rare herbs were swapped with inferior goods. Even the prepared medicines are contaminated.” My heart sank. “When did this happen?” “These past few days.” Willow lowered her voice. “Only four wolves have access to the storage: me, Bennett, and two apprentices who just started.” Before she could finish, screams erupted from the front hall. A she-wolf burst in, clutching a feverish pup. “Help! My son took your medicine and now he’s burning up, breaking out in rashes!” I rushed forward to examine the boy. His face was flushed, the rash bright red—clear signs of an allergic reaction. I checked the medicine packet the she-wolf brought. One ingredient—the goldenseal root—was dark, moldy-smelling. My head snapped up. “This root is rotten. The Moonwell Apothecary would never dispense this!” “It came from HERE!” the she-wolf wailed. “If my son dies, I’ll kill you all!” The crowd outside grew, pointing and whispering. In the chaos, a carriage stopped at the entrance. Killian strode in, his expression dark, eyes landing on me. “What trouble are you causing now?”

I gripped the moldy root tighter. “Someone switched the apothecary’s herbs.” “Evidence?” Killian’s tone was cold. “Every time something goes wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault. Does the Moonwell Apothecary just attract trouble?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice but making each word crystal clear. “Maeve, shut it down. What does it look like—a Luna spending all her time in an apothecary?” “Bella’s right. There’s a new incident every other day. You’re making us a laughingstock.” I looked at him and suddenly felt like laughing. “Is that why you came today, Alpha?” “I’m doing this for your own good.” He frowned. “And for the Pack’s reputation. Close the apothecary. If you need coin, I’ll compensate you—” “No need.” I cut him off, turning to Willow. “Request the royal herb examiner to verify the medicine on site.” “Maeve!” Killian’s voice turned sharp with anger. “Are you really going to defy me in public?” Just then, a servant burst through the door, panicked. “Alpha! Bella’s having chest pains, can’t breathe!” Killian’s face went white. He grabbed my wrist, fingers digging in. “What did you put in the tea you gave Bella? She’s never had episodes like this before!” I froze. “What tea?” “Bella said she couldn’t sleep. She came to your apothecary yesterday for medicine!” His eyes went ice-cold. “If anything happens to her, Maeve, your apothecary will never open again!” He released my wrist roughly and rushed out. I stood there, a ring of red marks blooming on my skin. Willow approached, worried. “Luna, Bella never came here for medicine. We’ve never even seen her…” “I know.” My voice came out quiet. I watched Killian’s carriage disappear down the street and laughed—soft, bitter. Turns out when someone doesn’t love you, even framing you comes naturally. The next day, the Moonwell Apothecary barely opened before a mob stormed in. Leading them was the mate of yesterday’s she-wolf. He slammed his fist on the counter, sending bottles flying. “Poison dealers! My son vomited blood last night. He’s still unconscious. You’re going to pay for what you did!” A dozen men who looked like hired muscle followed, smashing everything. Medicine cabinets toppled. Herbs scattered across the floor. Grinding mortars shattered into pieces. “Shut down this death trap!” I tried to protect the wooden plaque my mother had left—the one engraved with “Healing Hearts, Saving Lives”—but someone shoved me hard. I fell, my elbow scraping across broken pottery. Blood welled immediately. “Stop!” I tried to stand, but the chaos pressed in. Someone stepped on my skirt, and I stumbled again. “Everyone freeze!” The territory guards arrived. The captain surveyed the destruction, frowning. “The Moonwell Apothecary is under investigation for medical malpractice. By order, this establishment is sealed. No one enters or exits!” “Captain!” I crawled to him, my voice shaking. “You can’t seal the apothecary. We have evidence the herbs were tampered with. Give me three days—” “Maeve.” A cold voice cut through from the doorway. Killian stood in the morning light, Bella meek and docile behind him. His gaze swept the ruined apothecary like he was looking at garbage. “Are you still making a scene?” “You think the apothecary stayed open all these years because of your skill? You survived on the Winterpeak Pack’s name. No one dared investigate too closely.” “Now someone’s been hurt, and you’re still playing stubborn?” I looked up at him. At the undisguised irritation in his eyes. At the fleeting smirk on Bella’s lips. Suddenly, I understood everything. Slowly, I stood and brushed the dust from my dress. “You’re right, Alpha.” “The apothecary only existed because of the Pack. Now that you want it closed, then it’s closed.” Killian blinked, like he hadn’t expected me to comply so easily. “Good. You understand.” His tone softened slightly. “Go back to the estate. Stay inside where you belong. I will handle the rest.” I said nothing. I watched the guards nail the official notice to the door, sealing it with wax. Watched my mother’s life’s work dissolve with Killian’s casual dismissal. The last thread of attachment snapped. I walked out of the apothecary quietly, passing Killian and Bella without stopping. But as I did, I murmured under my breath. “Three more days.” Killian frowned. “What did you say?” But I was already gone.

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I was a top-tier lawyer at a Big Law firm, and I had never lost a case. But today, I saw my husband’s name on the courthouse docket screen. Under “Plaintiff” in today’s trial schedule: Dominic Hayes. The defendant was a luxury postpartum retreat center. Reason for suit: service dispute. But I wasn’t pregnant. I pulled the court filing and found out he’d booked a $40,000 postpartum package for some woman. Under “Emergency Contact,” it read: “Husband: Dominic Hayes.” Apparently, the woman was unhappy with the service, so Dominic sued the retreat center. I stood in the courthouse lobby and laughed. The intern beside me frowned. “Ms. Sterling, is everything okay?” I flipped my ID badge over, revealing the wedding photo taped to the back. “File a new case for me.” “Plaintiff: me. Defendant: Dominic Hayes. Cause of action: divorce.” I touched my face. My makeup was still intact. When I walked into the courtroom, my steps were steadier than they’d ever been. … I filed the case on the spot. The intern, Lina, looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Ms. Sterling, are you sure you want to file for divorce? The defendant… is your husband?” I told the clerk, “The evidence is clear and sufficient. Please schedule the hearing as soon as possible.” She recognized me, paused for two seconds, then stamped the paperwork. I took the receipt and walked out of the filing office. In the restroom at the end of the hallway, I splashed water on my face. The woman in the mirror had perfect makeup and dry eyes. But my hands were shaking. I used my attorney access to pull the full case file for Dominic’s lawsuit against the retreat center. The filing date was three days ago. I flipped to page seven. It’s a VIP Client Services Agreement. Client name: Mia Kensington. Emergency contact: Husband, Dominic Hayes. The signature was his handwriting. I knew it too well. Straight lines, the final stroke tilting slightly upward. I closed the file and walked to a quiet corner of the courthouse lobby. I dialed Dominic’s number. “Dom, my stomach hurts again.” A woman’s voice came through in the background, soft and whiny. “Be good. Give me a second.” Dominic lowered his voice. Then he spoke to me. “Elena, what’s up? Aren’t you in court today? Go do your thing.” His tone was casual. I didn’t mention the case file. “Can you come home for dinner tonight? My mom’s not doing well. I wanted to talk to you about transferring her to a different facility.” He went silent for two seconds. “Can’t tonight. Work dinner.” In the background, the woman spoke again. “Thank you, Dom~” The call ended. I stood there holding my phone, thinking about last month. I’d had a stomach flare-up that left me doubled over on the floor. I called him. He said, “Just take a pill. I’m in the middle of something.” Now, a woman said her stomach hurt. And he said, “Be good.” That afternoon, I used my attorney access to look up Mia Kensington’s information. Her registered address was out of state. But her current residence, I read three times: 188 Lakeshore Drive, Harborview Towers, Unit 2301. The lakefront penthouse Dominic had bought three months ago, supposedly for “employee housing.” He’d even asked me to co-sign the mortgage. I’d stood beside him when I signed. He kissed my forehead and said, “Thanks for doing this.” The apartment I co-signed for—he’d set up another woman in it. Dominic and I had been married for five years. We still lived in the cramped apartment he’d bought before the wedding. I’d suggested upgrading once. He said, “The place is fine. Save the money for the company.” I thought he was right. So I transferred my entire savings—$500,000—into his company. Then he turned around and bought another woman a lakefront penthouse. I scrolled through the details of the postpartum package: $40,000. The luxury tier. Postpartum recovery treatments, private nutritionist, 24-hour care specialist, private suite with a view. When my mom was hospitalized last year, Dominic said, “The costs are too high. Should we look at something more basic?” My mom’s care was $1,500 a month. The woman’s $40,000 package, he didn’t even blink. Near the end of the workday, the receptionist at the firm called my extension. “Ms. Sterling, someone’s here to see you.” I walked to the front desk and saw Dominic. Next to him stood a woman with a pregnant belly, one hand on her stomach, the other looped through Dominic’s arm. Dominic looked furious. He was gripping a court summons in his hand. The first words out of his mouth weren’t an explanation. They were an accusation. “Elena, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what a divorce lawsuit will do to my company’s reputation?” The pregnant woman stood behind him and looked up at me. There was no guilt in her eyes. Dominic had never come to my firm before. In five years of marriage, I’d won Best Trial Lawyer three times. I invited him to every ceremony. He said, “It’s just an award ceremony. What’s the point?” Today, because of a divorce summons, he showed up. He could sue a retreat center over a woman’s postpartum package. But he couldn’t show up for my achievements once. My gaze dropped to Mia Kensington’s belly. Dominic followed my line of sight, and his expression flickered. “I can explain this.” I was about to respond when Richard Croft, the managing partner, walked over. He pulled me aside and lowered his voice. “Elena, Mr. Hayes is friends with several of our biggest clients. Calm down. You’re wrapping up a state-level case right now. Filing for divorce at this moment could hurt your evaluation.” He wasn’t wrong. I was in the running for Top 40 Under 40 Trial Lawyers, the youngest in criminal defense. Any negative press could destroy my chances. I looked at Dominic. The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew I’d back down. In this marriage, he knew me too well. Every time, I was the one who gave in. I looked away and said to Richard, “I understand.” Then I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Mia say softly, “Dom, she’s so scary. I’m afraid.” Dominic’s voice was low, but I heard every word. “Don’t be. I’m here.” I closed my office door and didn’t turn on the light. And stood in the dark for a long time.

Dominic came home at ten that night. It was the first time in a month he’d been home before ten. He sat on the couch with his legs crossed, his attitude unusually calm. “Elena, drop the divorce petition first. Let me explain.” He said Mia Kensington was his college junior. She got pregnant by her ex-boyfriend, who abandoned her. She had nowhere to turn, so she came to him for help. He was just helping her out of sympathy. “The baby isn’t mine.” I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of a lie. His expression was sincere, as sincere as when he’d proposed five years ago. My heart wavered for a moment. Maybe this really was a misunderstanding? “If that’s true,” I said, “why did you write ‘husband’ as the emergency contact?” He paused. “The retreat center required married status for a discount. I just filled it in without thinking. It doesn’t mean anything.” “What about the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s alone with a baby on the way and has nowhere to live. I couldn’t just let her end up homeless.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” He was quiet for a long time. “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” Last year, his female assistant sent him suggestive messages at midnight. I saw them and asked about it. He said, “You’re a lawyer. Why are you so paranoid?” Now he said he was afraid I’d overthink it. So he hid a woman, an apartment, a $40,000 postpartum package, and a lawsuit he filed as her “husband.” I said, “I’ll think about it.” He thought I was giving in. He reached out to touch my hair. But I moved away. His hand hung in the air, then dropped. The next morning, I ran into the judge overseeing the retreat center case in the courthouse hallway. He knew me. He came over to say hello, hesitated, then said something. “Ms. Sterling, your husband’s case—opposing counsel submitted evidence. Photos of your husband and that woman together, intimate photos spanning over two years. Your husband’s attorney confirmed the authenticity in court.” Over two years. Two years of intimate photos. Every word he said last night was a lie. In five years of marriage, Dominic and I had fewer than twenty photos together in my phone. They had enough intimate photos over two years to submit as evidence. Back at the firm, I pulled Dominic’s financial records from the past two years. Monthly flower deliveries. Recipient: Mia Kensington. Holiday luxury purchases. Not a single one shipped to our address. Last Valentine’s Day, I waited for him at home. He said he was working late. The records showed he spent $1,500 at a Michelin-starred restaurant that night. Dinner for two. I printed everything out and filed it neatly into a folder. My hands had stopped shaking. At noon, I went to see my mom at the hospital. She was lucid today, a rare moment of clarity. She grabbed my hand and suddenly said, “Elena, the last time Dom came to see me, he brought a girl with him. He said she was his sister. But I didn’t think so. The girl had a big belly.” My blood rushed to my head. He’d brought that woman to see my mom and lied to an Alzheimer’s patient and called her his “sister.” When I walked out of the hospital entrance, I saw Dominic’s car parked by the door. He was helping Mia Kensington out of the car. She had one hand on her lower back, the other looped through his arm. Dominic saw me and froze. Mia saw me too. She tightened her grip on his arm. Dominic tried to pull his arm away. Mia suddenly clutched her stomach and crouched down. “Dom, my stomach hurts so bad.” Dominic immediately crouched down to support her. “What’s wrong? Should we go to the ER?” He didn’t even glance at me again. I stood there and watched for ten seconds. Then I walked over, crouched down, and used the calmest voice of my entire legal career. “Ms. Kensington, when is your due date?” Mia looked up at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. “If you conceived during the period of my marriage to Dominic Hayes, I will subpoena you as a third party in the divorce proceedings. Your personal information will become part of the evidence in the judgment.” “Divorce judgments are public record.” Mia’s face went white. Dominic looked up at me, his lips moving. I stood up, took out my phone, and right in front of him, called the court clerk’s office. “Hello, this is Elena Sterling, attorney. Case number 2024-CV-3867. I’m filing to add a third party to the proceedings.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, Dominic called my name. But I didn’t look back.

When I got back to the firm, I started systematically organizing evidence for the divorce. Asset inventory, proof of infidelity, dissipation of marital assets—I documented everything. Five years of marriage. I’d invested $500,000 of my life savings into Dominic’s company. Lost income from cases I’d turned down, promotions I’d missed— I calculated it all and wrote it down on paper. That afternoon, Richard Croft called me into his office. “Elena, Mr. Hayes called the firm today.” “He said if you don’t drop the lawsuit, he’ll pull all his referrals from us. You know how connected he is.” Richard wouldn’t look at me. “Also, the recommendation letter you need for Top 40 Under 40—I have to sign it. Think carefully.” Richard had watched me go from intern to partner. Three years ago, I’d worked through the night on a death penalty defense case that won the firm a national award. He’d clapped me on the shoulder and said, “You’re the pride of this firm.” Now he was using my career to pressure me on Dominic’s behalf. I said, “Richard, you don’t have to sign the letter. But if the firm uses this to force me to drop the lawsuit, I’ll file a complaint with the bar association.” Richard’s face flushed red. He waved me out of his office. Three days later, Dominic came home again. This time, he brought flowers. White lisianthus was my favorite. He said, “Elena, I dropped the retreat center lawsuit. See? I’m making compromises.” I took the flowers. “What about Mia Kensington?” “I’ll handle it gradually. Just give me some time.” “Has she moved out of the lakefront penthouse?” “She’s far along now. It’s not a good time for her to move.” “Whose baby is it really?” “I had a paternity test done. It’s not mine.” “Where’s the report?” “At the office. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” “Do you have a digital copy on your phone?” He hesitated, unlocked his phone, scrolled for a while, then said he couldn’t find it. I reached out and took his phone. He instinctively pulled back, but then handed it over. I didn’t look at his messages with Mia Kensington and opened his Notes app. The top reminder was dated last month. “Mia’s due date in two months—book OB-GYN specialist. Right below it:Refill Elena’s stomach meds.” Two reminders, side by side. One was for another woman’s due date. One was for my prescription. He did remember me, but he’d put me second. I handed his phone back and dropped the flowers in the trash. He stared at me throwing them away, stunned. I said, “Dominic, do you know why I’ve never lost a case?” He didn’t answer. “Because I only take cases I can win.” I looked into his eyes. “But this marriage—I can’t win anymore.” He reached out to grab me. I stepped back, then went to the study and started packing to move out. I didn’t cry because I was past the point of crying.

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At the wedding ceremony, the officiant invited the groom to share a few words. No one expected him to slap himself across the face in front of everyone. “This slap,” he declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, “is for my heartlessness. Three years ago, I listened to my parents and stayed home—and lost the one I truly loved.” I glanced at my parents, whose faces had tightened with barely suppressed anger. I gave a small shake of my head, willing them to hold back. Then he slapped himself again. “This second slap is for my cruelty. I destroyed a life that never had the chance to be born.” My entire body went rigid. Leo Lancaster and I had been together for three years. We had never had a child. “And this third slap,” he said, his voice dropping low, “is for my failure as a son.” He looked at me. Then at his own parents. “Mom. Dad. Elara—I’m sorry. The wedding will have to wait. Today, I have to go to the airport. I’m picking up Vivienne.” That day, I became the laughingstock of every elite family in Harbor City. The next morning, I held a press conference and announced two things: First: I was putting my marriage up for auction. Highest bidder takes all. Second: I was launching a full-scale hostile takeover of Lancaster Group—and I would not stop until it was bankrupt. …… The moment the announcement ended, the room erupted. Cameras and microphones surged toward me from every direction. “Ms. Hilton,” a reporter called out, “yesterday Mr. Lancaster said the wedding was merely postponed. Now you’re auctioning off your own marriage and openly targeting Lancaster Group. Are you declaring war on him?” “Ms. Hilton, rumor has it Mr. Lancaster pursued you for three full years, and you took three years to say yes. Can you really let go so easily?” I tightened my grip on the microphone. After a pause, I drew a slow breath and answered, “Leo Lancaster and I are enemies now. There is nothing left between us.” I glanced down at my phone. An unknown number had sent me a video. In it, Leo’s hands were removing the last piece of clothing from Vivienne Pierce’s body. On Leo’s wrist gleamed a Vacheron Constantin watch—the limited edition I had given him for his birthday. I raised my head. A cold smile curled at the corner of my mouth. I turned the phone screen toward the press. “You’ve all worked hard today. Allow me to offer you a gift.” Leo’s affair video was captured by dozens of media outlets simultaneously. Three hours later, it detonated across Harbor City. 【Lancaster Scandal: Groom Abandons New Wife to Meet Mistress — Explicit Video Leaked】 【Unbelievable: Leo Lancaster Ditches Billionaire Wife, Checks Into Hotel with Lover — Full Footage Exposed】 I was peeling fruit and scrolling through the headlines when Leo arrived at my door—with Vivienne in tow. He swept everything off the table with one furious arm. Then his hand closed around my throat, squeezing hard, demanding I apologize to Vivienne. “Elara Hilton,” he snarled, “I delayed the wedding by a few days. That’s it. And you leaked that video of me and Vivienne—do you have any idea what that’s doing to her? She just graduated. She can’t handle this kind of harassment.” I forced a slow breath past his grip. “You abandoned me at the altar in front of everyone,” I said. “Did you stop to wonder how I would handle that?” His fingers tightened. My face flooded with heat. “You,” he said, his voice dropping to something venomous, “are nothing but Shen’s dirty little secret. An illegitimate child. What do you have to lose?” My heart plummeted like a stone. When we first got together, he had said: Your background may be complicated, but I’ll have all of Lancaster Group stand behind you. I’ll make you the most powerful name in Harbor City. And now he was using the thing I feared most to twist the knife. So be it. If that’s how it is—then prepare yourself, Leo. The illegitimate child you looked down on is about to make you pay. Before the darkness closed in, I clenched the fruit knife in my hand and drove it into Vivienne Pierce’s right palm. “Leo Lancaster,” I said through gritted teeth, “I am not your seasoning. I was never something you could pick up and put down.” “Leo—blood!” Vivienne screamed, lunging forward. “You—you hurt her, you psycho!” I grabbed Vivienne’s wrist, held the blade up to her face, and met her eyes. “Before you come at me, make sure you know what you’re walking into.” Crack. A blow landed hard across my cheek. It burned like fire. “Vivienne is everything to me,” Leo said, his voice shaking with rage. “Touch me all you want—but if you ever lay a hand on her again, I will destroy your entire family.” I stood very still. The composure I had held together since yesterday fractured—slowly, like a web of hairline cracks splitting apart all at once. Once, when I was a child—locked outside in the rain by my stepmother and older brother—it was Leo who had held me and said those same words. Elara Hilton is the person I treasure most. Anyone who hurts her again will watch Lancaster Group vanish from this city. How laughable. I picked up my phone and called my assistant. “Put out a statement,” I said, my voice perfectly calm, my expression carved from iron. “Whoever has the means to bankrupt Lancaster Group—I will marry them.”

I turned to Leo and said, with quiet contempt, “Tell your father that the humiliation I’ve suffered will be repaid—by every last member of the Lancaster family.” The color drained from his face in waves. “Elara, don’t be ridiculous,” Vivienne cut in, looping her arm through Leo’s. “She’s an illegitimate child. He doesn’t have the reach to pull something like this off.” I let my gaze settle on Vivienne for a long moment, then stepped toward her slowly, deliberately. “Your punishment is coming,” I said quietly. “Soon.” I turned to the butler. “See them out.” I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and sat down at my desk. Then I gave the order: short Lancaster Group stock. Across the board. I watched the numbers shift on the screen, the graph dipping in real time, and felt the corner of my mouth lift. The humiliation of that altar—I was repaying it, inch by inch, in the only language that mattered. Three hours later, Lancaster Group’s stock had dropped three points. But it wasn’t enough. My phone buzzed. “Elara Hilton. Stop this. You’ll drag the whole Hilton Group down with you.” My father. Voice tight with fury. “You got dumped because you weren’t good enough. Come home. We’re going to go apologize to the old man Lancaster together.” I kept my tone even. “Father, if anyone is owed an apology—it’s me.” “Have you lost your mind? As of tomorrow, you’re no longer General Manager of the company. Your brother is taking over.” He hung up. Before I could set the phone down, it buzzed again. An old familiar number. I didn’t answer. I let it ring. It rang dozens of times before finally going silent. Then a string of long voice messages appeared on my screen. 【What happened at the wedding was my fault—I know that. But Dad has already dealt with me over it. You had no right to auction off your marriage like that. You’ve publicly embarrassed the Lancaster family, and my parents are furious. Get to the Lancaster estate immediately and apologize to them. On your knees.】 【As for shorting our stock—we’ll let that go for now. We can absorb the loss. But tomorrow morning, you will stand beside me in front of the cameras and confirm that the video of me and Vivienne was fabricated. You will play the loving husband. You will smile.】 I blocked Leo’s number without hesitation. The next morning, he was waiting outside my door. “You didn’t answer my calls. My parents are livid—if you don’t come and apologize, they have ways of making your life very difficult.” He paused. When I said nothing, his voice shifted, softened slightly. “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have walked out on our wedding. But you can’t just do whatever you want because you’re angry.” “Leo.” My voice came out flat. “Tell me about the child.” He went silent. At the ceremony, he had stood in front of everyone and admitted it—an unborn child, gone. But in three years, he had never once mentioned it to me. “That was a long time ago,” he said finally. “You need to let it go.” I threw the termination report at his face. “The procedure date,” I said, “was right in the middle of when we were supposed to be falling in love.” He stood there. Motionless. Who was it who had told me—just three years ago—that he had chosen to stay, that his heart belonged a hundred percent to me? Who had stood with both our families present and promised me the most extravagant, most unforgettable wedding Harbor City had ever seen—and then walked away, leaving me a public joke? He had been running between two people all along. And now he had the nerve to call me the reckless one. I watched his face cycle through expressions—caught, embarrassed, searching—and picked up my phone. “Keep shorting Lancaster Group,” I told my assistant. “And hire people to flood every platform with everything you can find on Vivienne Pierce.” “Ms. Hilton,” my assistant said, hesitating. “You—you should come in. Something’s happened.”

On the way to the office, my assistant sent a single message: Bad news. Be careful. I arrived to find a swarm of journalists blocking the entrance—cameras pointed at something in the middle of the crowd. I pushed forward. Two steps in, someone threw their arms around my legs. I looked down. Vivienne Pierce was on her knees in front of me, forehead nearly touching the ground. “Ms. Hilton,” she said, voice cracking, “I know you have power I can’t imagine. But if you’re going to destroy someone—destroy me. Please. Spare Leo. Spare his parents. They’re not young anymore. They can’t take this.” As she spoke, she uncapped a small bottle and raised it toward her lips, her expression fixed with a kind of frantic resolve. “If my life is what it takes to make this stop—then at least I’ll have died for something.” Every word was a carefully placed blade. The message was clear: I’m noble enough to sacrifice myself. You’re just a scorned woman with a grudge, throwing your weight around. She’d barely finished speaking before the reporters closed in. “Ms. Hilton, are you really going to drive them both to their graves?” “Ms. Hilton, murder is a crime—will you turn yourself in if she dies, or use your connections to walk free?” I looked down at Vivienne. My expression didn’t move. “I never intended to kill anyone,” I said, each word deliberate. “And that poison isn’t mine.” Vivienne leaned in—close enough that only I could hear—and whispered, “You’ll never win against me, Elara Hilton.” Then, before I could react, she grabbed my hand, forced the bottle into my grip, wrapped both our hands around it, and tipped the contents into her own throat. “Ah—” The cameras captured every frame of it. A second later, someone wrenched the bottle from my hand. A palm connected with my face—hard. I hit the ground. Leo stood over me, his eyes burning with something beyond rage. “How could you do this,” he breathed. “Vivienne is carrying our child—my family’s grandchild—and you—” I stared up at him from the pavement. Pregnant. So it had been going on that long. The two of them, together—long before today. Every platform picked up Vivienne’s “attempted suicide.” Comment sections overflowed with people saying I deserved to be left. My personal social media was buried under waves of abuse. And then came the petition—a viral post demanding my removal as General Manager of Hilton Group. It wasn’t just Vivienne’s handiwork. My half-brother and stepmother had their fingerprints all over it too. “Secretary Liam,” I said, keeping my voice level, “suppress every negative story about me. Commission some positive coverage.” There was a pause. “Ms.… Hilton…” “The board just released a statement,” she said quietly. “They’ve removed you as General Manager. Effective immediately. All company resources are frozen to you.” “…Understood.” Lancaster Group’s stock had already recovered. I set my phone down on the table. Slowly. It didn’t shatter because I made a choice to put it down carefully. I was still sitting with the wreckage when Leo walked through the door. “I’ve had the negative press about you taken down,” he said. “Elara—if you ask me, I can also get your father to reinstate your position. I know how much you’ve worked for it. I know how badly you want to lead Hilton Group.” He paused, watching me. “But you’d have to ask.”

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Every wolf in the Iron-Fang pack says I’m not the same Luna anymore. I no longer slipped out of bed before dawn to brew Valerius his morning herbal. And no longer press the creases from his Alpha command uniform before each council. Seven days passed like this. On the seventh night, Valerius returned, shrugged off his mantle, and looked at me. I was reading the healing grimoire. “What’s wrong with you lately?” After seven days of silence, that was the first thing he said to me. His voice carried the chill of deep water — controlled, distant, not a thread of warmth in it. I looked up and studied his face in the candlelight. He was striking in the way that powerful wolf often are. The she-wolves of the pack said Valerius needed only to stand in a room to attract everyone’s attention. I had believed that once. But this life, I had reborn, and I was not going to make the same mistakes again. In my last life, every she-wolf in the territory envied me, said my ancestors must have pleased the Moon Goddess for me to be fated to a man like Valerius. He was the Alpha of the Iron-Fang Pack and commander of the Lycan Council, gifted with both power and a presence. Being his Luna was supposed to be a blessing beyond measure. I had believed that completely, and I entered this palace. On our mating night, he said, “The pack and the Council will always come before everything else.” “I have no time for sentiment, and no energy for a mate’s expectations. If you understand that, stay and do something useful.” I nodded, my face still warm, and told him I understood that he should focus on protecting the pack, and I would hold the palace together for him. I had meant every word and I kept every one of them. He had no time for the palace, so I ran it — every supply ledger, every Elder negotiation, every pack ceremony. When I caught a fever I brewed my own herb and heal myself. When a rogue’s blade caught my side during a border escort, I bound the wound myself and said nothing. And when wolfsbane poisoning began destroying me from the inside, and I was vomiting blood through the nights, I still said nothing. I handled everything alone rather than diverting his attention from those critical matters. He swept the Council clean of corruption at thirty. He stood above every rival by thirty-five. At forty, he was granted a title no wolf had held in two centuries. At the feast celebrating that title, a beta raised a cup and asked how he regarded the mate who had stood behind his rise. Valerius turned his goblet and said, “We have mated for many years, but I have never felt anything for her beyond that bond. ” “My devotion belongs to this territory and the wolves under my protection. Sentiment is smoke. The pack endures.” The hall applauded. They called it the answer of a true Alpha — selfless, uncompromising. Then he rushed to the next border campaign and never came back to the packhouse. He didn’t know when the wolfsbane eroded my body. Even when I died in the eastern wing, undiscovered for three days until a servant passed by. I watched my own burial from above as a fading spirit, without ceremony. I saw Valerius receive the news in his war tent, acknowledge it with a single quiet sound. I spent an entire life learning that we were never meant for the same path. He was a revered Alpha, respected by the pack. But being his mate was too much to bear. His heart belonged entirely to the pack; there was no room left for me. So when I woke to find myself back three years after our mating bond, the first thing I did was make up my mind to sever the bond. The second was to write a application to the Moonshadow Enclave, the ancient healer’s valley sealed from pack politics by old protective magic. Their reply was due in two days. “Nothing in particular,” I said, closing my grimoire. “I had time, so I read.” His brow furrowed. “What use do you have for that?” His tone carried no malice. In his mind, my purpose was to manage the palace and stay out of the way. Outside the window, two of the night-watch she-wolves were murmuring. “Seven days and the Luna hasn’t once gone to the gate. She used to pace until her feet ached when the Alpha ran late.” “Her birthday was last week. She had prepared. The candles burned to nothing and the Alpha never came.” “He keeps her too cold for too long…” Valerius glanced toward the window, then turned back. “I don’t observe birthday, the time is better spent on Council reports.” He drew two scrolls from his sleeve and set them on the table. “The Alpha King is hosting a Moon Gathering tomorrow night. You will attend with me. Resume your normal routines beginning tomorrow — this ends here.” I looked at the scrolls — gold-pressed parchment stamped with the Alpha King’s seal, the kind of invitation mated pairs across the territory would fight for. A month ago, I would have been unable to sleep from excitement. Now I only felt the exhaustion. “I am not going,” I said. Valerius went completely still. He looked at me with a flicker of surprise. In three years of mating, I had never once said no to him.

“Why not?” he asked. I stood up and said I was tired and needed to rest. I turned toward the bed. Valerius stepped in front of me and blocked my path. “Get changed. The Gathering doesn’t end for another half hour. We’re going now.” I looked at him and thought of all the times I had simply turned around and done whatever he said. He was already reaching for my cloak. Before I could say another word, he had it around my shoulders and was steering me out the door. An hour later we were on the river road heading home, the Gathering behind us. He spent the return ride reviewing a sealed dispatch by lamplight. I watched the dark trees pass outside the window. Then the horses screamed. Rogues hit the carriage from both sides, half-shifted and fast. The frame lurched violently. I grabbed the door frame and held on. I saw Valerius shift into his wolf form, straight to the strongbox bolted beneath the seat, the one holding the territorial defense maps. He wrapped both arms around it and drove his shoulder through the carriage roof. The door buckled. I went with it. When I came to, I was in the mud at the edge of the road. Valerius stood nearby, strongbox secure under his arm, scanning the tree line. Unharmed. He had not looked for me once. I got up, checked my limbs, and walked to the nearest pack clinic. The healer was cleaning my wound when Valerius told me through the mind link that urgent Council matters required his return to the palace. I was used to this. Then she said, “A letter arrived for you from a messenger-wolf just now. I left it on the pillow.” I broke the seal with one hand. It was from the Moonshadow Enclave. Exceptional aptitude. Accepted unconditionally. Report at your earliest convenience. My fingers began to tremble and my tears fell onto the parchment. I folded the letter and pressed it against my chest. All I needed now was to reject him. Then I could leave. In the days that followed, I stayed alone in the pack clinic. The healers on duty would chat among themselves during quiet hours. About the she-wolf in the next room whose mate hadn’t left her bedside once. About a warrior who had crossed half the territory just to find a rare herb for his mate’s recovery. I listened in silence. My leg was heavy with injury, but my heart felt strangely light. The day I was discharged, I walked out on a crutch and went straight to the market district. I bought what I needed for the journey to the Moonshadow Enclave. It was midday when I finished. I stepped into a nearby tavern and had barely found a seat when the door opened and Valerius walked in. He was not alone. The woman beside him was Isolde, the pack’s only female Gamma and Lead Strategist. She her hair pinned high, and when she smiled her eyes caught the light in a way that made the whole room notice her. Something pricked at my chest. Isolde. In my first life, that name had haunted me like a curse. Many she-wolves admired Valerius, but he kept everyone at a distance. His eyes were always on the pack business, nothing else. Isolde was clever enough to know that. She never spoke of feelings. She only ever spoke of strategy. “Alpha, I believe this defensive formation has a flaw worth addressing…” “Alpha, I’d like to go over the border map with you one more time…” “Alpha, would you look over this report before I submit it to the Council…” Under the cover of pack duty, she positioned herself beside him naturally, sharing his table, his late nights, his attention. In my first life, the hours Isolde spent with Valerius, even the exchange of a glance, all of it far outnumbered anything I had ever shared with my own mate. In the past, seeing this would have stolen my appetite entirely. Now I simply turned back to the menu in my hands, calm and unbothered. Then Isolde’s sharp eyes swept the room and landed on me. “Is that… the Luna?”

Isolde spotted me first and waved, pulling Valerius over with her. “What a coincidence,” she said warmly. “Valerius and I just finished going over the strategy. I’m treating him to lunch as thanks for his guidance. Don’t misunderstand, Luna.” Her words were perfectly polite. Her eyes were not. Valerius gave me a brief nod, sat down, and opened the report he had brought. He didn’t ask about my wound. He didn’t ask about anything. I looked at him for a moment, then looked away. “I’m not misunderstanding anything,” I said. “Order what you like.” Isolde blinked. That clearly wasn’t the reaction she expected. She glanced at Valerius. He still hadn’t looked up. Just then, a server came through carrying a large pot of boiling broth. The floor near our table was slick from the morning wash. His foot slipped, and the pot tilted, straight toward Isolde. Valerius moved instantly. He grabbed me and yanked me forward. The scalding liquid hit my back. The pain tore through me, burning through fabric, searing into skin. But Valerius was already reaching for Isolde, grabbing her hands and turning them over to check every finger. “Did it burn you?” His voice was urgent in a way I had never heard directed at me. “Your hands draw every map the Council uses. You cannot afford even a small injury.” Isolde’s eyes went glassy. “Just a few drops,” she whispered. “I’m fine…” “I’ll get burn salve,” Valerius said, already standing, already walking toward the door without a backward glance. I stayed bent over the table, my back on fire, but I made no sound. The server was pale with panic. I asked him quietly if there was herb in the back. There was. I took it and made my way to the storage room behind the kitchen. I sat on a wooden crate and worked the herb across the burns myself, one slow touch at a time, breathing through the pain. The door opened and Isolde walked in. She looked at the raw, blistered skin on my back and laughed. “Does it hurt?” she asked. “He pushed you without thinking twice. You burned so I wouldn’t have to, and he left without checking your wound.” I said nothing. “I’ve never understood you, Sera.” She stepped closer. “Valerius has no feelings for you. Why are you still holding on to his Luna?” I pulled my shirt back into place and turned to face her. “And you?” I said. “You know perfectly well he has no feelings for you either. You’re a Gamma, Isolde. You have real rank and real ability.” “But instead of using that mind for this pack, you spend it scheming over him. I feel sorry for the Council that they have someone like you in their ranks.” Her face went cold. Before I could move past her, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment — one of the reports Valerius had been reviewing. She struck a flint. The edge caught fire immediately. “Help! Someone help!” she screamed, stumbling backward. “The Luna is burning the defense maps!” She shoved the burning parchment into my hands and threw herself against the far wall, crying out. The flame bit into my palms. I dropped it and moved to stamp it out, but Isolde lunged forward and shoved me hard into the stone wall behind me. The back of my head cracked against stone. Everything went black. When I woke, I was in the pack clinic again. I opened my eyes and saw Valerius standing at the foot of the bed. His face was like carved ice. “Sera,” he said, and his voice was colder than I had ever heard it. “I pulled you in front of that pot because Isolde is a ranked Council officer. She is essential to this pack. I thought you, as Luna, would understand that some things are bigger than personal feelings.” “Even if you resented it, you should have come to me. But you dared to burn a border report? Do you have any idea how many lives depend on those maps? That was Council intelligence!” “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Isolde burned it herself.” “You didn’t?” Valerius let out a cold laugh. His eyes were full of disappointment and something darker. “That defense report was three months of Isolde’s work. It’s her career, her future. You think she would destroy that just to frame you? Sera, I knew you were jealous, but I never thought you would go this far.” His words hit like blows. He would rather believe a lie than trust his own mate. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. A squad of pack enforcers entered the room, their expressions grim. “Alpha Valerius,” The lead enforcer said. “We received a report that someone deliberately destroyed sealed Council intelligence with intent to compromise pack security.” “The suspect is your mate, Sera. This matter concerns territorial safety. By law, she must be taken into custody for interrogation.” I stared at Valerius in disbelief. Compromising pack security? Isolde hadn’t just framed me for burning a map, she had accused me of treason. “Take her,” the enforcer said, gesturing to his men. One of them stepped forward with silver chains. “Wait,” Valerius said sharply. The enforcer paused. “Alpha?” “The original maps are still archived in the Council vault,” Valerius said, his tone hard as iron. “The loss is not irreparable. My mate is ignorant and acted out of jealousy, but she has no ability or motive to betray this pack.” “I will stake my position on this. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will bear it. Demotion, suspension, confinement — I accept it all. But you will not take her.” The enforcer hesitated. “This is irregular, Alpha. The law—” “I am the Alpha,” Valerius said, his voice carrying the weight of command. “She stays. I will punish her on my own.” The enforcer exchanged glances with his men. Finally, he nodded. “But there will be consequences for this, Alpha. The Council will not overlook it.” “I understand,” Valerius said coldly. “You may go.” The enforcers filed out, their boots heavy on the wooden floor. The room fell silent. I looked at Valerius. For a moment — just a moment — something warm flickered in my chest. He had protected me. “Why?” I asked, my voice shaking. “You think I’m guilty. You hate what I did. Why would you stake your position to keep me out of their hands?” Valerius looked at me without warmth. “The detention cells are damp and filthy,” he said. “If you went in there, you would come out broken even if you survived.” “My mother’s health has worsened. She will only take the medicinal broth when you prepare it. No one else can make it the way she tolerates. ” The warmth in my chest died instantly. “And there are countless other matters in the palace that require your attention. Right now, no one else can manage them as efficiently as you do.” He paused, then added, “So you need to stay alive.That’s why I kept you here.” I stared at him and suddenly I understood that Isolde had been right. He didn’t keep me because I was his mate. He kept me because I was useful. I started laughing. It came out broken and bitter, and once I started I couldn’t stop. Valerius’s brow furrowed. “Are you insane?” “If someone better came along,” I said through the laughter, my voice shaking, “someone more obedient, more capable, better at your palace, would you replace me?” Valerius was silent for a moment. Then he straightened his collar and answered with the honesty. “If such a person existed,” he said, “and caused no disruption to my work, then yes. I would consider it.”

I laughed even harder, until my stomach cramped and the burns on my back split open again. Valerius looked at me with cold distaste, as if I were irrational as he suspected. He turned away, walked to where Isolde stood by the door, and offered her his arm. She leaned into him with tears still wet on her face. They left together. The carriage rolled away into the distance. I returned to the small guest house on the palace grounds alone. By nightfall I was burning with fever. Two days passed. Valerius did not come. On the third afternoon, the door opened. Isolde walked in, several older she-wolves following behind her. Her hand was wrapped in excessive white bandages, and she wore a victorious smile. “I’m surprised,” she said, settling into the main chair. “Even under suspicion of treason, Valerius still protected you from the cells. It seems you do have some small worth to him after all.” “Worth?” I said quietly. “You heard what he said. He just needs someone to prepare his mother’s medicine.” “Does that matter?” Isolde leaned forward. “As long as you hold that Luna title, I find you unbearable. Do you know what Valerius said to me recently, Sera? ” “He said you’ve become bitter and resentful lately. That seeing you makes him uncomfortable.” She stood suddenly and swept her hand across the small table. The medicine bowl shattered on the floor. “Since Valerius won’t handle you properly,” she said, “I will. Take her out.” The she-wolves moved forward and grabbed my arms before I could react. I was weak with fever, my body uncooperative. They dragged me out of the house and into the street. They brought me to the busiest market square in the territory, where everyone could see. Isolde positioned herself in the center and began to cry. “Look, everyone! This is our Luna! She burned sealed Council maps out of jealousy because Valerius values my work! ” “She even tried to scald my hands so I could never draw another map! And she walks free while loyal wolves suffer!” The crowd began to gather, their faces hard. “She burned defense maps? That’s treason!” “She attacked a Council Gamma?” Isolde held up her bandaged hand. “These hands serve the pack’s defense. She wanted to destroy them because she couldn’t bear that Valerius respected my abilities!” Someone threw a rotten vegetable. It hit my shoulder. Then stones. I tried to stay upright, but a heavy kick caught my ribs and I collapsed onto the cobblestones. I curled inward, trying to protect my head. More blows came. Fists, boots, things I couldn’t see. Then a boot came down hard on my right hand, the hand I needed for healing. Crack. The pain was so sharp the world went black. When I woke, I was lying on a bench in the Council Elder’s meeting hall. A healer was setting my hand in a wooden splint. “You’re fortunate,” he said quietly. “One of the Elders was passing through the square and saw what happened. He had you brought here.” He finished tying the splint and looked at me seriously. “Your small finger is fractured. One of your ribs is broken.” I stared at the splint for a long time without speaking. Then I pushed myself upright and walked to the great hall where the Council Elders heard grievances. “I am here to file charges against Gamma Isolde,” I said, my voice steady despite the pain. “For inciting public violence, orchestrating an assault, and causing severe bodily harm. I have witnesses.” Three days later, the Council brought Isolde in for judgment. The case was too public to ignore, too many witnesses to dismiss. Despite attempts from the palace to intervene, the Elders handed down their ruling. Twenty lashes. Six months suspension from her Gamma duties. Confined to quarters during that time. I stayed in the pack clinic for the remainder of the week, staring out the window as my body slowly knitted itself back together. Seven days later, I returned to the palace. I pushed open the door to my quarters and found the room in ruins. Shattered porcelain covered the floor. Valerius sat in the center of it all, his expression dark as a storm. He looked up the moment I entered. “You reported her to the Council?” His voice was flat and dangerous. “You had Isolde arrested?” I stepped over the broken pieces and said nothing. “I’m asking you a question!” Valerius shot to his feet and grabbed my shoulders so tight I felt my bones grinding together. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The Council’s annual strategy is next month — her entire career depends on it! You’ve destroyed her reputation and her future!”

He shook me so hard my vision blurred. My broken rib sent sharp pain through my chest with every movement. I pulled my right hand free and held it up between us. “Isolde came to the guest house,” I said. “She brought others with her and had me dragged into the market square. She told the crowd I was a traitor. They beat me. Someone stomped on my hand and broke the bones.” I looked at him steadily. “I’m a healer, Valerius. Do you have any idea what this hand means to me?” His eyes dropped to my hand. For just a moment, something flickered across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by cold stone. “You burned her work first,” he said. “You pushed her to that point. If you hadn’t been so spiteful, none of this would have happened.” He released me and stepped back. “Why couldn’t you have been reasonable about this? Why did you have to drag the Council Elders into it and humiliate this entire pack?” “Reasonable?” I said quietly. “You mean let her cripple my hand and say nothing? Let her walk free while I lose everything?” “I was trying to survive, Valerius. Not take revenge.” “Survive?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You’re still pretending this wasn’t about jealousy? You can’t stand that she’s more useful than you.” I looked at him and felt the exhaustion settle deep into my bones. I was so tired. Too tired to argue with someone who had already decided what he believed. “Think what you want,” I said. “The Elders made the arrest. The law passed the sentence. If you’re so powerful, go tear down their hall.” I turned and walked toward the inner room. “Stop.” Valerius pushed past me and went straight to the vanity. He yanked open the bottom drawer. Inside was a small carved wooden box. My mother’s box. The one that held her final gift to me — a moonstone amulet carved with protective runes, the only thing I had left of her. “What are you doing?” My voice came out sharp with panic. I lunged forward to stop him. Valerius was taller, stronger. He held the box high above my reach with one hand and opened it with the other. The moonstone amulet glinted in the dim light. “I know this is the one thing you care about,” he said coldly. “So hear me clearly, Sera. If you ever touch Isolde again — if you ever damage her career or mine — I will destroy it.” “Valerius, you bastard!” I threw myself at him, clawing for the amulet. “That was my mother’s! Give it back!” “Remember what I said.” He held the amulet as if he were about to drop it. I froze. My whole body began to shake. Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them. “Please,” I whispered. I sank to my knees. “Please don’t. I’m begging you. Don’t touch it.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, as if he had finally found the lever that controlled me. “Then behave yourself,” he said. He turned toward the door, slipping the amulet into his pocket. Just then, a voice shouted from outside. “Alpha! Emergency! The northern river has breached the barrier — the Alpha King need you to the Council immediately!” Valerius’s expression changed. He moved toward the door without hesitation. I grabbed his sleeve. “Give me the amulet back. Now.” He was already thinking about the crisis, his mind elsewhere. He yanked his arm free with more force than he intended. “Let go!” The motion carried the full strength of an Alpha’s instinct. I was thrown backward. My body slammed into the sharp corner of the doorframe. The impact was immediate and brutal. My head cracked against the wood. Something warm began streaming down my face, covering my eyes in red. Valerius stopped. He turned and saw me on the floor, blood pouring from my forehead. His eyes widened slightly. His hand lifted, as if to help. “Alpha, please!” the voice called again from outside. His hand froze in midair. Then he lowered it, closed his fist around the amulet in his pocket, and turned away. “Clean yourself up,” he said without looking back. “Stop being dramatic.” Then he was gone. I heard his boots on the stone, heard the horse’s hooves strike the ground and fade into the storm. I sat on the cold floor and tasted copper in my mouth. I touched my face. My hand came away completely red. I started laughing. In the darkness, with thunder rolling overhead and rain hammering the roof, I sat alone and laughed until my throat was raw. This was the man I had loved for two lifetimes. And in that moment, the last thread of feeling I had for him, bled out with the blood on my face and died.

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My Border Collie of eight years suddenly refused to leave the house. I didn’t waste a second. Listed the condo online, packed my bags—ready to drive a thousand miles by dawn. Everyone said I’d lost my mind. My husband blocked the doorway, face red, veins popping: “The dog doesn’t wanna go out? Fine! Don’t take him out! What the hell is wrong with you?” I clutched the leash so hard my nails cut into my palm: “We have to leave. Buddy’s blocking the door.” Mark ripped the leash right out of my hands: “You walk out that door, we’re done. Divorce. You hear me?” I nodded. “Fine. The condo, the car, the savings—all yours. I’ll leave with nothing…” “But tonight, we’re getting out of this city.” “Because the dog is blocking the door.” … Mark stared at me like I’d grown a second head. He obviously thought I’d snapped. Completely lost it. But I didn’t have time for his anger. I was stuffing documents and cash into my duffel bag with shaking hands. Buddy lived for walks. The second I touched his leash, he’d bounce three feet in the air. But now? He was planted like a fifty-pound slab of iron against the front door. His movements were sluggish. Heavy. I called his name—took him several seconds just to twitch an ear. He wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t look at Mark. Just stared northwest like something had possessed him. I tried to open the door. Buddy lunged—teeth clamped onto my pant leg, dragging me backward toward the deepest corner of the apartment. He was trembling. That bone-deep shaking traveled up through the fabric, into my ankle. “Amy, are you DONE?” Mark slammed his fist into the shoe cabinet. The vase on top rattled. “Buddy’s tired today! He doesn’t wanna go out, so let him REST! What is this insane overnight move? Running a thousand miles away?” I didn’t look at him. Just moved faster. “He’s not tired, Mark. He’s scared.” “Scared of what?” Mark’s face screamed *you’re being ridiculous*. He grabbed for my bag: “Do you even know I’ve got a client meeting tomorrow? This deal goes through and I make VP!” “And you want me to drive across state lines right now? Did you have a mental breakdown at work or something?” I stopped. Locked eyes with him. Of course I knew. Ten years ago, Mark and I moved to this city with nothing. We clawed our way up. Worked ourselves to the bone to build a life here. We finally had roots. A home. Stability. Outside the window, the city glittered. Ocean breeze drifted in, salty and damp. I turned away. Asked him one last time: “Are you coming with me or not?” Mark’s face went dark. He yanked the leash from my hand and snapped it in half: “I’m NOT going! And I’m not LETTING you go either!” “Amy, you walk out that door—we’re getting a divorce!” Buddy stumbled from the force. His claws scraped against the hardwood with a sound that made my teeth ache. I took a deep breath. Eyes burning. But logic told me—every second counted. No time for emotions. No time to explain. “Fine. I’ll leave with nothing—except Buddy.” Mark froze. He looked at me like I was an alien. Finally managed: “You’d throw away our whole life together… for a dog?” “Yes. Because the dog is blocking the door.” I shook off his grip. Scooped up seventy pounds of Buddy, practically stumbling backward toward the entryway. Buddy curled tight in my arms like a terrified child. But he still twisted his head, staring northwest. The elevator descent made me want to throw up. The underground parking garage at 1 AM was bone-cold. I shoved Buddy into the backseat of my sedan. My hands shook so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition. The second the car burst out of the garage, Mark’s call came through. I declined. He called again. Again. Again. Again. The dashboard clock hit 01:15. I floored it toward the freeway entrance. In the rearview mirror, beautiful, the bustling city shrank away. Buddy lay in the backseat, still curled in a ball, eyes fixed on the window. My hands trembled on the steering wheel. Grandpa’s dying words echoed in my head: “Amy, when a dog blocks the road, it’s showing you the way to live.”

The car tore down the freeway. I didn’t dare blink. The moment we crossed the city limits, the gray film over Buddy’s eyes started to clear. His pupils began to focus. He stopped being stiff as a board. Slowly blinked. Let out a soft whimper. When Mark couldn’t get through to me, he posted a video to social media—surveillance footage from our apartment. In the clip, I looked frantic, haggard, yanking the dog toward the door in a panic. Background: our trashed living room from the fight. His caption: [Five years of marriage can’t compete with a dog’s tantrum. My wife wants to sell everything and divorce me because the dog won’t go for a walk. Left in the middle of the night. Can anyone tell me what I’m supposed to do?] The comments exploded. People called me “mentally unstable.” Others said I was “hiding an affair and using this as an excuse to move assets.” The top comment, hundreds of likes: [This lady can’t have kids, so she’s treating the dog like her son. Brain damage much?] The replies piled on: [Right? Obsessed with that dog.] [Can’t get pregnant so she goes psycho.] I didn’t defend myself. Didn’t explain. Just kept my foot on the gas. By 3 AM, my mother-in-law, Martha, called. The second I answered, she started screaming. Clearly, Mark had filled her in. “Amy! You cursed woman! Can’t give me grandchildren, so you worship that animal!” “I’ve PUT UP with you long enough! Are you trying to DESTROY my son?” “He’s about to make VP, and you pull this insane stunt?” I hung up. Immediately, my mom sent dozens of voice messages, crying: “Sweetie, go back and apologize to Mark!” “You two worked ten years to build that life. You’re finally stable.” “You’re not getting any younger. Why can’t you talk things out? Running away over a dog?” “His mother already thinks you’re… just listen to me, baby. Stop this.” My best friend and coworkers flooded my DMs: [Amy, did something happen to you? Mark says if you don’t come back by morning, he’s filing a missing persons report and getting you declared mentally incompetent.] I looked at Buddy in the backseat. Then I blocked every single contact. Despair. Helplessness. It crashed over me. I knew what Mark was doing—weaponizing social pressure and family guilt to force me home. But he didn’t understand. Buddy didn’t block the door for no reason. He was saving us. I shut off my phone. Eyes locked on the road ahead. Minutes later, Mark’s final ultimatum came through: [Amy, I’ve been reflecting since you left. But I honestly can’t understand why you’re doing this. I’ve frozen your bank accounts. If you don’t come back, I’m filing for divorce.] Two minutes later—bank notification. Mark had reported both my debit cards as lost. He was cutting off my lifeline. He thought if he starved me out, I’d crawl back like a beaten dog. But he didn’t know—I wasn’t throwing a fit. I was running for my life. I stared in the direction of that city. Heart pounding. The dread kept building, like invisible hands closing around my throat. I tried messaging my friends in that city: [Listen to me. Leave the city tonight. As fast as you can.] The next second, I was kicked from the group chat. The admin posted: [Amy, stop spreading panic. Even crazy has limits.] I laughed bitterly. Turned off my phone. Slammed the accelerator to the floor. Tears finally spilled over. We were two hundred miles out now. Buddy had rolled over and stood up. He nuzzled into my neck. His reactions were faster. His eyes were bright and alert again. “Buddy, you’re the only one who believes me, aren’t you?” My voice cracked. Buddy whimpered softly. Eyes clear and sad. He understood more than any of them. I’d become the villain. The crazy woman in everyone’s eyes. The one who couldn’t have kids so she treated her dog like a child. But I glanced at the fuel gauge—half a tank left. Two hundred more miles and I’d hit the mountains. I’d be free of this city. And Buddy kept his eyes on the window. That direction—the way to survive.

5 AM. I had to pull into a rest stop. By now, Buddy was fully recovered. He hopped out of the car easily and drank some water. Looked tired but otherwise normal. Exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. I dozed in the driver’s seat for two hours. But just as I was about to start the engine again— A familiar black sedan screeched to a stop right in front of me, blocking my exit completely. The sound of brakes woke half the rest stop. Then Mark stepped out of the car. Two of his built friends climbed out behind him. His eyes were bloodshot. Stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked exhausted and unhinged. “Amy, get OUT of the car!” He pounded on my window like he wanted to shatter the glass. Blood rushed to my head. He’d tracked me through the car’s GPS. I locked the doors. Gripped the steering wheel: “Mark, I’m NOT going back with you!” I shouted through the glass. “I don’t have TIME for this!” Mark turned to the crowd of onlookers gathering around: “Please, someone help! My wife has severe paranoid delusions—she thinks the dog is her child and she’s running away from home!” “She’s mentally unstable right now. I need to take her back for treatment!” Rest stop crowds love drama. Several people moved closer, pointing and whispering. “Poor thing looks normal, but I guess her brain’s fried.” “Just go home with your husband, hon. Stop making a scene.” “Can’t have kids so she’s obsessed with the dog… that’s sad.” Mark’s friends pulled out a rope. They were seriously planning to tie me up like I was insane. “I’m NOT crazy!” I shoved the car door open, holding up my phone: “Mark, you touch me and I’m calling the cops!” “You don’t have to come with me—that’s your life, your choice. But don’t you DARE stop me!” “Or I’ll report you for kidnapping!” Mark pointed at Buddy in the backseat. His eyes full of confusion and pain: “You’d have me arrested? Over a dog?” While I was distracted, he yanked open the back door and grabbed for Buddy: “Maybe if I get rid of this thing, you’ll snap out of it!” Buddy jerked away. A guttural growl erupted from his throat. His reflexes were sharp now—teeth locked onto Mark’s watchband. “You little shit! You’re BITING me?!” Mark flung his arm violently. I screamed and lunged forward with pepper spray, shielding Buddy: “BACK OFF! He’s trying to save your LIFE! He’s saving US!” “That city isn’t safe anymore—that whole city has a problem!” Chaos erupted. Mark pinned me against the car door. His strength was terrifying. I couldn’t breathe. “Amy, LOOK!” He pointed toward the horizon where the sun was rising: “That City is FINE! It’s 5:30 AM—people are out jogging right now!” “Nothing happened! When are you going to stop this?” I looked toward the distance. He was right. Dawn was breaking. Everything looked perfectly calm. The crowd murmured. For a moment, I doubted myself. Had my instincts been wrong? But then I looked down at Buddy. He was still crouched under the seat. Teeth chattering. Fur standing on end. Eyes locked northwest. No. Impossible. Buddy’s terror was identical to what I’d seen eighteen years ago.

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My husband FaceTimed me every night for three years—turns out he was calling from her bed. The first year Ethan transfers to the New York office, he FaceTimes me every night until midnight. The second year, it becomes once a week. The third year, FaceTime stops altogether—just texts. I understand. He’s busy. Until one day, he sends me a message: “Mom wants you to come to Connecticut. She says there’s something to discuss.” I take time off work and fly out. His mother is sitting in the living room. Next to her stands a woman I’ve never seen before. “Quinn, dear, I’m not asking you two to divorce. I just want you to be a little more open-minded—give Vivian a place in this family.” “She’s been by Ethan’s side at the New York office this whole time. You’ve seen it yourself—his numbers have been so much better these past two years.” I look at the woman. She keeps her head down and says softly: “I’m already pregnant. The baby needs a father.” His mother picks up right where she left off: “You still haven’t gotten pregnant after all these years. Is there something wrong with you? I’ve already found a fertility specialist. You’re starting treatment.” I sit on the couch without saying a word. Then I stand up, grab my bag, and walk toward the door. I barely step outside when I see Ethan’s car parked at the curb. He gets out and sees me. He freezes. The passenger door opens too. A little boy, maybe two years old, reaches his arms out toward Ethan and cries: “Daddy! Up!” … Two years old. Nine months of pregnancy, plus two years. That lines up exactly with his first year in New York. The man who FaceTimed me every night until midnight—who once ordered me soup delivery at 2 a.m. because I mentioned a sore throat—got another woman pregnant during that very same time. Ethan clearly didn’t expect me to walk out right then. His hand hangs frozen in midair. He hasn’t even closed his car door. The little boy in the passenger seat squirms restlessly, babbling Daddy, Daddy in that high-pitched toddler voice. Vivian rushes out from the house and grabs my arm. “Please don’t blame Ethan. It’s all my fault.” “I’d had too much to drink that night, and I threw myself at him. You’re the only one in his heart.” I shake her hand off and lock my eyes on Ethan. Ethan finally snaps out of it. He strides over and positions himself in front of Vivian. “Quinn, let me explain.” I stare at that familiar face and feel my stomach lurch. “Explain what?” “Explain how you spent your days in her bed, and then at night, you’d FaceTime me and call me babe?” Ethan’s face goes white as a sheet. He lowers his voice, a thread of desperation creeping in. “Quinn, not here. My mom is still watching from inside the house.” I laugh. So in his mind, me calling out his lies is making a scene. His mother comes outside now too, holding a half-peeled orange. “Quinn, dear—men, you know how it is. Business dinners, social obligations. These things happen.” “Besides, Vivian’s been doing her part—gave us a boy on the first try, and she’s pregnant again.” “You can’t conceive. You can’t expect the Carter family line to just die out, can you?” I turn to face her. “I can’t conceive?” “Ethan, did you not tell her? That you wrecked your health binge-drinking for business deals, and I destroyed my hormones staying up night after night nursing you back to health?” Ethan looks away. He can’t meet my eyes. Vivian’s eyes redden on cue. She shrinks behind Ethan’s back. “I know you must feel wronged.” “I don’t need a title. I just want to stay by Ethan’s side.” “The baby can call you Mommy. I’ll be the nanny—I’ll serve you both.” How noble. How selfless. Ethan hears this and the guilt in his eyes instantly transforms into tenderness—for her. He wraps his arm around Vivian’s shoulder. When he turns to face me, his tone has hardened. “Quinn, Vivian has already bent over backwards. What more do you want?” “These past two years, if she hadn’t been at the New York office helping me build connections, I never would have made it to where I am.” “You stayed here the whole time. You have no idea how hard things have been for me.” I have no idea how hard things have been for him. All I know is that the startup money for his transfer came from selling my grandmother’s house. All I know is that I reread his once-a-week texts over and over, like a lifeline. I take a deep breath and pull a black voice recorder from my bag. He’d had it custom-made for me during his first year in New York. Inside is his voice: “Quinn, give me three years. I promise I’ll bring you to New York in style.” I press play, right there in front of him. A man’s tender promise echoes down the empty street, grotesquely absurd. Ethan’s breath catches. He lunges to grab it. I let go. The recorder hits the pavement. I lift my foot and bring my heel down hard. The crack of shattering plastic is sharp and satisfying. “Ethan. We’re done.” I turn and walk away. Behind me, Ethan shouts my name—but his footsteps are cut short by Vivian’s gasp. “Ethan, my stomach—it hurts so bad…” I don’t look back. I flag down a cab and slam the door shut.

I don’t go back to the hotel. I go straight to the airport. I buy the next available flight and return to the city where we built our life together. The apartment is full of him. Matching slippers by the door. Two sets of everything in the bathroom. Our fifth-anniversary photo on the wall. I find a suitcase and start packing. Nothing that isn’t mine. And even the things that are—I only take the bare essentials. I’ve just zipped it shut when the lock clicks. Ethan stands in the doorway, disheveled, his tie pulled loose, bloodshot eyes wild. He actually followed me back. He sees the suitcase on the floor and panics. Three quick strides and his hand is clamped over mine. “Quinn, wait—calm down.” “I admit I screwed up. But I never once thought about divorcing you.” I stare coldly at his fingers pressing down on the back of my hand. “Let go.” He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me into his arms. “No.” “That child was truly an accident. At the company celebration dinner, I blacked out.” “By the time I woke up, it had already happened.” “Then Vivian got pregnant, and the doctor said her condition made termination life-threatening.” “What was I supposed to do? Just watch her die?” He pushes every ounce of blame onto accidents and impossible choices. I shove him off and slap him across the face. The crack echoes through the living room. Ethan’s head snaps to the side. Half his face blooms red instantly. “The first child was an accident. What about the second one she’s carrying now?” “Did you black out and accidentally fall into bed with her again?” Ethan has nothing to say. He looks at me, and a flash of irritation crosses his face. “Quinn, do you have to be this crude about it?” “I already told you—you’re my wife. You’ll always be my wife. Most of my assets will go to you.” “Vivian doesn’t want anything. She just wants a complete family for the children.” “Why can’t you just be a little understanding?” I’m so disgusted I actually laugh. “Understanding?” “Ethan, do you think now that you’ve made Regional Director, you’re entitled to have it all?” “What do you think this marriage is? What do you think I am?” He drags his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Then what do you want me to do?” “Strangle a two-year-old? Push Vivian off a building?” “Quinn, you never used to be this cold-blooded.” Cold-blooded. So in his mind, the woman who refuses to welcome his mistress and bastard child is the cold-blooded one. My heart goes numb, inch by inch. My phone buzzes. A text from Vivian. A photo—her lying in a hospital bed, selfie-style, the logo of a private hospital visible behind her. The caption: “I know Ethan rushed back to calm you down. I’m here alone on bed rest. I’m really scared, but I don’t blame you. I just want you two to be okay.” Then a second message pops up. A photo of a stock transfer agreement. Ethan transferred thirty percent of his shares to someone named Lucas Carter. The two-year-old’s name. I hold the screen up to Ethan’s face. “This is what you meant by ‘most of my assets will go to you’?” Ethan sees what’s on the screen and his expression changes completely. “Quinn, listen—Mom forced me to sign that. She said it was security for the child…” I don’t want to hear another word. I grab my suitcase and walk around him toward the door. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. The courthouse.” “If you don’t show up, I file for divorce and send this agreement to your company intranet.” Ethan doesn’t chase me. Because his phone rings, and on the other end is Vivian’s feeble, weeping voice.

The next day, Ethan doesn’t show up at the courthouse. He sends me a long message. Says Vivian might lose the baby. So he can’t make it.He can’t leave. Says he won’t sign the divorce papers. Tells me to calm down. I don’t reply. I go straight to a lawyer and have a petition for divorce drafted. But what I don’t expect is for Ethan to strike first. A week later, the company holds its annual gala. I’m the lead architect at the Boston branch. Attendance is mandatory. The venue is in New York. The moment I walk into the ballroom, I feel the stares. Whispers everywhere. “That’s her—three years of marriage and she can’t produce an heir.” “I heard their director already has a second kid on the way with someone else, and she’s still clinging to her position like some kind of squatter.” “Pathetic. If I were her, I’d have taken the money and left.” I sweep my gaze across their gossiping faces and walk straight to my seat. On stage, Ethan stands in a tailored suit, delivering the year-end address. His eyes find me across the crowd. A warning flickers in them. The awards segment begins. Designer of the Year—a project I pulled three all-nighters to finish. The host announces the winner with theatrical enthusiasm. “This year’s Designer of the Year Award goes to—Vivian Cole!” My head snaps up. Vivian glides onto the stage in a designer gown, her belly slightly rounded, basking in applause. She takes the trophy, eyes glistening as she gazes at Ethan. “I want to thank Mr. Carter for his guidance. Without him, I wouldn’t be here today.” Thunderous applause. I sit in the corner, shaking. That project was mine from start to finish. Vivian can’t even use CAD. Ethan takes the microphone. His eyes lock directly onto mine. “In addition to tonight’s awards, I have an announcement.” “Ms. Quinn Shaw will be taking an indefinite medical leave, effective immediately.” “The position of Design Director at the Boston branch will be filled by Vivian Cole in the interim.” Every eye in the room turns to me. Some with pity. Some with mockery. Most with gleeful contempt. Ethan is using this to break me. He’s stolen my work, gutted my career, humiliated me in public. All to make me understand: without him, I am nothing. I stand up. No hysteria. No fleeing. I walk to the front of the stage and look up at Ethan Carter. “Mr. Carter, claiming someone else’s work carries legal consequences.” Ethan’s brow furrows. He lowers his voice. “Quinn, stop making a scene. I put Vivian’s name on the project as compensation to her.” “If you want money, I’ll pay you double privately.” I look at that sanctimonious face and feel physically ill. “You took my work to compensate your mistress?” “Ethan, you truly never stop amazing me.” Vivian chimes in softly from beside him. “Please don’t blame Ethan. I just wanted a chance to prove myself.” “Don’t worry—I won’t take a cent of the prize money. It’s all yours.” Her words draw murmurs of admiration from the crowd. “Vivian is so gracious.” “Seriously—a barren hen, and she still has the nerve to act entitled.” A sudden, vicious pain rips through my lower abdomen. Like a knife twisting inside me. I press my hand to my stomach. Cold sweat breaks across my forehead. Ethan thinks I’m faking it. He lets out a cold laugh. “Quinn, pulling the same trick twice isn’t going to work.” “Security—please escort Ms. Shaw out.” Two large security guards walk over and grab my arms on either side. I’m in too much pain to even struggle. They half-drag, half-carry me out of the ballroom. As the doors slam shut behind me, I hear Vivian’s coy little voice from inside. “Ethan, the baby just kicked me!”

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My husband walks his third pregnant mistress into my law firm and tells me to draft her asset transfer agreement. His boys are taking bets behind him—how many seconds before I lose it and flip my desk. The printer churns out a fat stack of papers. I don’t say a single word. “Yo Ethan, that’s number three. Think your wife’s about to snap?” Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. His voice is low, almost bored. “She’s fragile. Can’t handle childbirth.” “Once the baby comes, it goes under her name. She keeps the title. She’ll always be Mrs. Ashford.” I slide the sealed agreement across the desk. Force of habit: “This is legally binding upon signature.” Ethan takes it. There’s a tiny crease between his brows—gone in a second. Then he pushes a set of divorce papers toward me. His voice goes soft, almost gentle. “Just sign. It doesn’t mean anything.” “She’s strong enough to carry the baby. Once it’s born, it’s yours on paper. My family backs off. Nobody brings up the infertility thing again.” “You’re still Mrs. Ashford. I’m doing this for you.” He’s pulled this exact stunt twice before. Twice, I played along. This time? I sign my name without blinking. Then I slide a diamond ring onto my left hand—a gift from the most powerful man in Manhattan. … Vanessa rubs her swollen belly, batting her lashes. That sugary little voice of hers fills the room. “Ethan, babe… is Stella upset?” “I mean, she already went and got herself a ring.” Ethan’s eyes drop to my ring finger. His jaw tightens. Something dark flickers behind his gaze. “Stella. Enough.” “You think sticking some random rock on your finger is gonna make me change my mind?” I slide the divorce papers right back at him. “Signed. Tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. Courthouse.” Dead silence. Then his whole crew cracks up. “Girl, you’ve been playing hard to get for three years. You’re not tired?” “For real. The man just wants a kid that’s actually his.” “You can’t pop one out yourself and you won’t let anybody else do it either? What kind of woman—” Ethan rubs his temples. He’s done with me. “Stella. Stop.” “Vanessa’s carrying twins. High-risk pregnancy. Doctor says she needs bed rest.” Vanessa leans into Ethan, eyes going red. “Ethan… I don’t want our babies born in some back-alley hideaway. Like they’re something to be ashamed of.” She peeks up at me. Doe eyes. Trembling lip. “Stella, your penthouse on the Upper East Side… could I maybe stay there? Just while I’m on bed rest?” “The security’s really good. And it’s right near the hospital.” That penthouse is the only thing my parents left me before they died in the crash. “That’s my pre-marital property.” Vanessa flinches like I slapped her. The tears come right on cue—big, fat, rolling drops. “Stella, please don’t be mean. I’m just thinking about the babies.” “If you don’t want me there, it’s fine. I’ll just… take the kids and go back to where I came from.” Ethan pulls her in tight. Then he turns to me. Full command mode. “Stella. What is your problem?” “The place is sitting empty. Move out tonight. Vanessa moves in.” I stare at his face. That face I used to love. All I can think is—God, what a fool I was. “Ethan. Do I need to spell it out for you?” “It’s. My. Apartment.” His expression hardens. “Stella, it’s one apartment. You’ll get it back after the baby comes.” “She’s pregnant. Try seeing the bigger picture for once.” One of his boys jumps in. “Come on, Stella. Vanessa’s giving the Ashford family an heir. You can’t spare one lousy apartment?” I hold Ethan’s gaze. “And if I refuse?” He smirks. Pulls out his phone. “Your firm’s biggest client is Ashford Group. Right?” “Stella, you’re a smart woman. Don’t make me do this the hard way.” He’s threatening my career. The one I built from nothing. For a side piece. I look into those cocky, certain eyes of his. And I laugh. “Fine. I’ll move.” He blinks. Clearly didn’t expect that. A flicker of triumph. His tone goes easy. “There we go. Play nice, and I’ll take care of you. I always do.” “Head back to the estate tonight. I’ll send my assistant with Vanessa tomorrow.” I stand. My gaze sweeps across every face in the room. “I’ll have it cleared out by tonight.” “Ethan—I really hope you don’t regret this.” He snorts. “Relax. Vanessa just needs a place to rest. The apartment’s still yours. Don’t be so dramatic.” Vanessa tips her chin up and hits me with a smug little smile. I don’t look at any of them again. I walk out and shut the door behind me. Through it, I can still hear his boys howling. “Nobody handles wifey like our boy Ethan!” “Once those twins drop, that’s three kids for the big man!” Three kids? I laugh out loud. I hope he’s still laughing like that when the truth comes out.

It’s pouring outside. I go back to the penthouse to pack. There’s not much to take, really. I don’t touch a single thing that belongs to Ethan. I grab my parents’ photo and my Ragdoll cat, Snowball—the one I’ve had for five years. Snowball seems to sense my mood. She licks my fingers, soft and gentle. The lock beeps. Ethan walks in, dripping wet. He sees the suitcase by the door. His brow creases. “You’re really leaving?” “Stella, I told you to move back to the estate. What’s all this?” I stuff the last coat into the suitcase and zip it shut. “The papers are signed. Why would I go back to your family’s house?” “Save your energy, Mr. Ashford. Go take care of your twins.” Ethan strides over and slams his hand down on my suitcase. “Are you done with this?” “I told you—the divorce is just a formality. You really want to make this a thing?” “You’re a woman alone. Without me, without the Ashfords—where exactly are you gonna go?” His eyes are full of certainty. He truly believes I can’t survive on my own. I shove his hand off. “Where I go is none of your business anymore.” Ethan’s face darkens. He’s about to blow up when Vanessa’s call comes in. Soft sobbing bleeds through the speaker. “Ethan, I’m scared without you…” “There’s thunder outside. I’m cramping so bad—is something wrong with the baby?” Ethan’s expression shifts to panic. “Don’t be scared, Vanessa. I’m on my way.” He hangs up and shoots me one cold look. “Stella, you’d better pray nothing happens to Vanessa’s babies.” “Because if it does—I will never let you go.” Then he turns and rushes out into the storm. I watch his frantic back disappear. All I feel is disgust. When I was bleeding out on the operating table, losing our baby—where was he? He was helping his first mistress pick a venue for her baby’s one-month celebration. I close my eyes. I press that memory back down where it belongs. I grab my suitcase, scoop up Snowball, and walk out of this apartment for good. The next morning, I’m at the courthouse right on time. By the end of the day, Ethan still hasn’t shown. His phone goes straight to voicemail. It’s not until I leave that one of his boys calls. “Stella, do you have any conscience at all?” “Vanessa had contractions last night. Ethan was at the hospital with her all night—and you’re sitting at the courthouse trying to force a divorce?” “What, you won’t be happy until you’ve killed his baby?” My voice doesn’t waver. Not even a little. “If he’s busy, we’ll reschedule.” “Tell him to have the breach penalty ready.” I hang up and head straight to the firm. The second I walk through the door, something feels off. Lily rushes over, nearly in tears. “Stella, it’s bad!” “Ashford Group’s legal department just emailed. They’ve unilaterally terminated every single contract with us.” “And they’re telling everyone—anyone who gives us a case is making an enemy of the Ashfords.” I stop dead. My eyes go cold. Ethan is trying to bring me to my knees. He thinks if he cuts off my income, I’ll come crawling back. I open my laptop. My inbox is packed with termination emails—every client I worked so hard to sign. My phone buzzes. A text from Ethan. [Apologize to Vanessa. Promise to behave and stay in your lane as Mrs. Ashford, and I’ll restore the contracts.] [Stella, don’t test my patience.] I stare at the screen and laugh out loud. Always the same. Acting like he’s doing me some grand favor. I don’t reply. I block his number and dial someone else.

The call connects almost instantly. A deep voice comes through. “Well, well. Ethan finally kicked you out?” I stare out the window. “Nathan. You win.” “I’m done with every Ashford case. But I need you to do something for me.” The man on the other end lets out a low laugh. “Just say the word. Forget one favor—I’d hand you all of Manhattan on a silver platter.” “Tell me. What do you need?” My eyes go ice-cold. I say it slowly, word by word. “I want Ashford Group’s cash flow to collapse. Within one month.” Over the next few days, Ethan doesn’t show his face. He probably thinks I’m somewhere panicking over my firm, ready to crawl back to him any second. What he doesn’t know— I’ve already cashed out my shares in the firm at a premium and quietly taken over Foster Corp’s core legal work on the East Coast. That afternoon, I’m walking out of the Foster Corp building after a meeting. My phone rings. It’s the vet. “Ms. Morgan, something’s happened to your cat!” My chest seizes. I race to the clinic. I push through the door and find Snowball on the operating table, soaked in blood, barely breathing. The vet’s hands are covered in red. His face says everything. “Ms. Morgan, the cat suffered severe blunt force trauma. Ruptured organs. We did everything we could…” My mind goes blank. Snowball was a birthday gift from my parents. She got me through countless sleepless, lonely nights. My hands tremble as I stroke her blood-matted fur. Snowball forces her eyes open one last time. She looks at me. Then she stops breathing. “Who did this?” I barely recognize my own voice. The vet sighs and pulls up the security footage from the entrance camera. On screen—Vanessa, wearing sunglasses, holding a golf club. Her bodyguard drags Snowball out of the carrier. Vanessa swings without hesitation. The club comes down hard on Snowball’s body. Again. And again. And again. She doesn’t stop until Snowball goes limp. Then she kicks the body away in disgust. “Stupid animal scratched me. Who does it think it is?” She turns to the bodyguard. “Dump it on the curb. Don’t let Ethan see this mess.” I stare at the screen. My nails are digging into my palms so deep I can’t even feel it. I pull out my phone and call the police. Half an hour later, the officers walk me into what used to be my home. The door opens. Vanessa is curled up in Ethan’s arms. She sees the cops and shrieks, ducking behind him. “Ethan, I’m scared…” Ethan puts himself between us, glaring at me. “Stella, what the hell is wrong with you now?” “You brought cops to my house? Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” I look at him. No warmth. No emotion. “Vanessa is being reported for intentional destruction of property and animal cruelty.” Ethan blinks. Then he sneers. “Over that stupid cat?” “Stella, are you out of your mind? It’s a cat. It’s dead. So what? I’ll buy you ten more.” “Vanessa is pregnant. She can’t handle this kind of stress. Take your people and get out.” I look at the man in front of me. He’s a stranger. “That was my cat. The last thing my parents ever gave me.” “She was just a cat. What did she ever do to deserve being beaten to death?” Vanessa peeks out from behind Ethan, crying on cue. “Stella, stop making things up.” “That cat went crazy and tried to claw my belly. I was protecting the Ashford heir. It was self-defense.” “Or does a cat matter more to you than I do?” Ethan’s eyes sharpen to blades. He charges forward and raises his hand. Crack. The slap lands hard across my face. Blood seeps from the corner of my lip. My ears ring. Ethan jabs his finger at me and screams. “Stella, how evil can you possibly be?” “You can’t have kids yourself, so you use a damn animal to hurt mine?” “If anything—anything—happens to Vanessa’s baby, you will pay for it with your life!” The officer steps between us and pulls Ethan back. “Mr. Ashford, calm down. Striking someone in front of police is an arrestable offense.” Ethan doesn’t even flinch. He smirks and adjusts his cuffs. “Arrest me? Your captain wouldn’t dare look me in the eye. I’m disciplining my wife. Try it.” He turns back to me. Pure threat. “Stella. Last chance.” “Drop the charges. Get on your knees and apologize to Vanessa.” “Or I will make damn sure you never work in this city again.” I wipe the blood from my lip and stare at the two of them. The rage burns so hot it flips all the way back to calm. “Ethan, that slap just killed the last shred of anything between us.” “You want kids so badly?” “Then I wish you all the best—a whole houseful of them.” I turn to the officer. “Officer, the surveillance footage has been submitted. Please proceed by the book.” I walk out without looking back. Behind me, Ethan’s voice cracks with fury. “Stella! Don’t you dare walk away!” “I told you to stay home and think about what you’ve done. So why are you here?”

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The baby’s head is crowning. My husband tells me to push it back in. Because his dead brother’s widow is having a son next door, and only a son inherits in the Russo Family. “Hold on, amore,” Dante says, squeezing my hand. His eyes are soft. They’ve been soft for nine months. “Just a little longer.” I’m screaming. Sweat in my eyes, blood on the sheets, and I know — I have known since the second contraction came thirty seconds after the first — that something is wrong with this delivery. The pain is too sharp. Too fast. A nurse walks in with a syringe. I think it’s the epidural. Then Dante lets go of my hand. Steps back from the bed. The needle goes in. He checks his watch. “Adjust the dose,” he says, calm as ordering a drink. “She has to wait until Bianca delivers.” The room tilts. “Bianca’s at six centimeters,” he tells the nurse. “Buy me two hours.” I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Whatever’s in that syringe is already in my blood — my contractions stop mid-clench, like a hand closing around my uterus from the inside. The pain doesn’t stop. The labor stops. The baby — my baby — is stuck. I look at him. The man I married. The man who put his hand on my belly every night for nine months and whispered to her through my skin. His face is blank. I don’t cry. I don’t beg. I memorize his face exactly the way it looks right now — and I start counting every single thing I’m going to take from him. — They wheel me out of the delivery suite and down. Down past the lobby. Down into the basement of the Russo Family’s private clinic in Brooklyn. Gia is waiting at the door of what used to be a storage room. Dante’s little sister. Twenty-three years old, manicure fresh, holding a scalpel between two fingers like a cigarette. “Don’t blame Dante, cara,” she says, smiling at me. “Bianca’s carrying Marco’s son. The first male Russo of this generation. You understand.” I do understand. I’ve understood since the syringe went in. But I let my face do what they expect — wet, weak, terrified. “Even if you popped her out first,” Gia goes on, “she’d still just be a girl. The bylaws are the bylaws. No daughter wears the ring. So the boy comes out first.” She crouches in front of me and taps my cheek with the flat of the scalpel. “Get the doctor,” I rasp. “Please. She’s coming.” “She’s not coming for another three hours, sweetheart. The drug holds that long. Bianca’s already in the OR.” She stands, brushes off her knees. “Be a good girl. When her son is breathing, you can have yours.” To the soldier at the door: “If she screams, gag her.” The door shuts. One bare bulb. Concrete floor. My dress is already soaked through. They took my phone at admissions. Radiation, Dante said. Bad for the baby. I curl onto my side and breathe. In. Out. Counting. Three months ago, Dante’s older brother Marco wrapped his Maserati around a guardrail on the Belt Parkway. Left a wife three months pregnant. At the funeral, old Don Salvatore Russo — Dante’s grandfather, the Nonno, the head of the Family — gripped Bianca’s wrist with both hands and wept. The Russo name cannot die. You give us this boy. I remember standing there in black, twenty-six weeks along, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder. Nonno, our baby will love you too. He didn’t look at me. I should have known then. I did know then. I just didn’t want to. Another contraction rips through me — the drug is fighting it, but my body is fighting back. I drag myself to the door and pound on it. “Help me — please — the baby’s coming —” A bored voice on the other side: “Shut up. Miss Gia said wait.” “My baby —” “If she dies, she dies. Shouldn’t have been a girl.” I slide down the door. I am not crying. I am making a list.

I don’t know how long I’m down there. Long enough that the blood under me goes from warm to cold to warm again with the next contraction. Long enough that I almost stop fighting the drug. Then the door opens. Not Gia. Not the soldier. Dr. Marino — the Russo Family doctor, the one who delivered Marco, the one who’s been my OB for nine months. He sees me on the floor and his face goes the color of paper. “Mrs. Russo? Madonna — Dante told me you were upstairs in the VIP suite —” I can’t speak. I point at my stomach. He drops to his knees and his hand goes between my legs and I hear him suck in a breath through his teeth. “You’re fully dilated. Your water broke God knows when. We need to move now.” He tries to lift me. The second I move, blood pours out of me in a hot rush and he almost drops me. “Help!” he shouts down the hall. “Hemorrhage —” Nothing. This whole clinic belongs to the Russos. Tonight they cleared it for Bianca. Every nurse, every doctor, every orderly is on the third floor, holding her hand while she pushes out the future of the Family. His phone has no signal in the basement. He hauls me up. “Stay with me. Stay with me, cara.” The stairwell is endless. Each step jolts the baby further down and not out. The drug is still in me — contractions come and go like a stutter. This is the worst possible way to deliver. I can feel her wedged. “Doctor —” My voice is air. “Save the baby. Promise me.” “You’re both walking out of here. Don’t talk.” He kicks open the first-floor OR. We both freeze. The room is empty. Not unstaffed. Empty. The surgical lights are gone. The table is gone. Monitors, anesthesia cart, crash cart — gone. There are bare outlets on the walls where machines used to be plugged in. Marino makes a sound like he’s been punched. “I checked this room six hours ago —” Heels on tile. Gia rounds the corner with two nurses. “Doctor. What are you doing down here? Bianca’s on three.” He points at the empty room. His hand is shaking. “Where is the equipment.” Gia’s face is innocent. Beautifully innocent. She’s good at this. “We moved it up. Bianca’s having a C-section. She needed the best of everything — what if there’s a complication? You can’t do major surgery in a regular OR.” Her eyes drift to me. She smiles. “Oh, is she in labor? She’ll have to wait. Bianca’s not done.” I look up at her. This girl I bought a twelve-thousand-dollar Birkin for last spring. This girl who linked her arm through mine on Madison Avenue and called me the sister I never had. I file her face away with Dante’s. The list is getting longer.

Marino runs into the nurse’s station and starts ripping open cabinets. Empty. Empty. Empty. “Hemostats — anything — gauze —” A nurse whispers, “It’s all upstairs. Mr. Russo’s orders. Everything goes to Mrs. Bianca.” He punches the cabinet. His knuckles split. He turns to me, and he’s crying. “Mrs. Russo. I’m sorry. I have nothing —” Gia pats his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, doc. She hasn’t even delivered yet. As soon as Bianca’s done, the equipment comes back down.” She glances at my belly. “And honestly? Even if the baby doesn’t make it — it’s a girl. The Family doesn’t lose anything.” I lift my head off the floor. I look her in the eye. I use the breath I’ve been saving. “Animal.” Her smile drops. She crouches down. Puts her mouth right next to my ear. Lowers her voice so only I hear. “Curse all you want. After tonight you’ll be too weak to lift a glass. Bianca’s taking your seat. Dante keeps you alive as a maid because he’s sentimental. Be grateful.” She straightens up. Beautiful again. Marino can’t take it. “Miss Gia, this is murder —” “Murder?” She laughs. “Doctor. Women die in childbirth all the time. It’s tragic.” She turns to the soldiers behind her. “Take Dr. Marino somewhere quiet. I’ll watch cara myself.” They drag him out. He’s fighting them, twisting back to me, shouting — “Mrs. Russo — press here — above the ankle bone, hard — it can bring the contractions back — don’t give up —” The door slams. Gia turns the lock. Pulls out her phone. FaceTime. “Fratellone — your wife’s about to deliver. Want to watch?” Dante’s face fills the screen. He’s outside Bianca’s OR. Behind him, doctors in scrubs sprint past. “Sera, not now. Bianca’s heart rate is dropping. The baby’s in distress.” Gia tilts the camera at me. The blood. The dress. The floor. “Look how much she’s bleeding, fratellone. I think she might die.” Dante glances. Looks away. “Tell her to hold on. The doctor comes down when Bianca’s done. Cara, I can’t leave.” The screen goes black. Gia pockets the phone and shrugs. “Hear that? In his heart, Bianca comes first. You’re a brood mare, amore. The mare doesn’t outlive her foal.” I close my eyes. She thinks I’ve given up. My right hand slides behind me, finds the inside seam of my dress. My father stitched a button in there the day before the wedding. Sera. The Russos are deep water. If anything goes wrong, press this. I’d laughed at him. Papa. Dante loves me. I dig my thumbnail under the cap. I press. No light. No sound. But my father’s soldati are thirty minutes out. Maximum. Thirty minutes. I look down at my belly, where my daughter is fighting to be born and dying in the trying. Hold on, baby. Hold on for Mama.

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