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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My fiancé thinks I’m the easiest girl in the world to make cry. He’s not wrong. I cry when my fiancé comes home late. I cry when he refuses to kiss me. I cry even harder when he kisses me too much. Tonight his phone lights up with an emergency call from the office. My lips start to tremble. Tears pool before I can stop them— And then I remember the post. The anonymous one. The one I’d stumbled across on the gossip forum a few days ago. Some user claiming to know a stranger’s entire future. Normally, I’d scroll past. But the details were too specific. The arranged marriage into old money. The crybaby fiancée who couldn’t stop clinging. The fiancé who tolerated her out of obligation. It was me. Every single line. I told myself it was nonsense. I kept scrolling. ＞Cry all day. That’s all she does. You can see how sick of it the male lead is. ＞He hates clingy vines like her. She only got this arranged marriage because his family owes hers a debt. ＞Relax. He’s about to meet the real female lead at the office. They’ll fall for each other on sight. The crybaby side character will lose her mind with jealousy, get hit by a truck, and her family goes bankrupt. Happy ending. I freeze mid-sob. That comments loop in my head, loud and impossible to ignore. I scramble off him. “Hey. Go ahead. The company’s more important.” Lucas Langford stares up at me. His breathing is uneven. His face is smudged with my lipstick. His wrists are still cuffed—the leather ones I’d cried for half an hour to talk him into wearing. The first time I handed him that see-through V-neck and those cuffs, his face went so dark it looked homicidal. I’d cried for those, too. I told him my best friend’s husband wore exactly that to bed every night. “It makes his pecs look insane. Some girls have all the luck.” Lucas’s face got even worse. But he put them on. Now his voice comes out low and rough. “You sure you want me to go?” His eyes search mine. Probing. I nod and I can feel the tears threatening. “Then unlock me.” His tone goes cold. I scramble for the cuffs. My fingers shake. I keep thinking about the comments. About how I’m supposed to die because I prevented his destined marriage. I can’t get the cuffs off. The more I panic, the closer I am to tears. He sighs. His voice softens. “Jen. If you don’t want me to go, you can tell me—” “It’s open.” The cuff is off. I shove the shirt at him, swallowing the sob. “I’ll be fine. Drive safe.” Lucas pauses. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he really does hate me. When he takes the shirt, his fingers avoid mine. He’s dressed in seconds. The tailored suit transforms him—wide shoulders, narrow waist, silver-rimmed glasses catching the light. “Don’t wait up.” I smile. “Go.” His jaw tightens. He opens the door and leaves without a word. The slam echoes harder than usual. Every tear I’d been holding back comes crashing down. I call my mother. My voice cracks on the first syllable. “Mom… I want a different fiancé.” “What happened, sweetheart?” I can’t tell her the truth. Can’t tell her Lucas is going to fall in love with someone else. That I’ll get hit by a truck. That he’ll bankrupt our family afterward. Not exactly something I can say out loud — Mom, I read it on a gossip forum. “He doesn’t like me,” I mumble. She goes quiet. “Okay, baby. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll talk to your father. Don’t cry, okay?” “Okay.” I wipe my eyes. The bed is cold beside me. The forum’s not wrong. My family is new money. Dad won the lottery when I was seven, made some smart investments, and suddenly we were running in the same circles as Kingsfield’s old-money families. Before that, I drooled over cheap sausages from street carts. The Langfords are old money. One of the oldest in Kingsfield. Their connections run through every old name in the city. Lucas is the eldest grandson of the main branch. Groomed as heir since birth. Composed. Decisive. Ruthless. He took over the family business while most people his age were still figuring out their majors. They say my family did the Langfords some favor. A debt of gratitude. No one ever told me what it was. I don’t even remember meeting Lucas before he showed up at our house a month ago and proposed. At first I spent thirty seconds wondering if it was a romance scam. Every doubt I had melted the second I saw his face. *Sign me the hell up.* And we have a one-month trial period. If I wasn’t happy, I could walk away. No strings. Back then I thought he was being sweet. Now I know the truth. He doesn’t like me. He just wanted to help his family pay off a debt. Three days left until I can leave without breaking the agreement. I don’t want to be a side character in someone else’s love story. So I won’t cry anymore. I’ll walk away first.

To rewrite my fate, I’m on my best behavior all night. No whiny texts. No “do you miss me yet.” No blowing up his phone. Not a single message. In the morning, figuring Lucas won’t be home, I head downstairs without a bra. “Why aren’t you sleeping in?” That familiar low voice. I look up. Lucas is on the sofa. His gaze lifts. Drags down my body. His eyes darken for half a second. My face catches fire. He’s not supposed to be here. I have no idea how to play this. I pull up the forum on my phone out of habit. The thread has new comments. > LOL is she seriously acting shy? > The vicious side character throwing herself into the ML’s arms and crying about something stupid AGAIN. She’s a grown woman — drop the baby-wife act. > The ML is exhausted from work and has to come home to someone he doesn’t love. I’d be dead inside too. > Just wait till he meets the FL. He’s gonna fall for her energy so hard. Double strong leads ftw. I dig my nails into my palm. *Don’t cry.* I crush the impulse to throw myself at him and force a casual smile. “Couldn’t sleep. You’re home early. Have you eaten?” Lucas sets down the financial report. A faint crease between his brows. His eyes drop. “The floor is cold. Where are your shoes?” I glance at my bare feet. “It’s summer—” He’s already standing. Walking toward me. He stops one step lower so we’re almost the same height. Faint shadows under his eyes. He looks tired. Worn. The kind of tired that makes me want to kiss his eyelids. He reaches for me the way he always does — to pick me up. That’s when I catch it. A trace of perfume on his collar. A woman’s scent. Not mine. My fingers curl. I step back. “You should rest. I’m going to eat.” Lucas’s arm hangs in the air. His eyes go cold. The kind of cold that makes you shiver. I don’t dare look at him again. I turn and half-jog toward the kitchen. Behind me, I feel his stare burning into my back. He doesn’t move for a long time. Lucas doesn’t stay home long. Before he leaves, he knocks on my bedroom door. I’m cocooned in my blanket gossiping with Tara. The knock makes me shove the phone into my chest. I sit up, polite and stuttering. “Is— is there something else?” I can’t let him catch me. Yesterday he told me to stop gossiping about nonsense with my best friend. If he knew the nonsense was about him… Lucas’s face is unreadable. Those sharp eyes land on mine. Then slide to my phone. Linger. I swallow. My fingers go white around the case. “Lucas?” He pulls his gaze back. His expression is somehow even sourer than before. “I’m heading to the office. If you need anything, reach out. Tell Mrs. Park (Our housekeeper) what you’d like for lunch.” He pauses. “I’m leaving.” Something is off about him today. He said I’m leaving twice. I smile. “Okay. Drive safe.” His hand tightens on the doorframe. Then he pulls it shut. I check the forum again. Fresh comments: > The clingy crybaby is acting different? I was SURE she’d beg for a goodbye kiss. Did she finally figure out the ML likes composed, confident women and try to copy that? Imitation is flattery, I guess. > She probably noticed his disgust is showing. I bet if she tried to kiss him right now he’d literally push her away. > The ML is already subconsciously staying pure for the FL. His virginity is the best wedding gift lol. My heart feels like it’s been dropped in acid. A dull, squeezing pain. I fight the tears with everything I have. My phone buzzes. Tara. “Babe. BABE. Drop. His. Ass.” “Hot or not, he doesn’t get to treat you like an inconvenience. You didn’t beg for this — HIS family came to YOURS.” “Pretty privilege only goes so far. With your dad’s money I’ll line up six-foot-two men with abs AND a personality. You can swipe like it’s a buffet.” “I’m not joking. Say the word and I’ll have someone here in twenty minutes.” I bite my lip. “Okay.” I hit send. My eyelids feel heavy. Sleep drags me under before I can think. I never see the photo Tara sends after. It’s a smiling boy in the white button‑down.

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I was eating cake when Derek suddenly put down his fork and looked at me. “Who’s Mike Hansen?” My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. My heart slammed against my ribs. Mike Hansen. That name was a code I’d made up with Sarah Mitchell one night in college, after way too many beers. We promised each other, if one of us ever went missing, if something was wrong, that name would be the signal. No one else in the world knew. And Sarah had been missing for thirty-two days. She said she was going to Sedona to clear her head. She never came back. I looked at Derek’s calm face, and my blood ran cold. How did he know that name? Mike Hansen was a name Sarah and I invented our senior year of college, sitting on the roof of our dorm with two cans of cheap beer. The stars were thick that night. Sarah threw her arm around my shoulders, half-drunk, and said, “Claire, we need a code word.” “A code word for what?” “For if something happens to one of us. If one of us disappears. You hear that name, you know something’s wrong.” I told her she was being dramatic. But I helped her come up with it anyway. We settled on Mike Hansen because it was so painfully common. No one would ever suspect it. Only two people in the world knew what those words meant. Me. And Sarah. And Sarah had been missing for thirty-two days. She said she was going to Sedona for a few days. Before she left, she sent me a voice message, her voice so excited: “Claire! What should I send you?” That was the last time I heard her voice. After that, her texts went unanswered. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Her Instagram stopped at a photo of Cathedral Rock. I filed a report. Her family filed a report. The police in Arizona were looking. But no body. No trace. Sarah had vanished like she never existed. And now. My husband Derek. A man who didn’t even have Sarah on social media. A man who’d only met her a handful of times. A man who nodded at her at parties and then walked away. He had just asked me, while eating cake, who Mike Hansen was. “You okay?” Derek raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine.” I shoved a bite of cake into my mouth. Tasted like nothing. “Never heard that name. Where’d you see it?” “Oh, scrolling online.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Just curious.” He changed the subject. Started talking about his golf game this weekend. I didn’t hear a single word. My brain was stuck on one question. How did he know?

After dinner, Derek went to take a shower. I sat on the couch, my palms sweating. The sound of water came from the bathroom. I looked at the bathroom door. Then I looked at his phone on the coffee table. I knew the passcode. My birthday. I picked it up. My fingers were shaking. I went through his texts. His call log. His notes app. Nothing. Too clean. A normal person’s phone isn’t that clean. I went to his laptop in the study. Same passcode. He’d never hidden anything from me, or so I thought. Search history. Downloads. File folders. I checked everything. Then I opened his Uber trip history. My hand stopped moving. One month ago. Derek told me he had a business trip to San Diego for two days. I packed his suitcase. But the trip history showed something else. He didn’t go to San Diego. He went to Sedona. He left one day before Sarah arrived. He came back two days after she disappeared. The shower turned off. I closed the laptop. Walked back to the living room. Sat down. Picked up my phone and pretended to scroll. Derek came out drying his hair, glanced at me. “Coming to bed?” “In a minute.” I smiled. He walked into the bedroom and turned off the light. I stared at the bedroom door in the darkness, my fingers digging into the arm of the couch. Derek. What did you do in Sedona?

The next morning, I told Derek I had a work thing. A last-minute trip to Denver for a client meeting. Derek was buttoning his cuff. Didn’t look up. “How long?” “Three or four days.” He turned and looked at me. Smiled. “Be safe.” I smiled back. My flight wasn’t to Denver. It was to Sedona. The plane landed just after noon. Sedona was dry and hot, the sun so bright it made my head spin. The last photo Sarah ever posted was taken in this city. Red rocks. Blue sky. Clouds that looked painted on. She was standing in front of a crystal shop, smiling, her eyes all crinkled up. I didn’t have time to cry. I went straight to her hotel. Sarah had sent me the location before she left, a little boutique place near Oak Creek called The Desert Rose. I walked up to the front desk, pulled up Sarah’s photo on my phone, and asked in my most polite voice, “Do you remember this woman? She stayed here about a month ago.” The receptionist looked at the photo. Shook her head. “Her name is Sarah Mitchell. From Chicago.” The receptionist typed into her computer. Then her face shifted. “Yes. She stayed for two nights. But she never checked out. Her things are still in our storage room.” My chest tightened. Her things were still there. She wasn’t. I steadied my voice and asked the question I was terrified of. “About a month ago, did a man from Chicago also stay here?” I showed her Derek’s photo. The receptionist looked at it. Typed again. Then looked up at me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Yes. He stayed for four nights.” Four nights. Longer than Sarah. “What room was he in?” “203.” “And Sarah Mitchell?” “205.” Same floor. One room apart. I stood at the front desk with my head buzzing. The obvious thought was the worst one. The one that makes your stomach drop. They were having an affair. Sarah and Derek. Hiding in Sedona. But I pushed that thought down as fast as it came. No. Sarah hated Derek. Not in a subtle way. Not in a polite behind-his-back way. She hated him to his face. Every time I brought him to a party, Sarah barely spoke. And once, after a few too many drinks, she looked right at him and said, “Claire has perfect taste in everything except men.” Derek’s face had gone purple. They’d barely seen each other after that. There was no way. So then why was he staying next door to her? What was he doing there? I took a breath and looked at the receptionist. “I need to see your security footage from that week.” The receptionist hesitated. “That’s… we’d need the owner’s permission.” “Then get it.” “And probably a police request.” “My best friend is missing.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “She’s been gone for a month. No body. No trace. Your hotel might be the last place she was seen alive. Do you think your owner is going to say no?” The receptionist went quiet. Then she picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later, the hotel manager took me to the security room. Small space. One computer. Two monitors. The manager pulled up the footage from the week Sarah checked in. I sat in the chair, my hands cold, and watched. Day one. Sarah walked into the lobby with her suitcase. She checked in at the front desk. She was wearing a yellow sundress, her hair down, laughing with the receptionist. My eyes burned. Then, in the bottom corner of the screen. A man walked in. Black polo shirt. Baseball cap. Sunglasses. The way he moved. The way he stood. It was Derek. He didn’t go to the front desk. He went to the seating area. Picked up a magazine. Pretended to read. But his eyes weren’t on the magazine. They were on Sarah. From check-in. To room key. To elevator. He watched her the whole time. A cold shiver ran down my spine. “Fast forward,” I said. The manager sped up the footage. Day one, afternoon. Sarah left the hotel to walk into town. Three minutes later, Derek followed. Same hat. Same sunglasses. Staying about a hundred feet back. Day one, evening. Sarah ate dinner at a restaurant next to the hotel. Derek sat outside at a bar across the street. He ordered a drink. His table had a clear line of sight to Sarah’s window. She never noticed him. Day two. Sarah went to the red rock trails. Derek followed. Sarah went to Tlaquepaque. Derek followed. Sarah stopped at a food truck to buy fry bread. Derek stood at a souvenir shop across the street, pretending to read a postcard. Every frame. Every shot. He was there. My hands started shaking. This wasn’t an affair. Affair partners walk together. They eat together. They touch. He never once spoke to her. She never once looked at him. This wasn’t cheating. This was stalking. “What about day two after that?” I asked, my voice dry. The manager pulled up the rest of the footage. Day two, late afternoon. Sarah checked out of the hotel, or, she left. She had her backpack, her phone in her hand. She looked happy. The footage showed her walking out the front door and heading north. Three minutes later. Derek came out the side door. He walked the same direction. And then the footage ended. The hotel cameras only covered about fifty yards. Fifty yards beyond that, I couldn’t see. “Is there any other footage?” I asked. The manager shook her head. “Just what’s here. Street cameras would be with the police.” I sat there for a long moment. Then I stood up, said thank you, and walked out. I stood outside the hotel and pulled up a map on my phone. Sarah had walked north. North from here went past a few houses, some empty fields, a parking lot. And then it hit a dead end. The base of the mountains. A stretch of undeveloped land. Rugged. Steep. Unforgiving. I stared at the map, my fingers frozen. She went there. He followed. And then she disappeared.

I rented a car and drove north for about forty minutes. The road ended at a patch of empty, scrubby land. The mountains rose up, steep and raw. Loose rocks. Dry brush. The wind was strong enough to push you sideways. This wasn’t a hiking trail. There were no signs, no paths. Just a dirt track that led nowhere. I stood at the edge and looked down. Boulders. Dead grass. A ravine carved out by flash floods. If someone fell from here. I didn’t let myself finish the thought. I started walking to the nearest houses. A tiny cluster of trailers and old cabins, a few families living scattered among the juniper trees. I showed Sarah’s photo to everyone I saw. No one remembered her. Door after door. Head shake after head shake. I was ready to give up when I saw her. A little girl. Maybe six or seven years old. Sitting under a juniper tree in a faded pink T-shirt, barefoot, playing with stones in the dirt. She was holding something. A phone. A pink case. With a cartoon rabbit on the back. My brain went blank. That case. I gave Sarah that case for her birthday. Pink. Rabbit. Because Sarah loved rabbits. I walked over slowly and crouched down, trying to keep my voice soft. “Hey, sweetheart. Where did you get that phone?” The girl looked up at me and pulled the phone behind her back. “Is it yours?” “No,” she whispered. Her eyes darted away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I stayed low. “That phone belongs to my best friend. She’s lost. I’m trying to find her. Can you tell me where you found it?” The girl pressed her lips together. Her eyes had something I rarely see in children. Fear. Not of me. Something older. “Did you see something scary?” I asked quietly. The girl’s lip trembled. She didn’t answer. I pulled out some cash and held it out to her. “If you tell me, I’ll give you this. You can buy anything you want.” The girl looked at the money. Then at me. Then she pointed toward the mountain. “Down there.” “Down where?” She pointed again. Toward the ravine. My heart dropped. “Did you find anything else?” The girl hesitated. Then slowly pulled something from behind her back. A crossbody bag. Fabric with little flowers. A small tassel hanging off the strap. Sarah’s bag. I knew this bag. She saw it at a mall in Chicago two years ago. Said it was too expensive. I bought it for her for Christmas. She cried. Now it was stained with mud and water. The fabric was starting to rot. I took it. My fingers were shaking. I opened it. Her lip balm. Her portable charger. A photo strip from a photo booth, the two of us, making stupid faces. Everything was still inside. If the bag was down there. If the phone was down there. Then where was Sarah? “Can you show me where you found these?” I asked. The girl shook her head hard. “I’ll give you more money.” She shook her head again. “Please.” My voice broke. “Please.” The girl looked at my face for a long time. Then she stood up, dusted off her shorts, and said, “Okay. I’ll show you.” She walked ahead. I followed. The path got narrower. The brush got thicker. The air started to smell wrong. My stomach turned. I kept repeating the same prayer in my head. I would rather she had slept with my husband. I would rather she had betrayed me. I would rather she had run off with him. Anything but this. The girl stopped. She turned around. Her face was pale. “What is it?” I asked. “That place.” She swallowed. “It smells bad.” I didn’t go any farther. I knew that if I kept going, if I found something, I wouldn’t be able to handle it alone. I needed professionals. I needed evidence. I took the girl’s hand, walked her back to the cabins, and called 911. It took two tries to get through. I explained everything. The missing person. The phone. The bag. The smell. The dispatcher said someone would come. But it would take time. I hung up and called a search and rescue team I’d looked up before I left Chicago. They worked with the county sheriff on mountain recoveries. They got there faster than the police. They said they’d be there by afternoon. Waiting was the worst part. I sat on a rock at the edge of the cabins, holding Sarah’s bag in my lap, not moving. I opened it and pulled out the photo strip. We were standing in front of our dorm, wearing our graduation gowns, arms around each other, laughing. Sarah was making a heart with her hands. We were twenty-two years old. Sarah was my college roommate. Four years. She had the bed on the left. I had the bed on the right. Every night we’d stay up talking across the gap until two or three in the morning. About the future. About boys. About everything. The night we graduated, we sat on the roof of our dorm with two beers and looked at the stars. That was the night she came up with the code. “Claire, we need a signal.” “If something ever happens to one of us, the other one hears that name and knows what to do.” I told her she was crazy. But I remembered. I never thought I’d actually use it. Now I was sitting in a patch of dirt in Arizona, holding her rotting bag, waiting for a search team to find her body.

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I am the Luna of the Silver Fang Pack. Tonight, my mate told me to kneel before his mistress and beg for her forgiveness. Because I “failed to produce an heir.” But he doesn’t know — the child he ordered thrown into the dungeon three days ago carries his bloodline. His only bloodline. …… …… The cold of the marble floor seeped through the thin fabric of my dress as Alaric’s command pressed down on me like a physical weight. An Alpha’s order. My wolf whimpered inside me, clawing against the compulsion to obey. “Kneel, Selene.” His voice — the same voice that had once whispered promises against my throat in the dark — was ice. Flat. Final. I looked up at him. Those steel-grey eyes I had loved since I was seventeen held nothing. No warmth. No recognition. As if seven years of being his Luna, his partner, the woman who rebuilt this pack from the ashes of war, meant nothing. Beside him, Vivienne smiled. She stood draped in crimson silk, her auburn hair cascading over one shoulder, her hand resting on Alaric’s forearm with the possessiveness of someone who had already won. “She’s not kneeling, darling,” Vivienne murmured, pressing closer to him. “I told you — she has no respect for your new Luna.” New Luna. The words hit me like silver through the chest. “Alaric.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “You can’t replace a Luna bond. The Moon Goddess—” “The Moon Goddess gave me a barren mate.” He cut me off without flinching. “The elders have approved the dissolution. You have no pup. You have no claim.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him everything — about the pregnancy I’d hidden because the pack doctor warned me that Alaric’s enemies would use it against him, about the child I’d secretly carried to term and hidden away with a trusted omega in the eastern wing, about the night three days ago when Vivienne’s guards “discovered” the baby and dragged the screaming infant to the dungeon on charges of being a rogue’s offspring smuggled into the packhouse. My child. His child. But the words died in my throat. Because Alaric was looking at me the way you look at something you’ve already discarded. “You have until dawn,” he said. “Take what you can carry and leave pack territory.” He turned his back. Seven years. I had given him seven years, a war victory, a rebuilt pack, and a son he didn’t know existed. And he gave me until dawn. I didn’t kneel. I walked out of the great hall with my spine straight and my wolf howling inside my ribcage. The pack members lining the corridor wouldn’t meet my eyes. Some of them I had healed. Some of them I had fed during the famine. One of them — Mara, the head omega — had tears streaming silently down her face. None of them spoke. Alpha’s word was law. And Alaric’s word had just declared nothing to me. I made it to the east corridor before my legs gave out. I pressed my back against the stone wall and slid to the floor, biting down on my fist to keep from screaming. The dungeon. My baby was still in the dungeon. I had tried to get to him twice. Both times, Vivienne’s personal guards had blocked the entrance. The second time, one of them had grabbed my arm hard enough to leave bruises and whispered, “The Alpha’s mistress says if you go near the rogue child again, she’ll have it put down.” Rogue child. My son. Eight weeks old, with Alaric’s grey eyes and my dark hair. A perfect, helpless little boy who didn’t understand why he was sleeping in a cold cell instead of his mother’s arms. “Luna?” I looked up. Mara was crouching in front of me, her round face blotched with crying. “Don’t call me that anymore,” I whispered. “You’ll always be my Luna.” She pressed something into my hand — a small iron key. “Third sub-level. The old servant’s passage. Vivienne’s guards don’t know about it.” I stared at the key. “You have to go now,” Mara urged. “Before the dawn patrol starts.” I closed my fist around the key so tightly the metal teeth bit into my palm. I was done being the dutiful mate. I was done waiting for Alaric to see my worth. Tonight I will get my son. And then I would burn everything Vivienne had built on my ashes.

The servant’s passage smelled like damp stone and forgotten things. It spiraled downward in a tight corkscrew, the steps worn smooth by generations of omegas who had used it to carry food and firewood to the lower levels without being seen by the Alpha’s household. I moved fast, one hand trailing the wall, the other clutching Mara’s key. My wolf senses cut through the darkness — I could hear the drip of water, the distant clang of the furnace, and somewhere below, so faint it nearly killed me, the thin cry of a baby. Kai. I’d named him in secret, in the small room where I’d given birth with only Mara and the pack’s retired healer present. Kai — it meant “keeper of the earth” in the old wolf tongue. A name for someone who would hold the ground when everything else fell apart. The passage emptied into a narrow corridor that ran parallel to the dungeon cells. Through the gaps in the stone, I could see the flicker of torchlight. One guard, sitting on a wooden stool, scrolling through his phone. One of Vivienne’s handpicked betas — young, sharp-jawed, wearing the new crimson armband that marked Vivienne’s personal detail. He hadn’t been part of this pack six months ago. None of Vivienne’s guards had. They’d arrived with her like a private army, and Alaric had simply… let them stay. I pressed myself against the wall and waited. My wolf calculated the distance, the angle, the risk. I was a Luna — my wolf was stronger than most females in the pack, stronger than some males. But I was also sleep-deprived, malnourished from the stress of hiding a pregnancy, and running on nothing but fury. Enough fury to level this whole dungeon. The guard stood up, stretched, and walked toward the far end of the corridor — probably to relieve himself. The moment his footsteps faded, I slipped the key into the servant’s door, pushed it open, and stepped into the dungeon. The cells down here hadn’t been used in years. Alaric’s father had kept prisoners of war in them during the border conflicts, but Alaric had sealed the level after taking the Alpha title. The air was frigid, smelling of iron and neglect. And there, in the last cell, on a pile of threadbare blankets that someone — Mara, I was sure — had smuggled down, was Kai. My son. He was awake, his tiny fists clenched, his grey eyes wide and searching. When he saw me, his face crumpled into the expression that all babies make when they finally see the person they’ve been crying for — half relief, half accusation. Where were you? “I’m here,” I breathed, fumbling with the cell lock. The key didn’t fit — this lock was different, newer, shinier. Vivienne had changed it. Panic flared white-hot. I yanked at the bars. They didn’t budge. Kai started to cry — a real cry, the kind that echoed. “Shh, baby, please—” I reached through the bars and touched his cheek. He was cold. His little body was cold. In a dungeon cell, in the middle of winter, my eight-week-old baby was lying on a stone floor with nothing but thin blankets. Something inside me cracked. Not broke — cracked. The way the earth cracks before a volcano. I gripped the bars and pulled. My wolf surged forward, pouring strength into my muscles. The metal groaned. I pulled harder, a scream building in my chest. The bar on the right bent — just enough to create a gap. I squeezed through, scraping skin off my shoulder, and gathered Kai into my arms. He was so light. Too light. Had they even been feeding him? I tucked him inside my coat, against my chest, and felt his tiny body shudder with a sob before he burrowed into my warmth and went still. “I’ve got you,” I whispered into his dark hair. “I’ve got you and I’m never letting go.” The guard’s footsteps were returning. I moved. Back through the gap, back through the servant’s door, back up the spiraling passage. Kai was silent now — some primal infant instinct telling him to be quiet while his mother ran. I emerged on the ground floor near the kitchens. The packhouse was dark and silent; it was past two in the morning. Through the window, I could see the moon — waning, but still bright enough to silver the snow outside. Take what you can carry and leave pack territory. Fine. I was leaving. But not before I made one stop. The Alpha’s study was on the second floor. I found out the code to the door — 0917, the date of our mating ceremony. The date Alaric had looked into my eyes under the full moon and sworn, before the Goddess and the entire pack, that I was his forever. Forever lasted seven years. The door clicked open. I slipped inside. The study was exactly as I remembered — oak desk, maps on the walls, the faint scent of Alaric’s cologne. For a moment, my wolf ached. This room smelled like safety. Like home. I crushed the feeling. I went straight to the hidden panel behind the bookshelf. Alaric didn’t know I knew about it — I’d discovered it three years ago while cleaning, but I’d never opened it, because I trusted him. I didn’t trust him anymore. The panel slid open, revealing a small safe. I entered the code — the same one, because Alaric was arrogant enough to use one code for everything — and the safe clicked open. Inside: documents. Stacks of them. Pack alliances, financial records, land treaties. And at the very bottom, a folder stamped with a red seal I didn’t recognize. I pulled it out and opened it. My blood went cold. It was a contract. Between Alaric and the Nightshade Pack — the most feared pack on the continent, led by Alpha Rhett Voss, a man known as the Butcher of the Eastern Territories. The contract was a trade agreement. Weapons, territory, safe passage through Silver Fang land. And the price? Me. The contract stated, in cold legal language, that upon dissolution of his mating bond, Alaric would deliver his former Luna to the Nightshade Pack as a “diplomatic gift” to ensure the alliance. Dated six months ago. Before Vivienne arrived. Before the accusations of barrenness. Before any of it. Alaric hadn’t fallen for Vivienne and decided to replace me. He had sold me to Rhett Voss first, and then manufactured a reason to get rid of me. Everything — the lies about my infertility, the arrival of Vivienne, the baby being dragged to the dungeon — it was all staged. All of it, so he could hand me over to a monster and call it politics. Kai whimpered against my chest. I folded the contract and tucked it into my coat. Then I walked out of the packhouse, into the snow, and didn’t look back.

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I hid my power. I chained the wolf within. All for him. My blood-bound mate, Lord Caius. But when I went into labor and the contractions hit, I was locked away in the abandoned altar beneath the castle. Magical restraints carved with confinement runes bound me tightly. The contractions were getting worse. I cried, begging Caius. “The baby’s coming, Caius. Please, get me to the Sanctuary… It’s our child…” He just stepped forward, elegant and cruel. He forced a black pill into my mouth. “The Blood-Binding Elixir,” he said. “It will delay your labor. Be a good girl. I have to make sure you give birth after Isadora.” Instantly, invisible threads seemed to tighten around my veins, strangling them. Blood soaked my dress. The pain was so intense my wolf spirit screamed, a howl trapped in my throat. “Why…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You are a wolf. An outsider,” Caius’s voice echoed in the cold abandoned altar. “Isadora carries the true heir. A pure-blood. My dead brother’s only legacy. Tonight is the Blood Moon’s Blessing, granted once in a thousand years. Only a child blessed tonight can become the next Lord. I won’t let you steal that from her.” Then he dissolved into black mist, leaving me behind to go to Isadora. I closed my eyes. The tiny life force thrashing inside me suddenly went still. I slipped into darkness. …… A tearing pain in my belly ripped me from the darkness. The cold stone of the magical array was hard against my back. I struggled to sit up. Another contraction slammed into me, harder than anything I’d ever felt. My wolf spirit whimpered in agony. “The baby… My baby is coming! Help me!” I screamed, biting back the pain. “Still putting on a show?” Lilith stepped into the dim light, her crimson eyes glittering with malice. Caius’s little sister. “Isadora’s potions never fail. She made that Blood-Binding Elixir herself. It will stop your labor for four hours, guaranteed.” She lifted a finger, her hand open in the air between us, aimed at my heart. She slowly made a fist. “The Ancestor’s Blessing, the title of Lord… it all belongs to Isadora!” A roar filled my ears. My own blood turned on me, boiling and surging backward through my veins until I thought they would burst. I gagged, coughing up a clot of blood that felt like ice. A deep chill settled over me. “I never wanted to be Lord!” I shook my head, desperate. “Don’t lie!” Lilith’s fingers snapped shut. Invisible magic choked me, forcing my head up to meet her gaze. “You think we’re all fools? The moment you learned the blessed child would be the next Lord, you started hurting Isadora! Your ambition is pathetic. Obvious.” She released me, and I collapsed. She stood over me, looking down. “You tricked Isadora. Lured her to the Star-Gazing Tower. You used your wolf strength to open the sun-shielding dome, didn’t you? You tried to burn her and the baby alive!” No… that’s not what happened! Isadora came to me that day. Crying. She said she missed Liam’s presence so much, and begged me to go with her to the tower, to feel closer to him. The moment we got there, she used her vampire speed to push me away, threw open the dome herself, and held her own arm in the sunlight until it burned. Then she clutched her stomach and screamed that I was trying to kill her child. … I had a thousand things to say, a thousand ways to defend myself. But the agony from the elixir intensified, and all I could do was curl into a ball. “Please… let me go… The baby is really coming…” I sobbed, reaching for her. Lilith slapped my hand away. “Why are you still acting?” “The Blood-Binding Elixir doesn’t fail,” she sneered. “You’ll wait your turn. After Isadora is finished, you can have your little mutt.” “No… please…” I struggled, but the magical restraints only bit deeper, the energy searing the skin on my wrists. “Isadora warned me you’d pull a stunt like this.” A dark red light glowed at Lilith’s fingertips. “If you try another one,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “I’ll drain every drop of blood from your body and leave you a dried-up corpse. Understand?” She motioned to the blood-servants behind her to watch me. Then she turned and left. As the heavy door slammed shut, I felt the warm, sticky wetness spread beneath me. Blood. So much blood. My dress was soaked, my limbs bound by magic. I couldn’t move. The lock clicked. The finality of it hit me. I was completely, utterly alone. Three months ago, Caius had taken my communication crystal, claiming it was to “prevent hunters from tracking me.” Now I knew the truth. He was cutting me off from everyone. I was a lone wolf with no pack, no status. I was never truly one of them. I tried to stop crying, to focus, but the pain made it impossible to breathe. A new wave of contractions hit, stronger than the last. My head spun. I was about to pass out. I remembered the nightmare seven months ago. Caius’s brother, the Lord, was ambushed and killed on a hunt. When Isadora announced she was pregnant, the whole coven breathed a sigh of relief. The bloodline would continue. Overnight, my child and I became a threat. A sin. They all watched me, terrified the outsider would harm Isadora. Every time she accused me of something, Caius believed her without hesitation. The pain made me thrash, fighting against the magical restraints until my wrists and ankles were burned raw and bleeding. And then, a miracle. The confinement runes on one of the restraints shattered. I dragged myself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood. I pounded on the door with my free, bleeding hand. “Please! The baby’s coming!” “Shut up in there!” a guard yelled back. “Wait until Lady Isadora is done!” Then I heard voices. A magical projection. Caius and Lilith. “How is Isadora?” Lilith asked. Caius’s voice was tired. “Another two hours, at least. How is Rowan? Is she behaving?” “Don’t even ask,” Lilith scoffed. “She’s locked in the abandoned altar, and she’s still putting on a performance. Crying that she’s in labor. What an actress.” Her tone turned venomous. “Wait, Caius. Are you actually worried about her? Don’t forget she’s the one who stole the labor-inducing potion from Isadora’s room, trying to force an early birth to steal the blessing.” “No… I never stole anything…” I whispered to the empty room. “I haven’t forgotten,” Caius’s voice was laced with disgust. “Isadora promised me the elixir would only delay the birth, not harm her. Let her suffer. It’s a lesson she needs to learn. Nothing can happen to Isadora, or to Liam’s child.” The voices cut off. The abandoned altar was silent again. I collapsed on the floor, cold to the bone. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the despair.

I don’t know how long I lay there. The pool of blood beneath me grew larger. I was fading, drifting away, when the door suddenly burst open. “Gods above!” a familiar voice cried out. Healer Alistair. The Alucard family’s head healer. The only one who had treated me throughout my pregnancy. He rushed to my side, dropping to his knees in my blood. His trembling hands felt for my pulse. “Lady Rowan!” His face was white with horror. “What in the gods’ name are you doing down here?! Lady Lilith told me you were merely anxious and resting!” “Lilith—” I gasped. “She locked me in here—” “Don’t talk.” Alistair lifted my blood-soaked skirt to check me. His expression turned to one of pure terror. “Gods, you’re fully dilated! Your water has broken… and you’re hemorrhaging! We have to move. Now!” He tried to use his communication crystal. The screen flashed: NO SIGNAL. “Damn this shielding matrix!” he swore. He looked at me, his eyes wide with urgency. “My Lady, I have to get you to the Healing Sanctuary. Right now.” The vampire guards outside tried to stop him as he carried me out. “Halt! Lady Lilith said—” “Lady Lilith said WHAT?” Alistair roared, his voice filled with a healer’s authority. “To let a woman in labor bleed to death in the abandoned altar? Get out of my way!” The guards actually flinched and stepped back. Alistair stumbled through the halls with me in his arms, a gruesome trail of blood marking our path. “Hold on,” he panted. “The top floor has the best equipment. We’re almost there.” The castle stairs seemed to stretch on forever. Every step was a new wave of agony. My vision was blurring, but I could feel my baby fighting, struggling to be born. “How much longer?” I whispered. “Two minutes,” Alistair said, his eyes fixed on the top of the spiral staircase. “Just two more minutes.” We finally reached the top floor. He kicked open the door to the private, luxurious Healing Sanctuary— It was open. We burst inside, and then we both froze. The room was empty. The state-of-the-art magical medical equipment—all of it was gone. The life-monitoring arrays, the shadowless light orbs, the auto-regeneration blood pool, even the birthing bed. Gone. Nothing remained but four bare walls and a few shattered power crystals on the floor. “This is impossible,” Alistair whispered, standing stunned in the doorway. “Where is the equipment?” Footsteps echoed from the hall. Lilith appeared, flanked by her servants. “Oh, the equipment?” she said breezily. “It’s all been moved to Isadora’s suite.” Alistair’s face went even paler. “What?” “Isadora is birthing the one true heir of the Alucard line,” Lilith said, her words sharp. “A pure-blood. She gets our best resources. Obviously.” “But Lady Rowan is also in labor!” Alistair yelled. “She needs an emergency intervention!” Lilith glanced at me, then shrugged. “Stop the act, Rowan. The elixir is harmless. You’re just desperate for attention. Trying to disrupt Isadora’s moment.” I stared at her perfectly made-up face. I suddenly remembered a year ago, when I gave her a rare, ancient book from my collection to help her with her blood magic. She had hugged me, her voice filled with joy. “Rowan, you’re like a real sister to me!” How ironic.

Alistair laid me on the bare floor of the empty sanctuary and ran out to find supplies. He came back two minutes later. Empty-handed. His face was ashen. “The potion storage is empty,” he stammered. “Not even a basic hemostatic herb. No bandages. Nothing.” Lilith let out a small, cruel laugh. “Oh, those? Also sent to Isadora. Caius’s orders.” “This is murder!” Alistair shouted. “She’ll die! The child will die!” “Then that is their fate,” Lilith said with a cold shrug. “The coven comes first.” Alistair knelt beside me, taking my hand. “My Lady, I am so sorry,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I have no equipment, no potions, nothing.” “Then use your hands!” I screamed, grabbing his collar. “Use anything!” “I can’t risk it. Without a magical barrier, without tools to stop the bleeding—” “Enough of this pathetic drama! Take him away!” Lilith suddenly barked. Two guards entered the room, grabbed Alistair by the arms, and began to drag him out. “Listen to me!” Alistair yelled back at me. “Remember the pressure point I showed you? The one on your abdomen? Push on it! It will stimulate the contractions! You have to push with everything you have on the next one—” The door slammed shut. It was just me and Lilith again. She took out a scrying mirror made of blood-crystal and opened a channel. “Caius?” Her voice was instantly wounded and frail. “You need to see this. Your precious mate is putting on another show for us.” She turned the mirror towards me. I saw Caius’s face. He was standing in the bright hallway of another, fully equipped sanctuary. His expensive clothes were disheveled, his brow furrowed with exhaustion. When he saw me lying in a pool of my own blood, a flicker of shock and horror crossed his face before it was replaced by ice. “What is going on with her?” His voice was tight, cold. “What do you think? It’s an act,” Lilith said casually. “She’s bled a little, but Alistair is always so dramatic. I think she’s just trying to force you to come to her.” Caius’s jaw tightened as he stared at me through the mirror. Just then, a weak voice called from his side of the connection. Isadora. “Caius… who is that…? Is it Rowan? Is she… is she blaming me again?” “It’s nothing. Don’t be distracted,” Caius soothed her instantly, but his eyes on me grew colder. “Caius!” I screamed with my last bit of strength. “Help me… the baby… the baby is really coming!” “Rowan, stop it,” he said, his expression unchanged. “Isadora is struggling. The Ancestor’s Blessing… it’s causing a bloodline rejection. The healers are fighting to save her. She is the coven’s priority.” “But I—” “I’ll deal with you when I’m done here,” he cut me off coldly. Through the mirror, I saw him turn to stroke Isadora’s forehead. “You deserve to pay for what you’ve done.” The mirror went black. Lilith put it away, looking pleased. “See?” she said, squatting down in front of me, her eyes filled with triumph and cruelty. “In Caius’s heart, what are you? A pathetic lone wolf who slept her way into his bed for protection. A birthing tool. And now, you’re not even useful for that.” She stood up, her voice a final judgment. “You thought marrying into the Alucard Coven was your ticket to the top? You and your mutt are just trash that needs to be taken out.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at her anymore. My body was soaked in blood, but my hand secretly moved to the necklace around my neck. The moonstone pendant my father gave me. My last resort. They all thought I was just a lone wolf. No pack. A nobody running a broken-down bookstore. Of course they did. They couldn’t sense the royal blood sleeping inside me. The Alpha blood I had sealed away. I loved him, so I chose to give up my birthright. What a stupid joke that turned out to be. “If you are ever in danger from which there is no escape,” my father had told me on the day I left my pack, “crush this. Every wolf of our kind will feel your call.” My fingers found the tiny trigger inside the pendant. Lilith’s voice was still droning on. “…Isadora always said you were manipulative. I actually defended you. I was such a fool. A stray wolf who married for power. Who knows what you were really plotting.” With the last of my strength, I crushed the trigger. There was no sound. No flash of light. But I knew. The signal had been sent. “In half an hour,” my father’s voice echoed in my memory, “my Royal Guard will tear this world apart to find you.” But my baby… Could my child hold on until my people arrived?

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The Obsidian Claw Pack lives by one cruel, unspoken rule. If an Alpha wants to take a chosen mate, the original Mate must publicly surrender her title. She has to take the Luna’s moonstone necklace off her own neck and place it upon the new woman. The day Julian brought Vanessa to our territory, the whole Pack was waiting for me to lose my mind from the agony of his betrayal. I was his Fated Mate. We’d been in love for seven years. I survived bloody trials to earn this necklace. I took a lethal strike from a rival Alpha meant for his heart. Everyone was sure I’d rather die from the agony of a damaged bond than give up my title. But when Vanessa showed off the temporary Mate mark on her neck, I just calmly took off the necklace. And put it on her myself. Julian swirled the wine in his glass. His predatory eyes were filled with arrogance and satisfaction. “Valerie,” he said. “You’re finally learning your place.” I looked down, my hand on my now-bare collarbone. I chose to obey. But arrogant Julian was a fool. He had no idea. A month ago, a fever brought all my memories back. I wasn’t a Rogue. I’m the lost daughter of the Northern Alpha King. Missing for seven years. In three days, my brother’s Royal Guard is coming to the territory border. They’re coming to take me home. …… It was the Obsidian Claw Pack’s full moon feast. Vanessa tilted her long neck, showing off the ceremonial moonstone necklace to the high-ranking she-wolves around her. Gasps went through the crowd. Then their mocking eyes landed on me in the corner. Julian sat in the Alpha’s seat, his dark eyes flicking my way now and then. After basking in their admiration, Vanessa sauntered over to me, a glass of blood-moon wine in hand. Her eyes fell to my wrist. To the lapis lazuli bracelet he had made for me three years ago. The Moon Goddess runes carved inside were the only thing keeping my wolf’s agonized whimpers over her Mate’s rejection from ripping out of my throat. The only thing keeping me from breaking down in front of them all. Vanessa chuckled, leaning close to my ear. “Valerie, you gave up the necklace. Don’t you think you should give up the rest of the Luna’s jewelry, too?” She reached out, trying to snatch the bracelet. I flinched away. In a flash, she sloshed the deep red wine from her glass all over my dress. A glaring crimson stain bloomed on the white silk. The room gasped. Vanessa stumbled, dropping her glass. It shattered on the floor. She let out a sharp cry, dragging her palm across a shard of glass. A thin red line welled up instantly. “Valerie… why did you push me?” She clutched the nearly invisible cut, her eyes welling with tears as if on cue. “I just wanted to talk to you…” The hall went dead silent. Every wolf’s eyes were on us. For the past seven years, I’d thrown out any she-wolf who tried to get near Julian or challenge me. No mercy. I once threw an Omega who tried to seduce him into the pool in front of the whole pack. This time, before I could even speak, the Alpha’s power slammed into me. It forced my wolf to her knees. A sharp pain shot through our mate bond as it was violently tugged. I bit my tongue to keep from collapsing. “Valerie.” Julian’s voice came from behind me, cold as ice. He strode over, pulling Vanessa into his arms. He examined her hand, which was already healing, his brow furrowed. Then he looked up at me. The eyes I once loved more than anything were filled with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you now? I just brought Vanessa here. Why are you going after her?” His Alpha command intensified. His tone was laced with accusation, his concern entirely for her. I met his disgusted gaze, fighting the dull ache of our bond being rejected. I didn’t say a word. I just slowly unclasped the bracelet from my wrist. I heard my wolf let out a hopeless whimper. As the pack watched in shock, I held the bracelet out to Vanessa. “You like it? It’s yours. I’m sorry, I lost my balance.” Julian’s brow twitched. A flash of shock in his eyes. Vanessa froze too, forgetting to cry. I took out a handkerchief, wiped the wine from my hands, and knelt down. Every eye in the hall was glued to my back. I picked up the scattered shards of glass. The sharp edges cut my fingers. Drops of blood seeped out, mixing with the red wine on my dress. I couldn’t tell where the wine ended and my blood began. When I was done, I stood up and looked at Julian. “My dress is ruined. I’m going upstairs to change.” I turned and walked to the second floor, my back straight. Julian’s eyes never left my back. Back in my room, I shut the door. I leaned against it and closed my eyes. Julian Thorne. For seven years, my loyalty was yours. Today, that devotion dies.

My phone lit up. A message from my brother. “Val, the Royal Guard is moving. East border. Three days. Dawn.” “What Julian owes you… I’ll make him repay it. A hundred times over.” I stared at the words, my eyes suddenly hot. I traced the word “brother” on the screen. Just as I was about to reply, the door was thrown open. Julian stormed in, snatched the phone from my hand, and threw it on the rug. I looked up. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were a storm of warring emotions—scrutiny, suspicion, and a flicker of something I couldn’t name. Anxiety. “Valerie.” His thumb dug into my jaw. “What was that tonight?” “What was what?” I asked. “You gave her the necklace. You gave her the bracelet.” His eyes darkened. “You’re not going to fight?” I stared at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” My voice was flat, empty. “A graceful, obedient former Luna.” Julian’s pupils contracted. He stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly let go, pulling me into his arms. The scent of pine and forest surrounded me. A smell I once thought I could breathe in forever. But now, it was tainted by the cloying, sickly sweet perfume of Vanessa. The mix made my stomach turn. Julian lowered his head, his lips brushing my ear. “Valerie, I know you were wronged today. But her wolf was nearly shattered saving me. I owe her this. As long as you behave, there will always be a room for you in the Pack House.” It was a promise. An insult disguised as charity. He thought I should be grateful. A frantic knock came at the door. Vanessa’s weak voice drifted through the wood. “Julian, my wolf feels sick… Where are you… Can you come be with me?” Julian’s body went rigid. He let me go. Without hesitation. Without another word. He walked to the door, then paused. “Oh,” he said, his back still to me. “That moon-silk gown in your closet. I want Vanessa to wear it to the alliance banquet tomorrow.” My breath caught. The moon-silk gown. My precious from our mating ceremony five years ago. He had spent a fortune on the world’s last remaining moon-silk. Every stitch was infused with moonlight and the blood of our vows. It was his promise that I would be his one and only mate for life. Last year, I banished a new Omega from the territory just for getting a smudge on that dress. Julian had praised me then, saying what was mine, no one else could touch. Now, he was telling me to give it to Vanessa. My nails dug into my palms, reopening the cuts from the broken glass. Blood welled up again. I looked at his expectant face and slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll have it sent over tomorrow.” Julian’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. Then he opened the door and hurried to a crying Vanessa. I heard his soft voice comforting her down the hall, followed by the click of the room next door closing. I walked to my desk, pulled out a calendar, and picked up a red marker. I drew a heavy X over today’s date. Two days until my brother comes for me. I slipped out of the wine-stained dress and stepped into the bathroom. Hot water streamed over my body. I stared at my pale face in the mirror. Below my right breast, a vicious old scar crossed my ribs. Five years ago, a rival Alpha swiped for Julian’s heart. I jumped in front of him. The pack healer said another inch and I would have been dead. Behind my left shoulder blade, there’s a dark spot that will never fade. Two years ago, during the moonstone mine border dispute, a silver wolfsbane bullet went through me. It won him a mine worth millions a year. … There were other scars. Too many. Seven years ago, he found me injured, with no memory, and took me in. I repaid him with seven years of loyalty and love. Julian. My debts to you are paid. We are even.

The next morning, I had a maid take the dress box to Vanessa’s room. Ten minutes later, the sharp sound of scissors echoed from the end of the hall. I was walking by with a cup of tea when I saw her. Vanessa was sitting in front of a mirror, a pair of scissors in her hand. The moon-silk gown was spread across her lap. She was cutting it, blade by blade, slicing off the intricate moon-flower pattern on the hem. “This style is ancient,” she sneered to her maids. “How could Julian let me, the future Luna, wear this? I’d be a laughingstock at the banquet.” She looked up and saw me. A flicker of defiance in her eyes. “Don’t you think so, Valerie?” I didn’t answer. I carried my tea and walked toward the medical wing. Five years ago, Julian survived an assassination attempt by a Rogue on the border. The Pack Healer removed the silver wolfsbane bullet, but the toxins had seeped into his blood. When it flared up, his wolf would tear himself apart in agony. For seven years, every single morning, I came here to brew a wolfsbane suppressant. Three hours later, the deep green potion bubbled in its vial, smelling of cool moon-petal herbs. I wrapped the bottle in a cloth and walked toward his study. I was still thirty feet away when I heard voices. It was his Beta, Cedric. “Julian, moving Vanessa into the master suite… isn’t it too soon? The pack sees everything the Luna has done for you these seven years. If you keep this up, she’s really going to leave.” A short silence. Then Julian laughed, a cold, soft sound. “Leave? Where would she go? She was a stray I found half-frozen in a blizzard. I’m going to break that pride of hers. Make her understand who the real Alpha is. Once she accepts reality and learns her place, I’ll give her a spot in the pack. Make sure she’s taken care of.” The Beta sighed. “If you keep humiliating her, don’t you worry she’ll finally give up on you?” Julian scoffed. “Give up? The only thing Valerie knows is how to cling to me. She’s like a vine that can’t survive without its tree. She would never leave me.” The tray in my hands tilted. The scalding potion spilled over the back of my hand. An angry red mark bloomed on my skin. I felt nothing. I calmly placed the tray outside his door, walked to the sink at the end of the hall, and poured three hours of painstaking work down the drain. Just then, Vanessa appeared, wearing the butchered moon-silk gown. The hem was ragged, like a dog had chewed it. She saw me and a smirk spread across her face. “Oh, Valerie, I forgot to tell you. Julian wants me to move into the top-floor master suite tonight. He says it will help my wolf heal. You’ll need to get your things out by today.” The master suite of the Pack House. I had lived there for five years. It was filled with every trace of my life with Julian. I looked at Vanessa’s gloating face and nodded. “Okay.” I walked into the master suite. I didn’t take any jewelry. I didn’t take the diamonds, emeralds, or rare gems Julian had bought for me. I only took the tattered clothes I was wearing when I first arrived. As I was about to leave, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My brother. “Val, your commoner file in the Werewolf Council archives has been wiped clean. Your royal status will be restored. Soon, no one will ever be able to bother you again.” I changed into my old, worn-out clothes and walked out of the master suite. Then, I moved into the darkest, dustiest corner of the Pack House: the basement storage room. It was a forgotten junk room. Not even the lowest-ranking Omega would willingly spend a minute here. I sat there, watching the northern stars through the grimy window. Twelve hours left until I leave the Obsidian Claw territory.

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In the midst of the Full Moon Banquet, Damien Blackwood was caught in the act of secretly mating with someone. The door was slammed open, and the room was thick with the scent of desire. Damien lay on the bed, clothes in disarray, chest rising and falling, a woman’s chemise draped across him. My best friend Elena had brought me over at that exact moment. She covered her mouth and gasped, “Aurelia, isn’t that your chemise?” All eyes turned to me at once. Damien slowly sat up, running his fingers through his messy hair. “Aurelia and I… we’ve been in love for months. I just didn’t expect her to be so desperate today. She drugged me, and then we…” In our pack, mating without an official ceremony is a grave crime. His words were a death sentence for me. Luna Vivien charged me with breaking pack law. I was sentenced to thirty lashes with a silver whip and thrown into the wolf prison, where I died in agony. That same day, Elena and Damien’s mating ceremony was held. On the seventh day after my death, Damien stood before my grave and threw that chemise into the fire. “Aurelia, I wronged you. It all happened too suddenly. I had no choice but to use you as an excuse. Blame your bad fate.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the Full Moon Banquet. The music from the banquet jolted me awake. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I realized I had been reborn, back at the Full Moon Banquet. My gaze cut across the hall to the east room. Soon, Damien’s secret mating would be exposed. The nightmare from my last life was about to replay. My maid Lily looked at me, worried. “Aurelia, what’s wrong?” I took Lily to a quiet corner. After a few whispered words, her expression turned serious. She nodded at once and rushed off. When I returned to the banquet, a werewolf ran up to the Luna. “Luna, in the east room, someone is secretly mating.” Luna led the crowd toward the east room. Just then, Elena walked over like she did in my last life and grabbed my hand, trying to pull me along. I didn’t move. Elena said, “Aurelia, what’s wrong? I heard something happened. Let’s go take a look.” I looked at her slightly messy hair, and a wave of disgust rose in my chest. In my last life, she said the banquet was too noisy, so she had been outside taking a walk, that was why she came in from outside. Turns out, she had been secretly mating with Damien. When they were discovered, she rushed out of the room and tried to pin everything on me. This time, I wouldn’t let them get away with it. I said, “It’s nothing. Let’s go. I hear there’s a surprise.” Inside the room, Damien lay on the bed just like in my last life, clothes in disarray, a chemise resting on his chest. Someone said, “Oh my God…” “Doesn’t Damien not have a mate yet?” Damien clearly didn’t expect to be caught like this. His face flushed as he sat on the bed, clutching that chemise tightly in his hand. Elena looked at me in disbelief. “Aurelia, isn’t that your chemise?” Her sharp cry made everyone turn their eyes to me. As soon as she finished, she seemed to realize she had said something wrong. She covered her mouth and looked at me with fake apology. I said nothing. Damien looked at me with a tender gaze. Blushing, he hurried to explain to everyone, “Aurelia and I… we’ve been in love for months. I just didn’t expect her to be so desperate today. She drugged me, and then we…” Just like in my last life, with one sentence, he destroyed me completely.. The way people looked at me turned strange. Whispers spread through the crowd as they pointed at me. “Oh my God, who would’ve thought Aurelia is so shameless.” “Luna even praised her as the finest she-wolf in the pack. Didn’t expect her to do something as low as drugging someone.”

I forced myself to stay calm, looked at Damien, and let out a cold laugh. “Damien, you can eat whatever you want, but you can’t just say anything you like. Whoever you were mating with, don’t pin it on me.” “We’ve never spoken more than ten words to each other. Where did this so-called loss of control even come from?” “Besides, Ashford family is a noble bloodline of the pack. Whenever I go out, I am always followed by a group of maids. I never have the chance to be alone with you, let alone mate with you.” “The Ashford doesn’t allow you to smear it.” As soon as I finished speaking, the crowd started to react. That was right. The Ashford family was one of the oldest and purest werewolf bloodlines in the pack, second only to the Alpha family in status. Their rules were strict beyond imagination. A she-wolf from Ashford would never do something like this. Damien’s expression turned ugly. His face shifted pale as he clenched that chemise tightly in his hand. Elena stood beside me, pretending to be my close friend, and said softly, “But Aurelia, didn’t you always like Damien?” “At the last Autumn Hunt Festival, you praised him for his strength and said he had a bright future. Everyone there knew you admired him.” “And that fabric of the chemise… it was a gift from the Luna. No one else has it except you.” Her words were clearly pointed. The fabric was a gift from the Luna, and only I had it, so that chemise should have been mine. But I just let out a light laugh. “You’re right. But Elena, did you forget something? On your birthday, you said you liked the color of this fabric. I specially made a same to you.” “There isn’t only one piece of it in the pack. You have one too.” Elena’s face turned pale, and her voice became sharp. “What are you talking about? A she-wolf’s purity is important. Are you trying to say I have something going on with Damien?” “I don’t even know Damien. How could it be mine?” I pressed forward step by step. “Yes, a she-wolf’s purity is important. You knew that very well, and yet without even looking closely, you shouted in front of everyone that it was my chemise.” “Those who know you would think you are just impulsive. Those who don’t might think you and Damien are hiding something and trying to drag me down with you.” Tears fell from Elena’s eyes. “Aurelia, I’m just an orphan. Alpha took me in out of pity. You gave me that chemise made from such fine fabric, I’ve never even worn it. How could it end up in another man’s hands?” A female wolf couldn’t hold it in and spoke up. “Aurelia, you’ve gone too far. Elena is your friend, and yet you are treating her like this.” I looked at her. “I’m bullying her? If she said that chemise was yours, would you still gladly accept it?” The she-wolf was instantly speechless, then quickly said, “But Elena already said it. That fabric was given to you by the Luna. Who else could it belong to?” I glanced at the doubtful faces around me and let out a laugh. “That piece of fabric, I used it to make a dress. The remaining was used to make two chemises. One was given to Elena, and one is still at my home.” “The one in Damien’s hands is definitely not mine. I can take mine out. Can Elena take hers out?” Elena’s face went pale, and she didn’t dare say a word. Damien quickly stepped forward to smooth things over. “Alright, Aurelia, I know it was my fault. I shouldn’t have drunk the wine knowing it was drugged and then secretly mated with you. I apologize.”

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