Ayla’s cries ripped through the heavy silence, piercing my ears as Clinton dragged me by my hair across the packhouse floor.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming, my scalp on fire where his fingers gripped my roots. He wasn’t being gentle—no, this was a punishment!

Each step he dragged me by my hair felt like he was trying to break me down, reminding me of just how powerless I was in his eyes.

"Clinton!" I gasped, "Let go!"

But he didn’t. He just pulled harder.

The pack had gathered for an “important announcement,” but I knew what this was. The mask was off now. This wasn’t a meeting. It was a public execution.

I tried to hold Ayla tighter in my arms, her tiny body trembling against mine. She was crying, and the sound of her distress was tearing me apart. But Clinton didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about anything except his own damn ego.

"You think you’re worthy of being Luna?" he sneered over his shoulder. "You’ve failed me, Lalaine. You failed this pack."

My heart thundered in my chest. My blood boiled. I had loved him once—had believed in him—believed that he could be the man I saw in him before. But now? He was a monster, and I couldn’t recognize him anymore.

His grip on my hair tightened, and I bit back a sob. He was dragging me like I was nothing—like I meant nothing. My knees were buckling with every step, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall.

The pack was murmuring now. I could hear their whispers, the judgment in their eyes. But they didn’t know. None of them did. They didn’t see the months of manipulation, the promises he’d broken, the way he’d turned his back on me when things got tough. They didn’t know the lies he’d fed me.

Finally, we reached the center of the grand hall. Clinton shoved me forward, and I stumbled, barely managing to keep my footing.

Ayla’s cries were louder now, her small hands reaching out, trying to grab for me.

“Shh, baby,” I whispered, my voice breaking. "M-mommy’s here."

But Clinton wasn’t done.

He turned to the pack, his face twisted into a smug smile. "Everyone, gather round! I’ve got an announcement that’s going to change everything."

The murmurs quieted down as Clinton walked over to the far side of the hall. And there she was.

Dahlia.

She was standing there with that fake smile plastered across her face, holding a baby in her arms. A baby boy. My stomach lurched at the sight.

Clinton’s hand rested possessively on her back, like he was trying to stake his claim in front of everyone. “This,” his voice booming through the room, “is my son. The future Alpha.”

I froze. My breath hitched. The world tilted beneath me, my vision blurring with anger.

His son. His son.

I looked down at Ayla, and something inside me snapped. This wasn’t about a son. This was about control. About power. About tearing me apart to get exactly what he wanted.

Clinton didn’t even look at me as he introduced Dahlia to the pack. “And this,” he continued, as if I wasn’t even standing there, holding Ayla in my arms, “is Dahlia. The new Luna.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. It was like the ground beneath me vanished.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Lalaine has been incapable of providing me with the son I need,” Clinton said, his voice dripping with venom. "I need someone who can give me strength. Someone who can actually lead this pack beside me."

I felt my chest tighten, a lump forming in my throat. He was belittling me. All those years, all those promises, and now he was publicly humiliating me.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I kept them at bay. I refused to give Clinton the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Not here, not in front of all these people.

I opened my mouth, ready to shout at him, to call him out for the coward he was, but before I could make a sound, he stepped forward again. His voice rang out, smooth and full of authority, like he thought he was untouchable.

"From this day forward," Clinton said, his cold eyes scanning the pack, "Dahlia is your Luna. My son is the future of this pack. And Lalaine..." He turned his gaze back to me, that sharp, empty look cutting through me. "Lalaine will no longer be part of this family. She’s weak. She failed me, but she can still prove her loyalty..."

I froze. I didn't know what he meant by "prove her loyalty," but a sinking feeling in my gut told me it wouldn’t be anything good.

He motioned for someone behind him. And then—there it was. The dagger.

Clinton handed it to me like it was some sort of twisted gift. The sharp blade caught the light, gleaming under the chandeliers. My stomach twisted into a knot.

"Prove your loyalty," he said, his voice soft but deadly. "Get rid of Ayla."

The words hit me like a slap. I didn’t even have time to process it. I couldn’t even breathe for a second. My heart skipped in my chest, my hands shaking as I held Ayla closer to me, her cries still echoing in my ears.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. I heard some mutters, whispers of disbelief. But no one moved. No one spoke up. They all just stood there, watching. Waiting.

I could feel their eyes on me, the pressure, the judgment. They all knew what Clinton was asking. They all knew it wasn’t just about proving loyalty. It was a test. A test to see how far I was willing to go to obey him.

I couldn't do it. I wouldn't.

I took a deep breath, my chest tight with fear and fury. "I won’t do it." My voice came out hoarse, but strong. I wasn't backing down. Not this time.

Clinton’s eyes darkened, his lip curling in disgust. The room went cold. There was no hesitation, no remorse in his face. He was just waiting.

"Refusal is treason," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You think you can defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?"

I stood there, shaking, my daughter held tight in my arms. Ayla’s little hands were clutching at me, her cries growing louder, more frantic. She didn’t understand any of this. All she knew was that her mom was about to be forced to make the worst decision of her life.

And it wasn’t just Clinton’s words that terrified me. It was the look in his eyes. The way he was looking at me like I was a problem to be solved, a thorn in his side that he was ready to remove.

"Clinton, please," I whispered, my voice cracking as I tried to reason with him. "She’s just a baby. Please—"

But before I could finish, he lunged forward. His hand shot out, grabbing me by the wrist, yanking me to the side. Ayla’s terrified wail pierced through the tense air as I stumbled while my heart racing.

He was about to make his move. I knew it. I could see it in his eyes. He was ready to end me.

I could feel him coming closer. His breath on my neck, his rage like a storm crashing down on me. But then something inside me snapped. Something primal. Something fierce.

Instinct kicked in. Without thinking, I yanked the dagger from his hand, the blade cold and sharp in my grip.

In one swift motion, I turned and slashed at him. His arm.

The sound of the blade slicing through his flesh was sickening. He screamed out in pain, stepping back in shock as blood started to pour from the gash.

Murmurs erupted.

"Did she—? She actually cut him!"

"She's lost it, she's really gone mad!"

"The Alpha’s hurt. He’s hurt badly!"

"She's gonna pay for this…”

I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I just turned and ran.

I held Ayla tighter, clutching her to my chest as I sprinted toward the door. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my ears. No one moved to stop me.

Clinton was still cursing behind me, his rage echoing off the walls, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.

I needed to get out. I needed to protect my daughter.

The dagger still clutched in my hand, my mind racing. There was no going back now. I'd crossed a line. But I would fight to my last breath before I let him take Ayla.

My feet hit the ground, bare and cold against the rough earth. The forest loomed ahead, dark and thick, but I didn’t care. I didn’t think. I just ran.

Ayla was still crying in my arms, her tiny body shaking as I clutched her to my chest. Her fear mixed with mine, and I could feel her little hands gripping me, her tears soaking into my skin. It made my heart ache, but I couldn't slow down. Not now.

Behind me, Clinton's voice rang out, seething with fury. "Find her!" he bellowed. "Track her down! The traitor will not escape!"

I didn’t need to hear more. The pack warriors were already on their way. They were fast, efficient, and loyal to Clinton. They’d catch me, and they’d drag me back—if I didn’t get far enough, fast enough.

The forest was tearing me apart—branches slapping at my face, sharp roots stabbing into my feet—but I couldn’t stop running. Ayla’s tiny cries were muffled against my chest as I clutched her tighter, trying to shield her from the chaos around us.

Behind me, Clinton’s furious roars echoed, his voice carrying through the trees like a death sentence.

“Don’t let her escape!”

The sound of boots and snapping branches grew closer. They were hunting me like prey, and I had no idea where I was going—only that I had to keep moving.

“Mommy’s here, baby,” I whispered, choking back my own sobs. “I’ve got you. We’re gonna be okay.”

I stumbled, my legs screaming in pain, but I forced myself to keep going. Ayla’s soft whimpers broke me more than the fear pounding in my chest. She deserved better than this.

Up ahead, the trees started to thin, and I saw an open clearing. Relief flooded me for a second, until I spotted the figures waiting there.

Men. Humans. Hunters.

They had rifles slung over their shoulders, their eyes scanning the treeline like they were expecting trouble. And then they saw me.

“Stop right there!” one of them shouted, raising his gun.

My knees buckled, and I fell hard to the ground, clutching Ayla like my life depended on it—because it did.

“Please!” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Please, help us! Don’t hurt her!”

The man who’d spoken stepped forward. He was big—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, eyes like ice. His gun was steady, trained on me like I was a threat.

“You’re a wolf,” he said, his tone flat.

“Yes,” I admitted, tears streaking down my face. “But I’m not here to hurt you. I just need help. My daughter… she’s just a baby. Please, they’re coming for us.”

The hunters exchanged uneasy glances. One of them spat on the ground, his glare cutting into me.

“Why should we believe you?”

“I swear I’m not lying!” I begged. “They’ll kill her. You can’t let them take her.”

The leader’s eyes flicked to Ayla, who was sobbing quietly now, her tiny fists gripping my torn shirt. Something shifted in his expression—hesitation, maybe even pity—but he didn’t lower his gun.

Then the howls came.

Low, guttural, and way too close. My blood ran cold. Clinton’s men had caught up.

“Hand her over!” a voice boomed from the woods.