Mireya’s POV

It took a full day before I found the strength to pull myself out of bed. Every muscle protested, heavy with exhaustion and grief, but it was the shame—the quiet, suffocating humiliation—that weighed the most. Still, I knew staying curled up in that room wouldn’t undo what had been done. If I stayed still, I would sink. I needed motion. Distraction. A reason to keep breathing that wasn’t tied to survival alone.

Before Alpha Darius. Before Deathwell Pack ever became my world.

I had worked once—quietly, steadily—as an assistant in a small clinic outside pack territory. It had been simple work, honest work. When I left five years ago, there had been promises made. A place for me, if I ever needed to return. At the time, I had never imagined I would.

Now, it was all I had.

If that promise still existed, it could be my foothold. A way to earn coin. To slowly chip away at the absurd “debt” they had dumped onto me like a curse. I didn’t need comfort. I needed a beginning.

So I called.

The voice that answered recognized my name. There was hesitation, yes—but also warmth. Familiarity. It reminded me, painfully, that not everyone recoiled at the mention of Ashbourne. I was invited to come in. When I stepped back through the clinic doors, the scent of herbs and clean linen wrapping around me, something in my chest loosened for the first time in days.

Shane saw me almost immediately.

Her eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face before she rushed forward and wrapped me in a hug. “Mireya? By the Goddess—it’s really you. It’s been ages.” Then she pulled back, uncertainty flickering. “Or should I… should I call you Luna?”

The word sliced straight through me.

I shook my head gently, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face in two. “No. That title doesn’t belong to me anymore. I’m just Mireya Ashbourne.”

Pity softened her expression, but she didn’t argue. She only squeezed my hands and told me she hoped—truly hoped—we’d be working together again soon.

When I left the interview, I was almost certain the job was mine. My hands still remembered the work: grinding roots, mixing tinctures, recognizing symptoms before they were spoken. I wasn’t useless. I never had been. For the first time since everything fell apart, a fragile thread of hope took shape.

It snapped the next morning.

The message was brief. Polite. Final.

I called Shane immediately, panic spilling into my voice before I could stop it. “What happened? You said— I thought everything was fine. I don’t understand.”

She sighed, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled. “Mireya… Marcella Thompson contacted the clinic. She made it very clear that if we hired you, Deathwell Pack would pull all funding and donations. We can’t survive that.”

The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. I pressed it hard to my chest, as if that could keep me upright. Marcella. Again. She had taken my mate. My home. My future. And now—this. The last small chance I had at rebuilding something of my own.

A laugh burst from my throat, sharp and unhinged. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it still escaped, echoing ugly and broken in the quiet room. How pathetic I must have looked—ruined, cast out, and still not allowed peace.

When the sound faded, my hands were shaking.

I didn’t think. I just dialed.

Theo.

My brother.

Three years ago, after a silence that had stretched unbearably long, he had found me again. Since then, we had spoken regularly, carefully rebuilding something neither of us thought we still deserved. He was the last piece of my family. The only one who truly understood what it meant to carry the Ashbourne name.

I told him everything.

He didn’t interrupt. His breathing was the only sound on the line until he finally spoke, his voice low and edged with fury. “Three days, Eve. Just hold on for three days. I’m coming.”

The certainty in his words anchored me. I wasn’t completely alone. Not yet.

But before I could leave, there was something I had to do.

I went to the hospital.

The place where my world had cracked open. Where they told me my child was gone. The healers had preserved what remained, waiting for my decision. I couldn’t walk away without them. I wouldn’t. My baby deserved more than abandonment.

The hallways smelled sterile—antiseptic, wolfsbane, grief. Each step tightened my chest as I gripped the claim papers, bracing myself to collect the only part of my child I still had.

That was when I saw them.

Darius. And Marcella.

They stood near the healer’s ward, too close, too comfortable. I stopped short, breath locking in my lungs as Marcella laughed softly and rested a hand against her stomach.

Then Darius spoke.

“This child,” he said casually, “will replace what I lost with Mireya.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Replace.

Marcella smiled, radiant and cruel. She leaned into him, her voice sweet enough to rot. “And I’ll give you the heir you should have had.”

A sound tore out of me before I could stop it. I stumbled back, the room spinning violently. They turned at the noise—but I didn’t stay to see their faces.

I ran.

The papers crumpled in my fist as I bolted down the corridor. My lungs burned. My wolf screamed inside me, raw and broken. I shoved through the hospital doors, blinded by tears—

And slammed straight into someone.

My bag slid from my shoulder, its contents scattering across the floor. “I—I’m sorry,” I muttered, dropping down to gather everything with trembling hands.

The stranger knelt beside me, movements careful, deliberate. He helped pick up my things, and when his fingers brushed mine—

It happened again.

The green light flared beneath my skin, brighter this time, pulsing along my wrist. My breath caught sharply as I looked up.

Blue eyes met mine. Intense. Focused. As if he saw something no one else ever had.

For one suspended heartbeat, something stirred—recognition, maybe. My wolf reacted instantly, a sharp, startled pulse echoing through me.

Then it vanished.

The glow faded. His gaze dropped. The moment dissolved.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing me the last item before standing.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice rough.

He was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd of the hospital—leaving me kneeling on the floor, wondering why my heart was still racing.

Mireya’s POV

I stopped cold the instant my feet crossed into the packhouse courtyard.

The smell hit me first—thick, acrid smoke that burned my lungs far worse than any open flame ever could. My heart slammed violently against my ribs as my gaze locked onto the fire pit in the center of the yard. Burning cloth. Charred pages. Broken trinkets thrown together without care.

My belongings.

My entire life reduced to embers.

“No… no, please…” I staggered forward, the word tearing out of my throat like it had been ripped from me.

One of the omegas stood a few steps away, clutching a metal bucket so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She looked sick with guilt, like a child caught doing something unforgivable. “L–Luna—” she started, then visibly swallowed and corrected herself, “Mireya. I’m so sorry. Lady Marcella ordered it. She said… she said your scent was too strong on your things. That she didn’t want it lingering once she left with Alpha Darius.”

Something vicious curled inside my chest. My wolf growled low and furious, but I forced my jaw to lock shut. I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break any further.

I dropped to my knees, yanked the bucket from the omega’s hands, and hurled the water onto the flames with every ounce of strength left in my body. Steam exploded into the air with an angry hiss as the fire resisted, embers glowing stubbornly before finally dying.

Coughing, eyes stinging, I clawed through what remained. My movements were frantic, desperate. I dragged half-burned clothes from the pile, only for the fabric to crumble and dissolve in my hands. Blackened books split apart when I touched them. My journals—filled with years of thoughts, fears, hopes—were nothing but soggy ash. Ceremony dresses. Healer’s aprons. Keepsakes I’d once believed I would pass down someday.

All gone.

“Oh, Moon Goddess…” My voice broke into a whisper as tears blurred everything.

Then I saw them.

The letters.

The ones Darius had written to me when our bond was still new, when his words were gentle and full of promises. Letters that convinced me I was chosen. Cherished. Safe.

I reached for one with shaking fingers, but it fell apart the moment I lifted it. Only a single fragment remained intact. One sentence, barely spared by the flames:

I will always stay with you.

The cruelty of it sliced deeper than the fire ever could.

I pressed the scrap to my chest as tears soaked into it. My wolf whimpered painfully, curling inward. For a split second—just a heartbeat—I thought I saw him. The younger Darius. The one who used to smile softly at me. He crouched in my vision, fingertips brushing the ruined letters, touching the gifts he once gave with sincerity.

Then a strange sensation rushed through me.

A faint green light surged beneath my skin, racing along my veins and pooling at my wrist. It flickered like a fragile spark, glowing for a breath longer than before—then vanished.

My entire body trembled, overwhelmed by grief, fury, longing, and something dangerously close to hatred.

“That’s enough,” I whispered hoarsely. “I won’t do this anymore.”

Later that night, I sat on the bare floor of what little remained of my room and typed a message to my brother with shaking hands.

I’m leaving at dawn. Meet me at the border. Please.

Theo replied almost immediately. I’ll be there.

Relief flooded me—followed closely by dread. Leaving meant surrendering every dream I had once built here. It meant accepting that I was no longer Luna, no longer a wife, no longer part of Deathwell Pack. My wolf shifted restlessly, reminding me that leaving also meant staying alive.

My plan was simple: rise before anyone else, slip away unseen, and never look back.

But plans, I’d learned, rarely survive the night.

Sometime before dawn, I woke with my head pounding violently, my vision blurred and burning like grit had been poured into my eyes. My throat felt raw and dry, so I forced myself up and headed toward the kitchen for water.

I didn’t make it far.

Soft sounds drifted down the hallway—low, broken noises that made my stomach drop. At first they were distant, almost indistinct. Then clearer. Too clear.

They came from the Alpha’s chambers.

The door was partially open.

I didn’t want to hear it. I begged myself not to listen. But my wolf’s heightened senses betrayed me, dragging every sound painfully into focus.

Marcella’s voice slipped into the air, breathless and sharp. “Darius… Darius…”

And then his voice—once warm when it spoke my name—now guttural, careless. The sounds he made were raw, animalistic, and then his words shattered something final inside me.

“I got sick of Mireya being dull in bed,” he muttered between breaths. “She was never enough. Not like you.”

Marcella laughed, light and cruel.

“And her child,” Darius continued coldly. “I’m relieved it didn’t live. I didn’t want that cursed blood. This baby—our baby—will be flawless.”

Their laughter tangled with the sounds of their bodies moving together.

My stomach lurched violently. I slapped a hand over my mouth to silence the sob threatening to escape, but tears poured freely down my face. Inside, my wolf screamed—howling for violence, for revenge, for blood.

I couldn’t answer her.

I was too shattered.

I stumbled backward, each step heavier than the last, my heart pounding like it wanted to tear free and flee on its own.

When I reached the main hall, my eyes locked onto the enormous portrait hanging proudly on the wall. Darius and I, painted in eternal smiles, looking blessed and untouchable.

I stared at the woman in the painting—hopeful, trusting, blind.

My hands shook as I grabbed a knife from the nearby table. My wolf surged, urging me on. I didn’t resist.

With one decisive motion, I slashed a brutal X across the canvas, ripping through our painted faces. The tearing sound echoed sharply, almost soothing—like the last breath of something that should have died long ago.

I let the knife fall and stood there, staring at the ruined image while Marcella’s distant moans drifted through the halls.

“Goodbye,” I whispered.

With nothing left to lose, I walked out of the packhouse carrying only my phone and the clothes I wore. My wolf pressed close, lending me what strength she had left. Each step away felt like breaking another shackle.

The night air was cold—but it tasted like freedom.

At the border, headlights cut through the darkness.

Theo’s car.

He stepped out the moment he saw me, worry flooding his face. “Mireya,” he breathed, pulling me into his arms. “Gods… you look destroyed.”

I buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of family. Safety. “I can’t stay here,” I whispered. “Please. Get me out.”

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving this nightmare behind.”

I looked back once—just once—at the towering packhouse walls, looming under the moonlight, hiding the laughter of two traitors who thought they had won.

They hadn’t.

Because for the first time in years, I was choosing myself.

And one day, when I returned—strong, whole, unbroken—they would regret every word, every laugh, every betrayal they had carved into me.

With that vow burning silently in my chest, I climbed into Theo’s car and never looked back.