He threw himself without hesitation beneath the old woman's silver-tipped cane, shielding Lyra Ashvale behind him with a protectiveness that made every comforting word he'd spoken to me moments ago seem like a cruel joke.

"Grandmother! The plan was my idea—I did it for the Hawthorne Pack! Don't hurt someone innocent!"

Matriarch Morwen Hawthorne froze, her sharp gaze instinctively cutting toward me.

When she saw the white sheets soaking through with blood, she brought the cane down hard across Fenris Hawthorne's back.

"You beast! Her wounds haven't healed—how could you let her hold the pup!"

Panic and regret flashed through Fenris's eyes. He moved to rush toward me.

But behind him, Lyra Ashvale crumpled to the ground.

He faltered, then gathered her into his arms, ready to leave.

The Matriarch planted herself firmly in his path.

"You will not leave! Your mate is still in there! Do you even want this pack anymore!"

Fenris's eyes swam with conflict.

"I do! But you struck her—she's injured! I can't just abandon her! Selene... she has you. She'll be fine!"

Once, he had sheltered me from every storm just like this.

Once, I would never have been the one left behind.

I swallowed the pain and looked at him with empty calm.

"Grandmother, let him go."

He seemed stunned that I would be so generous.

After all, in the past, I had thrown tantrums, begged on my knees, cast away every shred of dignity just to keep him from walking away.

His expression grew complicated. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, he strode out without another word.

The healer's assistant and the pup-nurse helped me tend to my wounds again.

The pup was soothed back to sleep.

My communication crystal suddenly pulsed with his message.

[I forgot about your wounds. I'm sorry. I just didn't want a scene at the Healer's Ward—it would damage the Hawthorne Pack's reputation.]

[Lyra hasn't woken yet. She needs someone with her, so I won't come back tonight. Rest well.]

I stared at the glowing words for a long time.

I remembered how he used to be. When he learned I'd been hurt while he was in distant territory, he'd traveled eleven hours by skyship, canceled every alliance meeting, just to accompany me to a simple examination. He hadn't left my side for even a moment.

Seeing me sigh, the Matriarch snatched the crystal away.

She read those cold words and let out a harsh scoff.

"That wretched pup! When he returns, I'll deal with him myself. Selene, don't worry, Grandmother will—"

I laughed suddenly, cutting her off. My gaze was steady as I met her eyes.

"You allowed all of this, didn't you?"

"I don't care what happens to him anymore. You promised me—once I bore this pup, you would help me sever the bond. I hope you keep your word."

Her expression faltered. Deep guilt pooled in her eyes.

"Grandmother has wronged you."

"I already tricked him into marking the rejection documents. Complete your thirty days of recovery, and then you may leave."

The Matriarch took the pup into her own care, personally arranging for attendants.

I stayed at the recovery den under the guise of post-birth healing, avoiding the worst of the gossip.

But that very night, word spread through every pack circle: the Hawthorne Alpha Heir had abandoned his mate right after she whelped, defying the Matriarch Regent herself to protect his Omega mistress—his mate's own half-sister.

Hawthorne territory tributes began to dwindle. Pack allies grew hesitant. Fenris was drowning in damage control.

Lyra Ashvale's Howl-Channel—her carefully cultivated platform as a courtship influencer—was overrun by furious wolves. The scandal I had once exposed myself, about her seducing her sister's mate, resurfaced from where Fenris had buried it.

The pack networks howled with condemnation. If Fenris hadn't intervened, her channel would have been stripped and she'd owe breach-penalties to every sponsor.

Seven days passed before I saw him again.

The moment he laid eyes on me, disappointment twisted his features.

"Selene Ashvale. Does destroying us like this really make you happy?"

I blinked, then understood. He had pinned the spreading rumors on me.

Of course he had. After all, I'd once served as a Pack Scribe—shaping narratives and fanning flames was what I did best.

What a pity that the first time I'd gone mad and exposed his shameful affair with Lyra Ashvale, he'd used accusations of privacy violation and reputation damage to pressure the pack's Chronicle Hall into casting me out.

Now finding anyone willing to help me was no simple matter.

I cast him a sidelong glance, long past the wounded feelings of being wrongly accused.

My hands continued their work on the anniversary memorial gift for Rowan.

"You should know there's more than one piece of evidence about your disgraceful entanglement with her. If I wanted to expose it all, you'd probably have to bleed territory rights again."

He stood frozen in the doorway for a long while.

His voice emerged with something close to helplessness.

"After this is over, I'll sever ties with her. But you have to promise me—we'll live well together from now on, alright? Once the pup arrives, we'll be a happy family."

These words—he'd spoken them nearly every day during my pregnancy.

Yet it never stopped him from remaining tangled up with Lyra Ashvale.

Either he pitied her status as an illegitimate half-blood daughter, or he felt sorry for her loneliness without a true pack to rely on.

In short, he had ten thousand reasons for being unable to resist her, for shielding her at every turn.

He remained standing in the doorway, as if he wouldn't leave until I answered.

Watching him block the pale morning light filtering through the den's windows, I gave him a half-hearted response.

It wasn't until the next morning, when scent-forged footage of my supposed infidelity spread like wildfire across every pack's howl-channels, that I understood what he'd meant by "after this is over."

Fenris Hawthorne had released a clarification announcement.

In the recording, he spoke to the gathered pack representatives with grief-stricken composure, claiming I had been caught by my younger sister engaging in a heat-tryst with another wolf during my pregnancy. He said I'd spread false rumors about him in retaliation for being discovered.

Lyra Ashvale wept so prettily, tears streaming down her delicate face, saying she had only tried to counsel me against betraying Fenris's devotion. But I had mistaken her concern for a threat to expose my adultery and struck back in vengeance.

Every wolf across the territories demanded that Fenris reject our bond immediately—cast out this shameless Omega.

Yet he maintained his devoted Alpha facade.

"No matter what wrongs Selene commits in this lifetime, I cannot stop loving her."

Watching his hypocritical performance, I couldn't hold back the bile rising in my throat.

Fenris heard the sound from outside the chamber door and rushed in.

"What's wrong?"

I frowned, catching sight of Lyra Ashvale trailing behind him, and shook off his hand.

"Nothing's wrong. I just find you revolting. To protect your hidden Omega consort's crimes, you'd spare no effort to destroy your mate's reputation. Fenris, your love is truly magnificent."

His face went deathly pale. His mouth opened as if to explain.

But Lyra suddenly dropped to her knees, weeping like spring rain on white blossoms.

"I'm sorry, sister. This is all my fault! Brother-in-law only made you the scapegoat because of me."

Fenris's heart instantly melted with pity. His gaze turned sharp with reproach as he looked at me.

"I came here specifically to tell you about this. All of it was glamour-forged—scent mimicry layered over fabricated footage. When it comes down to it, she's your blood sister. Sacrificing yourself to help her is only right. When I help her, I'm helping you preserve your bloodline ties. Why must you be so aggressive toward her?"

"Besides, you're just a domestic Omega now. Reputation means nothing to you. Outsiders wagging their tongues won't affect my feelings for you. As long as I know it's false, that's enough. But she's different—she has no pack to rely on, and she depends on the howl-channels for her livelihood. If her image and standing are ruined, everything she's built will collapse."

Listening to his self-righteous justifications, I felt only disgust.

A domestic Omega—and whose doing was that?

Back then, he hadn't just pressured the Chronicle Hall into casting me out. He'd also spread word through every pack's communication networks that anyone who employed me would be making an enemy of the Hawthorne Pack.

I was turned away from every position I sought. When I finally found work with a small, independent den archive, he filed malicious complaints against us with the Pack Council.

In the end, all my credentials as a Pack Chronicler were revoked. I became an outcast that every wolf in the profession scorned.

I had no desire to argue with him. The healing attendant had said I needed to maintain a peaceful spirit during my recovery from the birth. In half a month's time, I would finally be free of all this.

The Matriarch had also given me her word—when the time came, she would prove my innocence to all. What they thought of me no longer mattered.

I watched him with an expressionless face, let out a long breath, and turned to burrow into the furs of my sleeping nest.

"Do as you please. Whatever you want."

He thought I would lash out at Lyra Ashvale the way I used to—claws bared, fangs showing. His whole body went tense, and he planted himself firmly in front of her like a shield.

But when he saw me simply turn my back and lie down, every emotion on his face ground to a halt.

After a long silence, he spoke in a voice thick with disbelief.

"You... you're not angry?"

My tone stayed flat. "Haven't you always wanted me to get along with her peacefully?"

He exhaled and actually laughed with relief.

"You've finally learned. I knew you weren't truly cold-hearted. I'll make it up to you—I swear I will."

I didn't respond. I didn't look at him once, not even when they finally left.

A long time later, I pressed my palm against my chest where no flutter stirred.

So this was what letting go felt like.

Over the following days, guilt seemed to drive him. He visited me every few suns—met with cold silence, turned away at the door—yet he never lost patience. He just kept painting pictures of the beautiful life we'd share someday.

It wasn't until he brought up the pup's First Moon Celebration that his words turned hesitant.

"Lyra will never be able to claim her own blood-born pup in front of the pack. So I thought... while the pup is still too young to understand... I could let her attend the ceremony openly. As the mother."

"It would ease her sorrow, at least a little. Don't you think?"

My fingers never stopped working the bone needle through the memorial shroud I was stitching for Rowan. I didn't even lift my eyes.

"I told you—do as you please. This pup was never mine. Whatever you decide has nothing to do with me."

His throat worked. Red crept into the rims of his eyes, and a flicker of anger sparked beneath it. He snatched the offering cloth from my hands—the one meant for Rowan's cairn.

"Why have you been like this lately? Do you even understand what it means if she attends? It means the pack will see her as the Hawthorne Alpha's true mate. You never would have allowed that before."

I paused. Let my gaze drift to him with something close to boredom.

"And that's a problem? Two moons ago, when you were tangled in her bed, didn't you tell her it was such a pity you could never give her a proper place at your side?"

He went pale as carved stone, frozen where he stood.

I took the cloth back from his slack grip. My emotions stayed steady, as though nothing had happened at all.

He hovered at my ear after that, spilling excuse after excuse—he didn't love her, she'd slipped a heat-draught into his drink, he'd only taken her body because of the drug and felt obligated to take responsibility. The words made my stomach turn, but my silence defeated them all.

After that day, he stopped coming to see me.

But I often saw Lyra's posts on the pack's Howl-Channel—photo after photo of them together. They'd taken the pup to every portrait artist in the territory, posing as a perfect little family in every style imaginable.

The day I finally left my recovery den, the entire Hawthorne Pack was celebrating that bastard pup's First Moon.

The Matriarch sent word: the Bond Rejection would be sealed by tomorrow.

When I returned to the den to gather my things, I found that the chambers Fenris and I had once shared—our mating quarters—had been completely transformed into everything Lyra preferred.

Even the portrait that used to hang beside the hearth—Fenris cradling my swollen belly, his hands gentle over the life growing inside me—had been replaced. Now it showed him with Lyra and the pup. A perfect family portrait.

In the image, Fenris Hawthorne was smiling.

Smiling more brightly than he had the day I'd accepted his courtship claim.

I went to the sleeping chamber, meaning to take only the clothes I'd brought before our mating.

But no matter how I searched through the carved wooden wardrobes, I couldn't find it—the hand-embroidered ceremonial gown my mother had stitched for me with her own hands before she passed.

I was reaching for my communication crystal to ask when I saw it: a new post on the Howl-Channel. Lyra, wearing my mother's gown, standing at the First Moon Celebration.

Rage boiled up from somewhere deep.

I called for a runner and rushed to the great hall. There she was—arm linked through Fenris's, laughing prettily, accepting the pack's fawning congratulations like she'd earned every word.

When Fenris spotted me, guilt flickered across his face—but beneath it, I caught a gleam of smug satisfaction, as if he'd expected this all along.

He released Lyra and walked toward me.