I first met Marcus during my volunteer year at the pack orphanage.

Before the pack had acknowledged him, before he'd earned his place among the healers, Marcus had grown up within these very walls.

When he found me there, I was surrounded by children—gently cleaning dirt from their small hands, fingers intertwined as we sang together in the afternoon light.

Golden sunlight filtered through the oak leaves, and my voice carried clear and sweet across the playground.

Marcus later told me that was the moment I was burned into his memory, becoming his eternal moonlight.

Years later, when Alice fell gravely ill and was admitted to the pack's healing center, Marcus and I crossed paths again.

He had become a composed and brilliant head healer, his wolf's natural instincts making him extraordinarily gifted at sensing illness and injury. Meanwhile, I was frantically grasping at every possible lifeline to keep my sister breathing.

Without my knowledge, Marcus had been covering all of Alice's medical expenses and personally overseeing her treatment, his healing energy flowing into her night after night to pull her back from death's threshold.

His courtship was intense and all-consuming. Simply because I mentioned loving comfort food from my hometown, he taught himself to cook with those same hands that channeled healing power, spending hours in the kitchen just to see me smile.

When I wrinkled my nose at the lingering scent of cigarettes that clung to his clothes after long nights at the center, he quit immediately—and banned smoking anywhere near his workspace, terrified that even the faintest trace would displease me.

His colleagues started calling me his "intended mate" behind my back, good-naturedly complaining: "Emma, you have no idea how obsessed our head healer has become. After pulling a thirty-hour shift saving lives, I just wanted a damn smoke to decompress, but Marcus confiscated my pack, claiming he couldn't risk you smelling it on him. I've never seen him care this much about anyone..."

Later, Marcus lit up the entire city with fireworks and dropped to one knee beneath their shower of gold: "Emma, you're my one and only. In this lifetime and every other, I'll love no one but you."

But this same Marcus—my supposed destined mate—had now issued me a psychiatric diagnosis for another woman's sake, condemned me to a human mental institution, and made me the pack's greatest shame.

At the grim suburban facility, orderlies roughly shoved me into the general ward.

A wild-eyed woman immediately launched herself at me, slamming me to the floor and driving her knee into my stomach while her nails raked through my hair like claws.

When I tried to fight back, she struck my face repeatedly, her voice a manic chant: "How dare you steal other women's men! Whore, I'll beat the life out of you!"

In desperation, I screamed Marcus's name.

Before this nightmare, whenever I called for him, he would appear at my side instantly—my protector, my anchor, my safe harbor in any storm.

Now, hearing his name, the deranged woman cackled with cruel delight: "You still think you're his precious mate? You think he's coming to save you?"

"He dumped you here because he wants you broken and obedient! I'm just here to speed up the process!"

This became my daily existence—a living hell where his name was used to torment me.

A month into my imprisonment, a doctor informed me I had a visitor. My heart leaped—surely Marcus had come to his senses, had come to take me home.

In the sterile visiting room, I found Marcus waiting—but Victoria and her brother Vincent flanked him like a triumphant court.

Victoria's satisfaction was palpable as she took in my deteriorated state. "Emma, Marcus feels terrible about your suffering here, so he's sent us to negotiate your release."

Her voice dripped false sympathy. "All you need to do is admit that you deliberately seduced my brother and offer him a sincere apology. Then this unfortunate misunderstanding can be put behind us."

I pressed my hand to the still-tender bruises on my ribs, my voice cutting like ice: "Over my dead body. I will never apologize to that rapist."

Instantly, crocodile tears welled in Victoria's eyes. She looked utterly devastated, clutching Marcus's arm as she sobbed: "If Emma refuses to take responsibility for her actions... then perhaps there's nothing more we can do. I had hoped she might show some remorse after reflecting on her behavior..."

Without hesitation, Marcus moved to shield her from my supposedly threatening presence.

He stared down at me through the reinforced glass, his words freezing the blood in my veins: "It's just words, Emma. Victoria deserves to hear your apology, so apologize."

His amber eyes—once warm with love—were now cold and merciless. "You've always been stubborn to a fault. You know I have countless ways to ensure your compliance."

My fingers found the small braided bracelet around my wrist—Alice's handiwork, woven with trembling fingers during one of her better days.

As long as I defied him, Marcus held all the power. Alice's life hung in the balance of his goodwill.

Thinking of my sister lying helpless in the healing center, I squeezed my eyes shut. After an internal war that felt like it lasted hours, I dug my nails deep enough into my palm to draw blood.

I surrendered.

I raised my head to meet those three pairs of expectant eyes: "I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry."

But Victoria wasn't satisfied with my grudging compliance.

"Emma, a real apology requires sincerity. You barely even bowed your head—how can we be sure you mean it? And you spoke so quietly, almost like you don't want to be heard."

Victoria's mockery was evident as Marcus stood silent beside her, apparently approving of this humiliation.

I trembled with rage and shame. Never in my life had I been so thoroughly degraded.

If I had never fallen in love with Marcus, would I have been spared this torture?

Hating myself for my weakness, I dropped to my knees on the cold concrete floor, raised my head, and brought it down hard against the ground.

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

"I deliberately seduced Vincent. I apologize to Mr. Vincent for my inappropriate behavior. I'm sorry!"

I repeated this degrading mantra until blood ran down my forehead, my face a mask of crimson humiliation.

Marcus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but when he moved to intervene, Victoria's grip on his arm tightened possessively.

"See? She does know how to show proper respect!"

I lifted my bloodied face, meeting their gazes with what dignity I had left: "Is that sufficient?"

Victoria raised her chin with aristocratic disdain: "It'll do. Barely."

I struggled to my feet, swaying from blood loss and the crushing weight of my shattered pride. When Marcus reflexively reached out to steady me, I violently shoved his hands away.

I stared at those fingers that had once traced my face with worship, that had now held Victoria close while watching me bleed: "Don't. Touch. Me. You make me sick."

Marcus's control snapped like a broken leash. He grabbed my wrist in a grip that would have left bruises, his eyes flashing with dangerous gold: "What did you just say to me? Repeat that."

I wrenched free from his hold, my own wolf snarling just beneath the surface: "I said you make me sick!"

My defiance hit him like a physical blow. He released me abruptly, stepping back as if burned.

"Since you clearly haven't learned your lesson, you won't be needing early release. Stay here until you remember your place!"

But his threats no longer held any power over me. This time, I didn't grovel or beg for mercy. I walked away with my head held high.

But I never expected that Victoria had recorded what happened in the visiting room.

Overnight, with Victoria's manipulation, the video spread like wildfire across every social platform.

Gossip blogs claimed that I had originally seduced Marcus to advance my position in the pack, and after being cast aside, had desperately tried the same tactics on Vincent.

Others said Victoria was Marcus's true love, or else why would he personally send his own mate to a mental hospital and force her to grovel in submission?

The rumors spread wildly, reaching my sister Alice's ears at the healing center.

Alice took her own life.

When the caretaker's call came through, Alice was already drawing her final breaths.

I knelt on the ground, frantically begging the healers to let me out to see Alice one last time.

But the healers told me helplessly that without Marcus's permission, no one was allowed to let me out.

Seeing the desperate plea in my eyes, one doctor took pity and offered to let me call Marcus directly. If he agreed, they would escort me to the healing center immediately.

I dialed Marcus's number with trembling hands, only to be ruthlessly hung up on.

I tried again. And again. And again—each attempt met with the same cold dismissal.

I prayed to the Moon Goddess that Marcus would answer, that some trace of the man who once loved me would let me say goodbye to the only family I had left.

On my eighty-ninth call, Victoria's voice answered instead: "Emma, it's my birthday today. Marcus is here in Iceland celebrating with me. Be reasonable and stop harassing us with these calls, won't you?"

Through the phone, I caught Marcus's distant voice: "Don't let irrelevant people ruin our mood. Come blow out your candles!"

The words hit me like silver bullets to the chest. Irrelevant people.

Alice was dying—my sister, my heart, my everything—and he called us irrelevant.

The Iceland trip was supposed to be the honeymoon Marcus had planned with me...

I spat out a mouthful of fresh blood from my chest.

Like a broken puppet, I was escorted back to the ward by orderlies.

A week later, Alice's caretaker brought her ashes. A portion was placed in a small pendant that I wore close to my chest.

The caretaker brought Alice's final words:

Sister, don't cry for me, and don't beg him anymore.

Like the games we played as children, I'll wait for you at the finish line in heaven.

Sister, I will always love you.

...

I clutched Alice's ashes, crying inconsolably. There was no one left in this world who was my family.

I don't know how long passed before I slowly stood up: "Alice, your sister loved the wrong man. Your sister's weakness killed you. But I swear on our parents' graves—everyone who destroyed us will pay a thousandfold for what they've done. "

Marcus returned from Iceland a month later.

Learning of Alice's death, he came to visit me with apologies, only to see me sitting motionless as stone.

When Marcus reached out tentatively to touch my shoulder, the ice in my stare stopped him cold.

"I'm very sorry about your sister."

"I'll compensate you. Victoria has forgiven you. I'll take you out of the hospital today."

...

Silence. Deathly silence.

After a long while, I finally spoke hoarsely: "Marcus, I never even got to see her one last time!"

"If certain people hadn't spent months telling her that her sister was a whore who spread her legs for anyone who'd have her, Alice would still be breathing."

"Do you know? I called you exactly 89 times. I didn't hate you anymore then. I just begged you to answer the phone and allow the doctors to let me out to see Alice!"

"But what about you? You were with Victoria in Iceland, celebrating her birthday!"

"Compensation? What will you compensate me with? Can you bring my sister back to life?"

Hearing my blood-soaked accusation, Marcus never expected that the truth behind Alice's death was like this: "I... I thought those were spam calls... If I had known it was you calling, I definitely would have let you see her one last time! I..."

...

"Three years."

I spoke hoarsely.

"What? What three years?" Marcus looked confused.

I laughed coldly, my eyes full of bloodlust: "Weren't you going to keep me locked in this mental hospital for three years?"

"Just three years. Consider it my gift to you!"

I removed the mate ring from my ring finger that Marcus had given me when he proposed. It was a diamond ring Marcus had carefully designed with an Italian designer, with both our initials engraved inside the band.

I threw the mate ring at Marcus's feet, turned decisively toward the ward, leaving Marcus and the past locked behind me.