I stared at Ronan, a heavy, gnawing disappointment settling deep in my chest. Once upon a time, I had admired every line of his face, convinced that the Moon itself had carved him with care. Back then, I thought his features were breathtaking. Now, looking at him only made my stomach turn. Whatever love I once held had curdled into revulsion.

Ronan opened his mouth as if to speak, but Lilith cut in before he could say a word. Her voice trembled with exaggerated fragility.

“Alpha… my head feels light again,” she murmured. “And my face is throbbing. Could you check if it’s swollen?”

Ronan’s attention shifted to her instantly, concern flashing across his face without hesitation. Taking advantage of that reaction, Lilith sagged dramatically against him, letting out a soft sigh as though she could barely stand. The red imprint of my hand stood out clearly on her pale cheek, a visible reminder of the anger she had provoked.

Her eyes quickly filled with tears. Ronan reached up, gently wiping them away, his movements careful and familiar. Watching him do that sent a sharp ache through my chest. There had been a time when he treated me the same way—when he would steady me if I stumbled, when his voice softened just for me. Those moments felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

His expression shifted abruptly. The warmth drained from his eyes, replaced by something cold and unfeeling.

“Lyra,” he said flatly, “apologize to your sister.”

I straightened my back and lifted my chin, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“No,” I replied simply.

My refusal clearly caught him off guard. In the past, whenever his disdain was directed at me, I had tread carefully around him, desperate to earn even a sliver of his approval. No matter how sincere my affection had been, it was never enough. Lilith’s shadow always loomed larger.

In hindsight, her hostility toward me had never been subtle. Even as children, she resented me for being more capable, more trusted. That bitterness only deepened when the Moonstone—an heirloom she coveted—was passed down to me instead of her.

When she noticed my growing feelings for Alpha Ronan, she began to show interest in him as well, as if it were a competition she couldn’t bear to lose. Still, I never imagined she would return to Kairo after her fated mate’s death and tear my life apart all over again.

Ronan’s surprise lasted only a moment. He leaned back against the couch, still holding Lilith close, and spoke in a voice edged with warning.

“Lyra, don’t push me further.”

Moments later, the wolf guards—summoned through his mind link—appeared and blocked my path. They grabbed my arms and forced me back, escorting me to stand before Ronan and Lilith once more. Their presence was rigid, imposing, and utterly devoid of sympathy.

Ronan reclined casually, as if the tension in the room didn’t exist. His gaze skimmed over me with detached indifference.

“Apologize to Lilith,” he repeated.

Lilith turned toward him, a faint smile playing on her lips—half victory, half provocation. Her voice softened as she spoke.

“It’s alright, Alpha. Lyra didn’t do it on purpose.”

Ronan looked at her with pity, his voice almost gentle.

“You’re too kind,” he said. “You’ve always treated her well, yet she’s never once regarded you as her sister.”

Then his eyes snapped back to me, sharp and unforgiving.

“Anyone who harms Lilith will face the consequences.”

His intent was unmistakable. He wanted to punish me.

With a subtle gesture, he ordered the guards forward. They forced me down, pressing me to my knees. As my head lowered, I caught the faint curve of satisfaction on Ronan’s lips. One of the guards stepped closer, his hand lifting, poised to strike.

Before he could, Lilith intervened.

“Alpha,” she said softly, “she’s still my sister. I’m afraid the guards might hurt her too badly. If someone has to discipline her… let it be me.”

Ronan gave a short nod of approval.

That was when Lilith stepped forward and struck me—once, then again. Her nails scraped my skin, leaving burning welts across my cheek as pain exploded through my face.

She turned back to Ronan, her expression conflicted, almost hesitant.

“Alpha… I hit Lyra. What should we do now?”

His response was chillingly indifferent.

“She got what she deserved,” he said coldly. “You’re still worrying about her even after she attacked you first.”

The guards finally let go of me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed awkwardly onto the floor. Ronan remained where he was, looking down at me without the slightest hint of remorse.

“You owe Lilith an apology,” he said.

An apology?

It was Lilith who mocked my son. She was the one who accused him of lying. Tavian would never lie. Never. Yet this worthless Alpha chose her side every single time, no matter how cruel or unjust the situation was.

I lifted my head and glared at him, my voice thick with rage and bitterness. “Keep dreaming.”

“I despise you, Alpha!” I screamed.

When I looked at Alpha Ronan, there was nothing left in my eyes that resembled love. Whatever warmth had once lived there had long since burned away, leaving behind only a bitter, consuming hatred. He noticed it immediately. His brows drew together, a flicker of unease crossing his face as if my gaze unsettled him.

“Lyra,” he said after a moment, forcing his voice into something that resembled patience, “just listen for once. Do what I’m asking, and I’ll give you whatever you want. We can still hold that birthday celebration for your son—exactly the way you wanted it.”

The words rang empty in my ears, hollow and cruel. A celebration—for what? Tavian was gone. There was nothing left to celebrate. My mate had already made his priorities painfully clear long before that night, choosing Lilith over his own child again and again. Everyone in the pack knew it. At feasts, ceremonies, and public gatherings, Ronan was always at my sister’s side, while I stood alone, humiliated in my role as Luna of Kairo.

Now that Tavian was dead, he dared to dangle the promise of a “celebration” in front of me, as if it could erase everything he had done. It was nothing more than a manipulative ploy—an attempt to pull me back under his control by exploiting my grief. The thought made my stomach twist.

I forced my expression into calm and met his gaze without blinking.

“There’s no need,” I said evenly. “This is over. I’m leaving this place—just like you’ve always wanted. Go live out your perfect fantasy with Lilith.”

It was clear he hadn’t expected that. His lips curled into a sneer, disbelief written plainly across his face.

“What’s this now?” he scoffed. “You’re not going to cling to me anymore? Not going to beg me to spend time with your son?”

The contempt in his voice was unmistakable. Before I could respond, Lilith stepped in, her tone soft and falsely concerned.

“Lyra, don’t lie to the Alpha,” she said gently. “If Tavian were truly dying, why would you be standing here alone?”

Something inside me snapped.

“Enough,” I snapped back. “Keep my son’s name out of your mouth. You don’t get to talk about him.”

Her expression shifted, wounded on the surface, though I could see the satisfaction beneath it.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I won’t bring him up again. Please don’t be angry with me, Lyra.”

Ronan’s annoyance deepened as he watched my reaction to Lilith. A cold laugh escaped him as he reached for his phone and placed a call. He deliberately put it on speaker, making sure I couldn’t miss a single word.

“Beta Oliver,” he said curtly, “locate my son immediately. Bring him to me.”

He shot me a smug look, clearly convinced that this would somehow reassert his authority and expose my supposed lie.

I let out a slow, bitter smile, the weight of everything pressing down on my chest.

After a brief pause, Beta Oliver’s voice came through the speaker, hesitant and heavy.

“Alpha… Tavian passed away several days ago. It happened the day after you left the territory with Lilith.”