I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

The wolf inside me stirred instantly, hackles raised, releasing a thick wave of energy that filled the room like a threat. It wasn’t as overwhelming as Cyrus’s aura, but as a Luna, I still had the power to suppress others.

The men in black uniforms froze mid-step, caught under the weight of my dominance. But Esmeralda didn’t seem to notice. She mistook their hesitation for weakness.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped, voice sharp. “Just take the child! How hard can it be?”

One of them tried to move forward, but before he could reach me, my wolf lashed out. He flew back, crashing against the wall with a grunt, blood streaking his face.

I didn’t flinch. I clutched Athena closer, grounding myself in the feel of her tiny body in my arms.

“Take another step,” I warned, my voice low and steady, “and I’ll rip you to pieces.”

Esmeralda looked stunned, like she couldn’t believe I was resisting. Her expression twisted with rage as she jabbed a finger at me.

“You’re seriously standing in the way of saving the heir?” she spat. “Hand over the heart of that useless child. This is your chance to prove you’re still worth something as Cyrus’s Luna.”

I let out a cold laugh. “If she’s so useless, why do you need her heart?”

Her mouth opened for a retort, but before she could speak, another figure entered the room.

It was Cyrus. He walked in with that usual quiet authority, eyes scanning the scene until they landed on Athena in my arms. Esmeralda turned to him immediately, as if reinforcements had just arrived.

“She refuses to give the child,” she said quickly. “It’s the only way she can still serve this pack, and yet she dares to disobey.”

Cyrus frowned. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned to face him.

“Are you really going to let them take your own daughter’s heart?” I asked, my voice trembling despite how hard I tried to hold it steady. I needed him to say no. Just one word.

But his face remained cold.

“Lyra,” he said, his tone emotionless, “listen to my mother. It’s just a heart. You can always have another child.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Then I laughed. Bitterly. Of course. He’d never chosen me. Why did I think he would choose her?

“If it’s just a heart,” I said sharply, “why not give yours? Isn’t that your son?”

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. “That is our son—”

“He is not mine,” I snapped. “And I will not give my child’s heart to him.”

His gaze didn’t waver. My grief, my rage, it didn’t reach him. He was unmoved.

“If that’s your decision,” he said.

Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Pain pierced my arm. I looked down in shock, a tranquilizer dart stuck out of my skin.

I gasped, my body reacting too fast. My limbs went heavy, muscles turning to jelly. I tried to fight it, to hold on tighter to Athena, but my strength was gone. My fingers slipped and Athena rolled slightly out of my grasp.

No.

I tried to reach for her, to gather one last shred of willpower, but my vision blurred. My lips moved soundlessly, mouthing her name again and again.

They pulled her from my arms.

She cried out, a raw, high-pitched scream. From the sound of it, Esmeralda had grabbed her too tightly. I wanted to shout. I wanted to claw my way across the floor, to protect her with my body but I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t even scream.

I lay there, paralyzed and useless, watching them walk away.

Cyrus said something to the man who tranquilized me. Then they all turned to leave. The door creaked shut behind them.

Athena’s last cry echoed in my ears.

Then silence. Only the sound of my heart breaking remained louder than the tears streaming down my face.

It was hours, maybe more, before I could move again.

My limbs were stiff, like they hadn’t been used in days, but I forced myself to sit up. Every muscle screamed in protest, but I ignored it. The moment I regained my footing, I headed for the nurse’s station, stumbling slightly as I walked through the hallway with nothing but the sound of my own breathing.

When I arrived, the staff looked up with wide eyes. I didn’t waste time.

“Where’s my child?” I asked, my voice raspy from disuse.

One of the nurses exchanged glances with the others.

“They already took her,” she said quietly. “To another hospital.”

I felt like the floor disappeared beneath me. “What? When?”

“You’ve been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours,” she said, more hesitant this time. “The tranquilizer kept you under longer than expected.”

Twenty-four hours.

That was more than enough time for them to do what they came for. My knees buckled, but I caught myself on the edge of the counter. I stared at them, trying to make sense of what I was hearing, but the room was already spinning.

I walked out of the nurse’s station in a daze, my body moving on its own. I felt like a ghost, nothing more than a shell. My legs carried me a few steps farther before I collapsed against the wall, hugging myself.

“Athena,” I whispered, my voice cracking as the tears came fast. “My baby…”

I sank to the floor and cried until I couldn’t breathe. I kept murmuring her name like it could somehow bring her back. I apologized to her in broken whispers, telling her this world didn’t deserve someone like her, someone too pure for any of us.

And then rage took over.

The image of Cyrus and Esmeralda flashed in my mind. They took her. They took my baby. I stood up with renewed fury, ready to tear through the packhouse if I had to. I didn’t care anymore. If they wanted war, I would give it to them.

But before I could take another step, two men blocked my way. Subordinates of Cyrus. Their expressions were unreadable.

“Alpha’s orders,” one of them said. “Luna, you need to return to your room.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Now you call me Luna? Then tell me, how dare your Alpha order the murder of an innocent child?”

They didn’t answer. They just gripped my arms tighter and dragged me back to my room.

They posted guards outside. I wasn’t allowed to leave. For three whole days, I was locked inside like a prisoner, pacing like a caged wolf, my rage boiling just beneath the surface.

And then she came.

Calista walked into the room as if she owned it, her heels clicking confidently on the tile floor. She held something in her hands, a white ceramic urn.

I froze.

“What’s that?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She smiled, cruel and casual.

“The ashes of your child,” she said, lifting the jar slightly. “I thought I’d do you the favor of delivering it myself.”

My breath stopped. My eyes fixated on the jar. I took a step forward, ready to grab it from her hands.

But she let go.

It slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a loud crash. The urn shattered, ceramic pieces scattered in all directions. The ashes spilled across the floor like dust in the wind.

“Oh no,” she said, mockingly. “Oops.”

Before I could react, she stepped on it.

She dragged her heel across the ash-streaked floor, grinding it under her shoe like dirt. I lunged, rage exploding from my chest but the guards blocked me. They held me back while Calista straightened her dress.

“No need to get emotional,” she said, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. “The male heir is perfectly healthy. The operation was a success. You should be proud.”

I didn’t hear the rest. I couldn’t. My screams were trapped in my throat. Calista turned and left the room without a care in the world, the door clicking softly behind her.

The moment she was gone, I dropped to my knees.

I scrambled to the floor, trying to collect the ashes with my bare hands. They were too scattered. Too thin. My fingers bled from the sharp edges of the broken ceramic, but I didn’t stop. I scooped what I could, whispering her name over and over again, my vision blurred by tears and blood.

Then I paused.

Something inside me snapped. The pain went quiet. My hands froze above the broken shards. Slowly, I turned my head toward the window.

The guards didn’t notice.

I stood up without a word. I walked across the room and climbed onto the ledge. The world outside was quiet, deceptively peaceful.

Five floors up.

I stared down with empty eyes.

And I jumped.

Everyone in the room fell silent, like the very air had been sucked out.

The tension was thick and suffocating. No one dared meet Cyrus's eyes, the air pulsing with his dominance. His aura was heavy, thick with disappointment and quiet fury, pressing down on everyone until even breathing felt like a struggle.

Cyrus stood by the window, the papers in his hand trembling slightly. His eyes moved over the results again and again, as if trying to find something that wasn’t there. Finally, his voice cut through the silence.

"You mean to say the heart will be rejected?" He asked, voice low but firm.

The doctor nodded, his shoulders tense.

"Yes, Alpha. The child born from you and Luna Lyra possessed extraordinary vitality. Her organs, especially the heart, were too strong. Your son... He is ordinary. Transplanting that heart would only lead to complications. Receiving such a powerful heart would overwhelm his system. It would kill him."

Cyrus's jaw tightened as he digested the words. He frowned, his eyes still fixed on the paper as he absorbed the words.

He had always imagined a son as the ideal heir, someone to inherit the pack, to carry on his name. But now, faced with this truth, he couldn’t ignore the facts.

Reality struck with cruel irony.

The child he thought would be the perfect heir was too fragile to survive.

I gave birth without assistance, and yet the baby remained healthy and even thrived, crying the loudest the moment she was born. That in itself spoke volumes. That daughter, though unplanned and born in chaos, was strong. Just like him.

But Esmeralda refused to accept the truth. Her face twisted in disbelief. Her voice rose, shrill with denial.

"What are you talking about, doctor? My grandson is the future Alpha. It’s just a heart! Perform the transplant!"

"Madam," the doctor said gently but firmly, "this is not a simple matter. Heart transplants, especially among werewolves, involved powerful physiological factors. Compatibility wasn't just about blood type. There were spiritual bonds at play. And in this case, the child’s body simply could not accept the strength of the Luna’s daughter’s heart."

"That's absurd!" Esmeralda snapped. "He is an Alpha's son. He can't be weak!"

The doctor looked at her for a long moment before shifting his gaze to Cyrus, then to Calista, who had been quiet in the corner. His next words were measured.

"That is precisely why the goddess chooses a Luna to bear the Alpha’s heir. Without that bond, the child is at a disadvantage."

With that, he gave a small bow and excused himself. His words left the room colder than before.

Calista’s expression barely shifted, but if one looked closely, they would have seen the tightness in her jaw and the way her fingers curled subtly into fists.

But no one was watching her. Everyone's attention remained on the frail boy in the crib, his breathing shallow, his skin too pale.

Esmeralda started pacing, muttering under her breath about incompetence and how they needed a better specialist.

"Alpha Cyrus," she said, turning to her son, her voice filled with urgency, "we can’t give up. Find a better doctor. Bring in someone who knows what they’re doing. We won’t let the future Alpha die."

Cyrus didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the boy, then slowly lifted.

There was a storm behind his eyes. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if weighing every consequence, every choice.

The doctor's words had taken root in his thoughts.

The legacy, the power, the bloodline. But somewhere deep in that silence, a different realization had taken root. One he had long refused to face.

Yes, the daughter he had with me was not a son, but strength was not defined by gender. There were packs led by fierce female Alphas, and they commanded just as much respect.

"Cyrus," Esmeralda said again, now frustrated. "Are you even listening to me? Are you not concerned about your son?"

Cyrus finally turned, his voice calm. "I will check on my and Lyra's child."

The silence that followed his words was deafening.

"What do you mean?" Esmeralda gasped. "You're going to see that child? That bastard? While your son is here suffering?"

A wave of pressure swept through the room, so thick it was hard to stand. Esmeralda stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer force of Cyrus's aura.

"Between that child and Lyra's," Cyrus said slowly, his voice cold and sharp, "which one is really the bastard?"

Esmeralda’s lips parted, but no words came.

He turned to leave, but Calista quickly stepped into his path, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Alpha Cyrus," she said, her voice trembling with forced vulnerability, "what about our son? Please, can you stay a little longer? I’m scared... what if something happens to him?"

Cyrus paused. For a moment, something in his expression softened. He sighed heavily.

"I’ll stay," he said, his voice quieter now. "But only for a short while. I need to see my other child."

"No, wait—!" Calista reached out, trying to grab his arm, but before she could, the door burst open.

One of the men Cyrus had assigned to guard Lyra's room entered, looking visibly shaken. His breathing was uneven, and his eyes flicked anxiously around the room. Behind him, more followed. They looked shaken.

Cyrus straightened, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

The man hesitated, then stepped forward. His face was pale.

"Alpha... we found Madam’s room too quiet. We assumed she was asleep, but when we went to check—"

A sudden jolt ripped through Cyrus’s chest. His breath caught. A pain surged in his ribs, piercing and unnatural. He staggered, gripping his chest, as if something invisible had reached into his soul and yanked it loose.

"Cyrus!" Esmeralda ran to his side, alarmed. "What is it? Are you alright?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The pain wasn’t physical. It was deeper. Something primal. Something tied to the soul.

His eyes turned red with the weight of instinct and dread. He looked at the men, voice hoarse.

"Lyra... what happened to her?"

The man exhaled, bracing himself. "Madam... jumped from the fifth floor. She’s dead."