Freya

I woke up to noise. Not the usual quiet footsteps of servants starting their morning duties, but heavy movements. Furniture scraping against the floor. Boxes being dragged. Voices whispering urgently.

For a moment, I lay still, disoriented. Then I realized the sounds were coming from down the hall. From Liam’s room.

I shot up from the bed and ran barefoot into the corridor. The door to Liam’s room was wide open. Servants were inside. They were taking things out. His bed. His small cabinet. His toy chest.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice sharp and shaking.

The servants froze, glancing at each other nervously. That was when I saw them. Allison stood near the window, one hand resting on the curve of her waist as if she owned the place, and Alpha Archer stood beside her, arms crossed.

“Walace needs a bigger room,” Archer said casually, as if explaining a minor rearrangement. “I ordered them to move Liam’s things to the guest room. Bear with it for now. Walace is recovering.”

Recovering. In my son’s room.

My hands curled into fists. “You’re giving him Liam’s room?”

“It’s the biggest one facing the garden,” Allison replied before Archer could speak. “The sunlight is good for recovery.”

I stepped inside, my heart pounding.

That was when I smelled it. Smoke. I turned toward the fireplace. Some of Liam’s clothes were burning. His tiny sweaters. His baby onesies. The soft blue jacket he wore during his first winter.

“Why are you burning his clothes?!” I asked, my voice cracking.

Alpha Archer didn’t even look guilty.

“Those are baby clothes,” he said flatly. “We don’t need them anymore. It’s a waste of space.”

A waste of space. My son’s things were waste.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry out at them. Instead, I walked straight to the remaining pile of clothes on the bed and began gathering them into my arms. The servants hesitated, and Alpha Archer merely watched me with narrowed eyes.

Tears blurred my vision, but I kept packing. Every shirt. Every pair of socks. Every small blanket.

“Freya,” Archer said with a scoff, “don’t start acting pitiful over a room.”

Pitiful. He thought this was merely about a room.

I didn’t answer him. I grabbed a suitcase from the corner and began stuffing Liam’s things inside it carefully, folding what I could, pressing the fabrics to my face when no one was looking.

Allison shifted uncomfortably. Maybe she didn’t expect me to be this calm. Maybe she expected hysterics. But I had none left for them.

When I finished packing the last of Liam’s belongings, I closed the suitcase and stood up slowly. The fire was still burning.

Meanwhile, Alpha Archer had stepped out for a moment to take a call.

I looked around the room. The walls were bare now. Except for one thing. The photo frames. Family pictures. Me. Archer. Liam. Our wedding. My Luna ceremony. The photo album on the shelf containing years of memories.

I walked toward them quietly. One by one, I removed the photos from their frames.

I didn’t rush. I didn’t tremble. I simply gathered them all.

Allison frowned. “What are you doing now?”

I didn’t answer. I walked to the fireplace. And I fed the flames. The first picture to burn was our wedding portrait, where Alpha Archer was holding my hand. Smiling like he loved me.

The fire consumed his face first. Then mine. Then the vows we once believed in.

The album followed. Every memory turned to ash.

When Archer returned, he stopped at the sight of the flames.

“What are you burning?” he asked, irritation in his voice.

I didn’t look at him. “Trash,” I replied calmly.

He stared at me for a second longer, then shrugged as if it didn’t matter. To him, it probably didn’t.

The next day was the last day of Liam’s funeral rites at Crescent Pack.

But here, in Snowfield, there was a banquet. A celebration. The hall was decorated lavishly. Gold and white drapes hung from the ceiling. Musicians played light, cheerful melodies.

It was a banquet for Wallace’s successful operation. And Alpha Archer had decided to make an announcement.

I wore black. Not a simple black dress. A mourning dress.

When I entered the hall, conversations slowed.

Eyes turned toward me. Some sympathetic. Some curious.

Then, I saw Alpha Archer stood at the front with Allison and Wallace beside him.

“Today,” Archer announced proudly, “we celebrate Wallace’s recovery. And I also wish to formally declare that Wallace is my son.”

Gasps spread across the hall. Right then, whispers erupted. I could feel the stares shift toward me. Pity. They were pitying me, their Luna—or ex-Luna.

Suddenly, Allison leaned closer to me as the applause began. “Why are you wearing black?” she hissed under her breath. “This is a celebration for my son. You look like you’re attending a funeral.”

I turned to her slowly and smiled. “I like the color,” I said lightly. “It’s my happy color.”

Her eyes narrowed.

When the applause died down, I began clapping. Loudly. The sound echoed awkwardly in the sudden silence. I smiled wider.

“I’m really, really happy that Wallace lived,” I said cheerfully. “And that the righteous Allison, who would never covet another she-wolf’s Alpha, is safe.”

Allison’s jaw tightened. Perhaps, she felt my overflowing sarcasm, one that only she could understand.

“Maybe if you drove that night,” I continued sweetly, “we’d all be safe.” And just like I said, only she understood the weight of my words.

Her fingers dug into her gown.

Then I turned to Archer. “Sorry I have no gift for Wallace,” I told him regretfully. “But I have a gift for our righteous and responsible father, Alpha Archer.”

I handed him an envelope. He looked mildly curious. Before he could open it, I placed a hand on his wrist.

“It’s a secret,” I whispered, leaning closer. “Something… naughty. Open it when you’re alone.”

I winked. His expression shifted slightly, misunderstanding completely. He slipped the envelope under the table.

Inside it were three things. Liam’s death certificate. My miscarriage report. And our signed divorce papers.

I stepped back.

“Enjoy your celebration,” I said lightly.

Then I walked away. No one stopped me. No one realized that the Luna of Snowfield had just ended her marriage.

I went upstairs, took my suitcase, and left through the back entrance.

At the border of Snowfield’s territory, a luxurious black car was waiting. Its engine was already running. Then, a man in a formal suit stepped out as I approached.

He bowed slightly. “Lady Freya.”

I paused.

“I am Alpha Nathan’s butler,” he said respectfully. “I was asked to send you back for the last day of your son’s funeral.”

My brows furrowed. “Alpha Nathan?” I asked. Who was that? “I thought my brother would come pick me up himself.”

The butler gave a polite smile. “Alpha Nathan of Northern Pack,” he clarified. “Your future husband.”