I didn't sleep that night. I lay in the Alpha residence bedroom, staring at the ceiling, feeling Sera pace restlessly inside me. The ultrasound sat locked in my drawer. The image of Lana's tattoo burned behind my eyelids every time I closed them.

By morning, I'd made my decision.

I dressed carefully. A formal Luna gown in deep navy, the kind I wore to pack ceremonies. I braided my hair back and fastened the silver Luna pendant Jameson had given me on our bonding night. If I was going to do this, I would do it properly.

The pack house was busy when I arrived. Morning shift changes meant wolves moving through the corridors, heading to their posts. I walked past them with my head high, feeling their eyes follow me. Word had already spread about yesterday. Pack houses were never good at keeping secrets.

I found Lana exactly where I expected her. At my desk. Again.

She looked up when I entered, her expression shifting into that practiced concern. "Luna. I wasn't expecting—"

"Stand up." My voice came out calm. Cold.

Lana blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Stand up and step away from the desk." I moved closer, my hands clasped in front of me. "I'm invoking Protocol Seven of the pack household charter. As Luna of Shadowvale, I have sole authority over domestic operations and personnel assignments within the Alpha's private wing."

The room went very quiet. Two staff members who'd been sorting files near the window froze.

Lana stood slowly, her fingers trailing across the desk's edge. "Luna, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Alpha Jameson asked me to—"

"I don't care what Alpha Jameson asked." I kept my voice level. "Protocol Seven predates any individual Alpha's preferences. It was established to prevent exactly this kind of territorial confusion. You are hereby reassigned to the eastern administrative building, effective immediately."

One of the staff members—a young she-wolf named Clara—made a small sound. Almost like approval.

Lana's eyes widened. Her lower lip trembled. "I... I only wanted to help. I've been working so hard to serve this pack." Her voice broke beautifully. "I never meant to overstep."

She lowered her gaze, her shoulders curving inward. The perfect picture of a fragile she-wolf being bullied by a jealous Luna.

Sera snarled. *She's performing.*

I knew. I'd watched Lana perform for five years. But this time, I didn't care.

"The reassignment stands," I said quietly. "You have until noon to clear your things from this office."

Lana's hand drifted to her collar. To the tattoo hidden beneath. Her fingers pressed against it like a talisman.

Then I felt it. The sharp tug of a mind-link that wasn't mine. Lana's eyes went distant for just a second.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway.

Jameson burst through the door, his Alpha aura filling the room like a shockwave. Two junior wolves in the corridor outside immediately bared their necks, forced into submission by the sheer pressure of his presence.

"What the hell is going on here?" His voice was pure command.

Lana turned to him, her eyes glistening. "I'm so sorry, Alpha. I didn't mean to cause problems. Luna is upset, and I understand why. I should have been more careful about boundaries."

Jameson's gaze locked on me. "You're reassigning my assistant?"

"I'm exercising Luna authority over household operations," I said. "It's protocol."

"Protocol." Jameson's jaw tightened. "You don't get to rearrange my operations because you're insecure."

The words hit like a slap. Clara and the other staff member stared at the floor.

"This isn't about insecurity," I said. My voice didn't shake. I was proud of that. "This is about a Beta-ranked she-wolf operating in spaces designated for Luna authority. It's a violation of—"

"Enough." The Alpha tone slammed into me. Not a request. A command that made my wolf whimper and curl inward. "Lana stays exactly where she is. She's indispensable to this pack's operations, and I won't have you undermining efficiency because of personal feelings."

I felt Clara's eyes on me. Felt the weight of every wolf in earshot watching to see what I would do.

Sera was roaring inside me, throwing herself against the cage of my ribs. But the Alpha tone held. My body wouldn't move.

Jameson stepped closer to Lana, his hand brushing her shoulder. Protective. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Lana whispered. "I just want to serve the pack. That's all I've ever wanted."

I stared at them. At the way Jameson's body angled toward her. At the way she leaned into his presence like it was shelter.

Something inside me went very still. Very cold.

This bond was dead. It had been dead for longer than I'd wanted to admit. And I would not announce my pregnancy to a man who let another woman wear the mark of our mating as a trophy.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist. Hard.

"Understood, Alpha," I said quietly.

Then I turned and walked out.

I drove back to the Alpha residence in silence. Sera was still snarling, but I couldn't hear her clearly anymore. Everything felt muffled. Distant.

I went straight to the bedroom and unlocked the drawer. The ultrasound sat on top of my journal, the one written in Old Lycan script that no one in Shadowvale could read. I picked up the image and stared at the tiny blur that was my child.

Our child.

No. My child.

I placed the ultrasound carefully beside the journal and locked the drawer again.

Two days later, I needed financial records from the pack house. Receipts for renovations I'd funded over the years. If I was going to leave—and I was—I wanted documentation of every dollar I'd poured into this place.

The office was empty when I arrived. I moved quickly, pulling files from the cabinet behind the desk. Sera was quiet now. Watchful.

I heard the door open behind me.

Lana walked in, a coffee cup in one hand, her phone in the other. She didn't see me at first. She moved to the mirror on the far wall and set her things down, adjusting her collar.

The tattoo was fully visible. Black ink. Perfect lines. The exact shape and size of Jameson's scar, down to the small curved edge where the rogue's claw had torn deepest.

She tilted her head, studying it. Her fingers traced the lines with something that looked like satisfaction.

This wasn't a tribute. It wasn't even obsession.

It was ownership. A claim staked in permanent ink.

I pulled out my phone and took a photograph. The shutter sound was nearly silent, but Lana's head snapped up. Our eyes met in the mirror.

For a second, her mask slipped. I saw the coldness underneath. The calculation.

Then she smiled. "Luna. I didn't realize you were here."

I slipped my phone into my pocket and picked up the files I'd come for. "I'm finished."

I walked past her without another word.

That night, I sat at the small desk in the Alpha residence and opened my journal. I wrote in Old Lycan script, the language my father had taught me in secret. The language of kings.

*The bond is dead. I will not fight for a man who doesn't see me. I will not raise my child in a house where another woman wears our mark as decoration.*

*I am done.*

Mrs. Cole arrived at six o'clock, exactly as she had every Thursday for the past five years.

I heard her car in the drive, the sharp click of her heels on the stone walkway. She didn't knock. She never knocked. The Alpha residence had been hers once, and she'd never quite accepted that it wasn't anymore.

I stood at the kitchen window, watching the last of the daylight fade through the trees. My hand rested against my stomach, a habit I'd developed since seeing the ultrasound. The gesture was small enough that no one noticed. Private.

The door opened. Mrs. Cole's voice carried down the hall. "Zelda? Are you here?"

I didn't answer immediately. I let her walk through the foyer, let her heels echo on the marble I'd paid to have restored two years ago. Sera stirred in my mind, watchful.

"I'm in the kitchen," I called.

She appeared in the doorway, perfectly composed in a cream suit that probably cost more than most pack members made in a month. Her gaze swept the room with the practiced efficiency of a general inspecting troops.

"The flowers are wilting," she said, nodding toward the arrangement on the counter. "You should have replaced them yesterday."

I looked at the flowers. They were fine. Two days old at most.

"I'll make a note," I said quietly.

Mrs. Cole moved to the dining table, running her finger along the edge. Checking for dust that didn't exist. "And the menu for tomorrow's pack dinner. I assume you've coordinated with the kitchen staff?"

"It's handled."

"Handled." She turned to face me, her expression tight. "That's what you always say. But 'handled' isn't the same as 'done well,' is it?" She paused. "Jameson mentioned you've been... emotional lately. Causing disruptions at the pack house."

There it was. The real reason for tonight's visit.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist. The familiar pressure kept me steady.

"I exercised Luna authority over household operations," I said. "That's not a disruption. That's protocol."

Mrs. Cole's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Protocol. You sound like you're reading from a manual." She moved closer, her voice dropping into that tone she used when she wanted to sound concerned. Maternal. "Zelda, dear. I know it's difficult. Being Luna when you don't quite... fit. But taking out your insecurities on hardworking pack members like Lana—"

"Stop."

The word came out quiet. Controlled. But something in my voice made Mrs. Cole pause.

I turned from the window to face her fully. For the first time in five years, I didn't lower my gaze. Didn't curve my shoulders inward. Didn't perform the submission she expected.

"This table," I said, gesturing to the dining set behind her. "Imported oak. Custom-made. Eight thousand dollars. I paid for it."

Mrs. Cole blinked. "I don't see what—"

"The marble in the foyer. Fifteen thousand for materials and installation. The staff you're so concerned about? I personally negotiated their contracts and pay rates because the pack budget Jameson inherited was hemorrhaging money on inefficient labor practices." I kept my voice level. Factual. "The security upgrades on the eastern perimeter. The new training facility. The diplomatic gifts that secured our alliance with Crescent Pack last year."

I took a step forward. Mrs. Cole took a step back.

"Every single one," I continued, "funded by my personal accounts. Not pack resources. Mine."

Mrs. Cole's face had gone very still. "That's not—"

"The curtains in the Luna quarters. The ones you had me replace three times because the color 'wasn't quite right'? Four thousand dollars. Each set." I tilted my head slightly. "Would you like me to continue? I have receipts. Forty-seven pages of them, actually."

Sera was silent in my mind, but I could feel her presence. Solid. Certain.

Mrs. Cole's mouth opened. Closed. Her hand fluttered toward her throat. "I... Jameson never said..."

"Jameson doesn't know." I let the words settle. "He never asked where the money came from. He just assumed the pack could afford it. That you could afford it." I paused. "You couldn't."

The color had drained from her face. She looked around the kitchen—at the renovated cabinets, the new appliances, the tile work—as if seeing it all for the first time.

"You have no idea who I am," I said quietly. "You've spent five years calling me weak-blooded. Inadequate. Not good enough for your son." I smiled, and it felt strange on my face. Cold. "You've been living in a house I built. Eating off plates I bought. Judging me with a superiority you never earned."

Mrs. Cole's hand was still at her throat. She tried to speak twice before words came out. "This is... I need to talk to Jameson."

"Do that," I said.

She turned and walked toward the door. Her heels didn't click with the same confidence they'd had twenty minutes ago. She paused in the doorway, her back to me.

"You're not yourself," she said. Her voice shook slightly. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this... this isn't appropriate."

I didn't respond. I just watched her leave.

The car started in the driveway. Pulled away. Disappeared into the trees.

I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by furniture I'd paid for, in a house I'd restored, wearing the title of Luna like a costume I was finally ready to take off.

Sera stirred. *That felt good.*

It did. For the first time in five years, speaking the truth felt better than swallowing it.

I walked to the bedroom and unlocked the drawer. The ultrasound sat beside my journal. I pulled out a leather folder I'd placed there this morning and opened it.

Formal rejection documents. Written in Old Lycan script. The language of my father's court. The language Jameson couldn't read.

I'd spent three days drafting them. Consulting legal frameworks within the Lycan Court through contacts I'd maintained in secret. Every clause was ironclad. Every word was deliberate.

Beneath the documents sat the financial ledger. Forty-seven pages. Every receipt. Every transaction. Every dollar I'd poured into Shadowvale Pack, itemized with dates and descriptions.

I closed the folder and locked the drawer again.

My phone buzzed. A text from Mrs. Cole to Jameson, forwarded by accident to the pack-wide message thread: *Your mate has lost her mind. Call me immediately.*

I deleted the notification and set the phone down.

Two more days. That's all I needed.

Two more days to finish what I'd started.