Four months before my mating ceremony with Alpha Marcus, his mother pulled me aside with that familiar look of disdain.

"You're just a common Omega who don't understand proper pack etiquette. How can you possibly stand beside my son as Luna?"

Her solution? Ship me off to some specialized Luna training academy to learn "proper manners."

Marcus wrapped his arms around me that night, his breath warm against my ear. "It's all for our future, Sylvia. Trust me."

My heart melted. Of course I trusted him. I would have done anything for him.

I never imagined that the so-called Luna Etiquette Academy was nothing but a torture chamber designed to break female wolves. Four months of hell. Four months of having twisted ideologies beaten into me: "Lunas must submit to Alphas." Question anything, and silver whips would tear your skin apart.

I lost my ability to shift completely.

When I finally escaped that nightmare, I discovered the horrifying truth. Marcus hadn't sent me there to better myself. He'd sent me there to get me out of the way—so I couldn't interfere with his childhood sweetheart Victoria's mating ceremony.

But when I exposed the academy's brutal reality at that very ceremony, when Marcus finally learned what he'd put me through, the powerful Alpha completely lost his mind.

My fiancé is Marcus, Alpha of the Stormfang Pack.

Before our mating ceremony, his mother cornered me in the pack house kitchen.

"As a common Omega, you clearly don't understand proper pack etiquette." Her manicured nails tapped against the marble countertop. "You'll attend a specialized training academy. Learn how to be a proper Alpha's mate."

The way she said "proper" made my skin crawl.

But this place wasn't an etiquette academy at all. It was pure hell on earth.

Every morning before dawn, shrill whistles would pierce the darkness like ice picks to the skull. Then came the brutal physical training that pushed us beyond our limits. Show weakness, and the silver-tipped whips would sing through the air without mercy.

The "submission conditioning" classes were even worse.

They'd strap us to metal chairs and force twisted ideologies into our heads. "Females must be obedient." "Alphas can have multiple partners, and as their mate you should support this." "Your pain doesn't matter—only your Alpha's happiness."

The words felt like poison seeping into my brain.

But the punishment for defiance was the most terrifying part. The trainers would inject silver-laced serums directly into our bloodstreams. The agony would tear through every nerve ending, making you wish for death.

I barely survived four months of this torture.

My hands still shake when I think about it. My wolf had retreated so deep inside me that I couldn't feel her anymore.

On the day I was finally released, I heard Marcus talking to his Beta outside the academy gates. I'd been walking toward him, a smile ready on my lips despite everything, when his words stopped me cold.

"Sending Sylvia to the academy was just to keep her from causing trouble at Victoria's mating ceremony." His voice was casual, almost bored. "She's tough for an Omega—these four months of suffering in exchange for becoming Stormfang Pack's future Luna seems like a fair trade."

My legs nearly gave out.

"Alpha," his Beta replied, and I could hear the confusion in his voice. "If you don't want to mate with Sylvia, why not just tell her directly? Why put her through all that torment? That academy is a complete scam. It's designed purely for torture—constant whippings, electric shocks. An Omega going in there would be lucky to come out alive!"

" You're being too dramatic." Marcus's laugh was cold. " Many Alphas send their Lunas there to learn etiquette. How could there possibly be such things as you mentioned?"

"Victoria's ceremony is coming up, and I was afraid Sylvia might try to sabotage it. Besides, this is for her own good—if she wants to become a Luna, she needs to face some trials. "

The moment his cruel words hit my ears, tears blurred my vision.

So I was nothing more than a pawn. A convenient obstacle to be removed while he celebrated with his precious Victoria.

I pressed my hand hard against my mouth to keep from making a sound. My entire body trembled as the truth crashed over me like a tidal wave.

"Sylvia!"

I jerked my head up. Marcus was walking toward me, his expression shifting to calculated concern. Those green eyes that used to make my heart race now felt like shards of glass.

"You look terrible," he said, reaching out to touch my face. "Is it because I'm late?"

I flinched away from his touch.

His jaw tightened. "Victoria was feeling sick today, so I got held up."

Of course. Always Victoria.

Seeing my pale complexion, Marcus assumed I was upset about his lateness. His expression quickly darkened, and he launched into a lecture that felt like another whip across my back.

"I sent you here to make you better, so we could become proper mates. I'm only two hours late and you're already this dissatisfied?" His voice rose with each word. "How can you possibly handle the responsibilities of being Stormfang Pack's Luna? Clearly you haven't learned proper etiquette yet. Maybe you should stay here and train a bit longer!"

Terror consumed me.

My legs started shaking uncontrollably. Just hearing him threaten to leave me here brought back every moment of agony—the silver whips, the electric shocks, the cold metal chairs. I dropped to my knees at his feet like a broken doll.

"It's my fault, it's my fault!" The words tumbled out in a desperate rush. "I'm not dissatisfied at all. Marcus, please forgive me. Don't send me back here. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be so good."

Marcus looked stunned by my reaction. His eyes widened as he took in my trembling form, the way I cowered at his feet like a beaten animal.

"Sylvia..." He reached down to help me up, his touch gentler now. "Go pack your things."

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting blood, forcing back the tears threatening to spill. I couldn't cry. Not now. Crying meant losing. Crying meant giving him exactly what he wanted.

Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to appear calm as I turned away. I walked back to the cold, lifeless room they'd assigned me and silently gathered my pathetically few belongings.

There wasn't much to pack. Everything fit into one small bag—a few clothes, a worn photo of us from happier times, and a silver bracelet he'd given me for my birthday.

But when I carried it out to the main hall, the space was empty.

Marcus had vanished.

Only my phone remained on the table, along with two voice messages he'd sent. I played them with trembling fingers.

"Victoria's dog got hurt. Wait here for me, and I'll come back to get you. We'll go to our... new home together."

His voice sounded frantic. More frantic than he'd ever sounded about me.

My fingertips went ice cold as I gripped the phone. I opened social media and saw Victoria's latest post:

"Thank you Alpha for helping me pick out Mia's outfit for the mating ceremony! Your taste is amazing!"

Below was a photo: Victoria beaming, arm-in-arm with my fiancé, with her pet dog Mia sitting in front of them wearing a tiny blue dress.

So he'd abandoned me to help her pick out clothes for her dog. He couldn't even wait a few extra minutes for me.

An invisible fist squeezed my heart. The pain made it hard to breathe.

Dragging my body—exhausted from months of drugs and electric shocks—I didn't bother looking for him. Instead, I took a cab to the apartment where we'd once spent countless nights together.

Where he'd whispered promises in my ear. Where he'd traced my scars with gentle fingers and sworn he'd never let anyone hurt me again.

But the moment I opened the door, I froze.

Everything was gone. All my belongings, his belongings, everything we'd shared—it had all disappeared like it never existed.

Only a single note lay on the cold floor, written in Marcus's familiar handwriting:

"I moved to our new place already. I threw away all the useless stuff. The address is 92 Central Park Road."

Our new place?

I laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. Just like that, without asking my permission, he'd thrown away everything I owned. Six years of memories, reduced to "useless stuff."

What did the six years I'd given him mean, then?

Nothing at all.

My mind drifted back to six years ago, when I first met him.

I'd gone to the hospital to visit an injured friend. The emergency room smelled like antiseptic and fear. In a corner bed, I found a man with bandages wrapped around his neck, shivering despite the summer heat.

His green eyes met mine, and something in them made my heart skip.

"I'm Marcus," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was a Gamma once. My pack abandoned me when I tried to leave." He touched the bandages gingerly. "They injected me with silver poison. Said it would teach me about loyalty."

Without thinking, I unwrapped my scarf and wrapped it around his trembling shoulders. The soft wool looked ridiculous over his hospital gown, but he pulled it closer like it was made of gold.

I didn't notice the conflicted light that flickered in his eyes when he looked down at me.

For six years, we lived together in that tiny apartment. Because of his supposed condition, I took care of him constantly. His "treatments" were expensive, the doctors said. Special procedures to remove silver from his bloodstream.

So I worked four jobs.

Waitressing at dawn, data entry during lunch, tutoring after school, and cleaning offices until midnight. My hands were raw from scrubbing floors. My eyes burned from staring at computer screens. But every paycheck went toward his medical bills.

During his weakest moments, he would bite my wrist gently and whisper against my skin, "When I'm better, I'll mark you properly. Make you mine forever."

His teeth would graze my pulse point, sending shivers down my spine.

But whenever I asked about his past, about his old pack, he'd turn away and refuse to speak. "It's too painful," he'd say. "I just want to forget."

I thought I was protecting him by not pushing.

God, how naive I was.

It wasn't until I stumbled across his social media that I learned the truth. There he was in a tailored Armani suit, being interviewed at the Alpha Council summit. The headline read: "Alpha Marcus Morrison of Stormfang Pack Discusses Regional Pack Alliances."

My hands shook as I opened his old phone that he'd carelessly left behind. The photo gallery was full of pictures he'd secretly taken of me—my profile while working late into the night, my flour-dusted cheek while making soup for his "treatments," my sleeping face after I'd collapsed from exhaustion.

Every photo was captioned with "Don't work too hard, my brave little Omega."

Looking back now, how ridiculous it all was.

Marcus was the Alpha of Stormfang Pack—one of the wealthiest packs in the region. How could he possibly need money for surgery?

He just enjoyed playing games with people. I was nothing more than entertainment when he was bored.

The moment I discovered his lies, all my suppressed hurt came flooding out like a dam bursting. I went completely insane.

I smashed everything in our apartment. The coffee maker he'd claimed was too expensive. The TV I'd saved months to buy. The framed photo of us on our first anniversary.

I threw away anything that reminded me of him, stuffing six years of memories into garbage bags like they were toxic waste.

Then I sent him a message: "We're over. Don't contact me again."

That same night, he broke down my apartment door.

The sound of splintering wood made me scream. He stood in the doorway, his tie crooked, his white shirt stained with mud, and behind him were Gamma wolves carrying boxes of appliances.

"The refrigerator is the double-door one you wanted," he said, breathless. "The washing machine has the drying function you needed. And this—"

He pulled out a battered metal box filled with rings he'd made from soda can tabs during our relationship. His fingers trembled as he opened it.

"This is what's really precious."

I wanted to throw the box at his head. Instead, I turned away.

"Get out."

"Sylvia, please—"

"I said get out!"

But he didn't leave. For the next two weeks, he camped outside my building every day with takeout from my favorite restaurants. Thai curry from the place on Fifth Street. Italian gelato from the shop we'd discovered together. Pizza from our first date.

I ignored him. I had to.

Late one night while I was working overtime, the power suddenly went out. In the dim emergency lighting, he appeared wearing a faded hoodie, holding a candle-lit cake and singing an off-key birthday song.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

His voice cracked on the high notes. The cake was store-bought, lopsided, with "Sorry" written in shaky frosting letters.

"I lied when I said I'd take you to Paris for your birthday," he said, setting the cake down carefully. "But now I can rent out the Eiffel Tower's light show, if you'll let me."

I stared at him in the candlelight. "You think money fixes everything?"

"No." His voice was barely a whisper. "But I'll spend every penny I have trying to make it right."

One stormy evening, he showed up at my door soaking wet, clutching a cardboard box. Inside were all the memories I'd thrown away—crumpled bus tickets from our weekend trips, a ceramic figurine that had been broken and glued back together, and the notebook where he'd recorded money-saving tips during his fake poverty act.

His voice broke as he tore open his shirt, revealing a tattoo over his heart—the date we first met, inked in elegant script.

"I was afraid you only loved the Alpha of Stormfang Pack," he said, rain dripping from his hair. "But every day I hid my identity was the only time I felt truly alive."

He dropped to his knees on my doorstep, not caring about the storm or the neighbors watching.

"I'll give you everything. My wealth, my pack, my title. I'll make you my Luna. Just please... please don't leave me."

Those wet, pleading eyes were the same ones that had looked up at me in the hospital six years ago.

My heart softened despite everything.

After all, the Marcus in front of me—the one who made terrible breakfast and sang off-key in the shower—that had been real. He really did love me.

Didn't he?

So when we got back together and he begged me to agree to his mother's demand about the academy, I said yes.

"It's just temporary," he'd whispered, holding me close. "Once you're properly trained, no one will question our bond. We'll be together forever."

I'd believed him. God help me, I'd believed every word.

But now, looking at Victoria's social media posts from the past four months, I felt like my sacrifice was a complete joke.

While pack instructors were tormenting me, whipping me, shocking me, even throwing me into silver-lined cells... Marcus, who claimed he was busy planning our mating ceremony, was either watching the northern lights with Victoria or surfing with her in tropical waters.

The way he smiled with her was so carefree, so genuine.

Nothing like the careful, measured smiles he gave me.

My finger scrolled through Victoria's posts, each photo a knife stabbing into my heart. Here they were at a vineyard, sharing wine and laughter. There they were at a beach resort, her head on his shoulder as they watched the sunset.

When I found a post from six years ago—during his supposed hospitalization—I couldn't hold back anymore.

The photo showed Marcus and Victoria at some fancy restaurant, both of them glowing with happiness. The caption read: "Thank you for the most romantic dinner ever! 💕"

The timestamp was from the exact night I'd worked a double shift to pay for his "emergency surgery."

My whole body shook as tears streamed down my face.

That so-called "surgery" was nothing but a pathetic lie he'd made up so he could meet with his precious Victoria without me interfering!

And there I was, stupidly working four jobs to pay for his fake medical bills, pushing myself until I collapsed with fever but never daring to rest because he "needed" me!

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. The sound echoed in the empty apartment like a broken record.

Marcus, what about you was ever real?

Those small moments of tenderness—the way he'd trace my scars and promise to heal them, the way he'd hold me during nightmares, the way he'd whisper that I was his everything—had been the only thing that made me believe we could last forever.

Now that foundation had crumbled completely, leaving nothing but ruins.

I stood in the empty apartment, surrounded by the wreckage of our sweet memories. The walls seemed to close in on me, suffocating me with six years of lies.

The tears and hurt I'd been holding back finally overwhelmed me. With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and typed three words that felt like swallowing glass:

"Let's break up."

I didn't want this Luna position anymore.

His reply came almost instantly:

"Stop being dramatic, Sylvia. Tonight I'm taking you to meet my parents to discuss our mating ceremony details. Be good."

His tone carried undisguised impatience and superiority. No awareness of how wrong he was. Still thinking I'd come running back the moment he beckoned like a well-trained dog.

I didn't reply. Instead, I followed the address on his note to find that elegantly decorated but unfamiliar house.

I needed to find my mother's ring. It was the only thing I cared about now—hoping it was still among the things he'd packed up and hadn't been thrown away like everything else.

The moment I pushed open the door, warm yellow light should have felt welcoming. Instead, it made my blood run cold.

The entire living room wall featured a walnut bookcase—exactly the "dream bookcase" Victoria had posted about on social media last week. Even the brass bookends were identical to the ones she'd circled in red hearts.

On the beige chenille sofa, a dusty pink houndstooth throw was casually draped. The coffee table held a brass tray with unfinished coffee, a faint lipstick mark still visible on the rim.

Her lipstick mark.

I stared at the vintage green cabinets in the open kitchen, remembering how I'd specifically told Marcus I wanted a minimalist white design. "Clean lines," I'd said. "Something that feels like us."

This wasn't us. This was all her.

Walking into the master bedroom on plush wool carpet, I stopped breathing when I saw the Monet water lily painting hanging above the headboard. Last month at the art museum, Victoria had pouted while pointing at this exact painting.

"It would be so nice to have one at home," she'd whined, tugging on Marcus's sleeve.

Marcus had just smiled and patted her head. "Maybe someday."

Apparently, someday was now.

I stumbled against the wardrobe, my pale face reflected in its mirrored surface. Inside, my few clothes hung crooked in the corner like forgotten afterthoughts, while taking center stage was Victoria's Chanel spring collection that I'd seen her wear in dozens of Instagram posts.

A faint scent of moonflower drifted from the balcony—Victoria's favorite fragrance.

I was allergic to moonflower. Marcus knew that.

The platinum pendant I'd saved for months to buy him—a traditional werewolf courting gift—lay forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Tarnished and discarded.

I picked up the necklace and threw it in the trash.

If he didn't want it, what was the point of keeping it? Better to throw it away and be done with it.

I contacted a moving company to take my belongings away.

As I was placing my luggage outside the door, Victoria suddenly arrived with her beta wolf.

Victoria's gaze swept over my few packed boxes, her tone dripping with contempt.

"Well, well, Sylvia. Moving out, are we?" She examined her manicured nails. "Though I suppose this junk really shouldn't be cluttering up the place anyway."

I tried to ignore her, focusing on my boxes. Just get out. Just leave.

But Victoria's beta kicked over my packed luggage, sending my belongings scattering across the driveway.

"Victoria, you're just too kind," the beta sneered. "Some people are born to pick up other people's leftovers. This house was originally a mating ceremony gift the Alpha prepared for you. But your standards were too high—you didn't want it. That's the only reason certain people got lucky enough to live here."

My hands froze on the box I was lifting.

This house had been meant for Victoria originally?

The beta continued rifling through my scattered belongings. "Though we should make sure certain people aren't using this move as an excuse to steal your priceless jewelry."

"I heard Miss Sylvia got sent for 'special training' for four months just to become a proper mate for the Alpha!" She laughed cruelly. "How was it, Miss Sylvia? Did you learn to behave? Finally realize you're not good enough to be a Luna?"

My fists clenched, nails digging deep into my palms until I felt blood.

So this so-called new home was just garbage that Victoria had rejected. Hand-me-downs. Scraps from the princess's table.

"Are you finished?" I stood up slowly, my voice deadly quiet. "If so, please leave. You're not welcome here."

Victoria's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as she picked up my mother's healing crystal ring from the entryway table. The ring I'd been desperately searching for.

"This ring looks quite nice." She turned it over in her fingers like she was examining a trinket. "Sylvia, why don't you give it to me as a little gift?"

"Put it down!" The words tore from my throat.

That was the only keepsake my mother had left me. The only thing that connected me to her memory. I would never let anyone defile it.

Victoria held the ring high, her eyes full of malice.

"Put it down? That's not impossible." Her smile was poison-sweet. "Miss Sylvia spent four months at training camp learning proper behavior. You should know how to please people now, right?"

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Get on your hands and knees at my feet and bark like a dog. Make me happy, and I'll give it back to you. How about it?"

Rage consumed me. White-hot fury that made my vision blur.

I'd lost everything now. My home, my future, my dignity. I couldn't swallow this humiliation anymore.

"You bitch—"

I stepped forward, but before my hand could even strike, Victoria suddenly cried out "Oh!"

The ring slipped from her fingers—deliberately—and she stepped on it with her designer heel, grinding it into pieces against the concrete.

"Oops," she said, not sounding sorry at all.

I roared and lunged at Victoria. She seemed to have expected this—she twisted her ankle deliberately and threw herself backward with theatrical flair.

"BANG!" A car door slammed shut. Marcus appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel.

"Sylvia!"

SLAP—

A vicious slap struck my face, the sound echoing through the evening air. My head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind my eyelids.

"You vicious woman! Victoria came here to comfort you, and you actually pushed her!"

Marcus helped Victoria up, frantically checking if she was hurt. His hands were gentle as they traced her arms, her face, looking for any sign of injury.

"I didn't push her!" I held my burning cheek, trying to explain. "She's the one who destroyed my mother's ring! She did it on purpose!"

Victoria leaned against Marcus's chest pitifully, tears streaming down her face on cue.

"Marcus," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I was just trying to help Sylvia pick up her ring. She didn't hold it steady, and when it broke, she got so angry she accidentally pushed me."

Her performance was flawless. Academy Award worthy.

"Please don't blame her..." Victoria sniffled. "It's just that my ankle might be twisted. It hurts so much..."

"Sylvia, it seems those four months at the academy didn't teach you anything." Marcus's voice was ice-cold. "A leopard never changes its spots!"

He scooped Victoria into his arms, his expression tender and protective.

"Victoria, it's okay. We're going to the hospital right now!"

As Victoria nestled in Marcus's arms, she passed by me and flashed a triumphant smile that he couldn't see. Her eyes sparkled with victory.

I slowly crouched down, my hands shaking as I picked up the broken pieces of the ring. Each fragment cut into my palms, mixing my blood with my mother's memory.

Tears streamed down my face, but they weren't tears of sadness anymore.

They were tears of pure, undiluted rage.

Marcus... Victoria... I bit my lip hard, infinite hatred growing in my heart like a cancer.

Then I looked up at the security camera mounted by the neighbor's door and smiled slightly.

The red light blinked steadily. Recording everything.

Victoria, since you want to hold such a grand mating ceremony, let me add some "excitement" and make this ceremony more "spectacular."

After all, the truth has a way of coming out.

And I had front row seats to your little performance.

Game on, bitch.