My mate's omega liaison deliberately destroyed a painting I'd poured two years of my soul into.

The canvas held moon-blessed pigments, each stroke infused with my rare bloodline's gift. I was furious. As punishment, I made her serve as a den-maid for three days—scrubbing floors at my exhibition while the pack watched.

Alaric said nothing at first. He carried on as if the incident had never occurred.

But three moons later, his pack's territory collapsed. Allied packs severed their blood oaths. The Council Elders stripped him of his holdings and cast him into the binding den beneath the central keep.

To settle the tribute debts he'd accumulated, I worked three positions each day, running myself to exhaustion. I cleaned dens for hostile packs. I served at alliance gatherings where wolves who once bowed to me now spat at my feet.

For three years, I was cornered in shadowed alleyways by rogue hunters demanding payment, their claws leaving marks on my arms as they hurled insults at my bloodline. For a hundred coins, I took work as a "test sleeper" in abandoned territories rumored to be cursed by feral spirits.

Then one night, while I was serving mead at a pack feast, I caught his scent—Alaric Blackthorn, the Alpha heir who was supposed to be rotting in a binding cell—hosting a lavish moon-celebration for his precious omega liaison.

A packmate asked, "Alaric, you gifted Lily Ashgrove a moonstone collar worth a fortune, meanwhile your bonded mate is sleeping in cursed dens for a hundred coins. How does your wolf bear the shame?"

Alaric exhaled slowly, smoke curling from the pipe between his fingers. His laugh was cold as winter frost.

"Lyra forced Lily to serve as a maid. These three years? They're her pack penance."

"Once it's complete, I'll stage my return to power."

"She'll still bear the Blackthorn mark."

My body swayed in the cold night wind. I stood there like a puppet with severed strings.

So this was it. Three years of living death—all orchestrated by you.

Fine then. I'll repay you double.

——

I felt like I'd plunged into frozen waters, drowning in darkness. And still, voices drifted out from inside—Garrick Stonewalker was speaking.

"Alaric, she's still your bonded mate. Before you claimed her, she was a treasured daughter of the Nightveil line, a rare-blooded omega pampered from birth. Don't you think this penance is a bit... cruel?"

"Last time I caught Lyra's scent, it was wrong. Weak. Fading. She looked gaunt. Hollow. Her wolf is probably at its breaking point."

Alaric's voice was flat, utterly indifferent.

"We agreed on three full years of penance. Not a day less."

"Besides, there's only one moon cycle left. She's survived this far—what's a few more days?"

Garrick hesitated, then spoke again.

"She came to me a while back. Begging. She only wanted to borrow a few hundred coins."

"The Lyra Nightveil I used to know—the golden omega, born into the highest bloodline—I've never seen her that desperate. Her submission posture... it wasn't an act."

Alaric let out a cold snort. "You didn't give it to her, did you?"

"Of course not. You issued the Alpha command—any wolf who helps her faces pack shunning. I wouldn't dare defy you."

Through the haze of pipe smoke, Alaric's lips curled into a frigid smile.

"Smart wolf."

"Lyra Nightveil is spoiled. Arrogant. Insufferable. Lily accidentally damaged one painting, and Lyra made her grovel as a den-maid for three days in front of the entire pack."

"An omega that entitled needed to be taught her place. And look—three years of penance, and it worked, didn't it?"

His voice dripped with pride. Satisfaction.

As if his cruel experiment had broken me. Reformed me into something more obedient.

Garrick sighed and swallowed whatever protest had risen in his throat.

There were things he hadn't told Alaric.

That day, I had knelt before him.

I had bared my throat in full submission, tilting my head to expose the vulnerable curve where my pulse beat.

"Just five hundred coins. Please. I'm begging you."

"Alaric is sick in the binding den. He needs a pack healer. I'm five hundred short."

The wolves present had exchanged glances—then burst out laughing, their mocking howls echoing off the stone walls.

"Is this really the Lyra Nightveil we used to know?"

"You were so proud back then. Wouldn't wear pelts that cost less than a thousand. Now you're offering your throat for five hundred?"

I could only kneel there and endure it. My face showed nothing.

What expression was I supposed to wear?

Every shred of pride, every ounce of dignity I'd been born with—ground into dust by this brutal reality.

"If you're willing to offer more coins..."

My voice cracked, barely a whisper.

"I'll submit however you want."

Their laughter only swelled, echoing off the stone walls of the den.

At last, the wolf who had stayed silent spoke. He lounged across the leather seating, exhaling a slow breath that carried the sharp bite of smoke.

"Get out."

"Even if you dropped to your belly and showed throat a hundred times, we wouldn't lift a claw for you."

Because Alaric had given them their orders long before any of this began.

Penance was penance.

For three full years, they were forbidden to show me even a shred of mercy or offer me the smallest kindness.

Only then could they properly avenge his precious Omega Liaison, Lily Ashgrove.

So how did I scrape together those five hundred silver marks?

I walked into a territory infirmary and let them drain my blood.

Later, I carried that payment to the pack holding cells, only to be told Alaric had already been released under a healer's dispensation.

The coins passed through hand after hand until they finally reached one of Alaric's packmates.

I was so desperate I nearly dropped to my knees and bared my throat.

"Please—please make sure this reaches Alaric. He cannot fall into more trouble with the Council."

But at that very moment, Alaric was with his little Omega at the harvest festival grounds, posing for memory-captures like they hadn't a worry beneath the moon.

He tossed those five hundred silver marks at a festival worker like they were scraps from a kill.

"Filthy coin from the goddess knows where. Disgusting."

Just like my heart—crushed beneath his heel without a second thought.

And now, here was Alaric, personally overseeing every detail of Lily's birth-moon gala. A moonstone vessel worth more than most wolves earned in a lifetime sat on display as mere decoration.

Every detail had been arranged with meticulous care.

But I could not bear to watch any longer.

I nearly lost control more than once. I wanted to storm across the gathering hall, to rake my claws across his face until the marks never healed.

I wanted to demand answers. Why did you deceive me for three years? Just because I made Lily serve as a household attendant for three days?

I wanted to tear away my clothing and show him every scar, every wound I had collected over these three years.

But in the end, I did nothing.

I watched the wolf who should have been confined in the binding den for three more days. He stood there in ceremonial attire that cost more than everything I possessed, looking every inch the ruthless Alpha Heir.

He pulled Lily—his precious little Omega—into his arms, his expression softening with adoration as he wished her a joyful birth-moon.

Then I turned away, my face revealing nothing, and made my way back to my underground den.

Dark. Damp. I had survived here for three years.

The washing alcove sat just inside the entrance. Mold crept across the walls in patches that had built up over moons and seasons. The scent of decay drifted through the stale air without warning.

When I first took shelter here, I retched every single day.

For the first twenty-five years of my life, I had been cherished. The precious firstborn daughter of the Nightveil bloodline. I had never known a day of true hardship.

I was a moon-blessed artist, celebrated across territories. Recognition and honors lined my shelves—so many I had lost count.

At the height of my renown, Alaric Blackthorn—the golden heir of the Blackthorn Pack—dropped to one knee and offered his claiming promise.

After we completed our mating bond, he indulged me even more.

Just like that, I had become the she-wolf every female dreamed of being. The pack whispers called me "fortune's chosen."

Until Alaric brought a timid, soft-voiced Omega Liaison into his service named Lily Ashgrove.

She was the daughter of my family's household attendant, yet she competed with me at every turn.

Her garments were not as fine as mine, so she mocked me as a useless trophy mate.

Her abilities could not match mine, so she whispered behind my back that I had either been born under a lucky moon or spread my legs to reach my standing.

Worse still, she had schemed her way into becoming Alaric's personal Omega Liaison—and never missed a chance to poison his thoughts against me.

She told him I tormented her mother in our estate. That I destroyed her clothing.

That I had forced her to kneel and serve me like a lowborn servant.

I believed the truth would speak for itself. I never bothered to defend my honor.

Until the day I finally completed the painting I had worked on for two years.

I was about to have it properly mounted and preserved. I stepped away for just a moment.

When I returned, it was covered in ink.

Lily stood nearby, a vial of wolfsbane extract clutched in her delicate fingers, her expression radiating smug satisfaction.

"Two full cycles of the moon you devoted to that piece. Let us see how you will flaunt your talents before Alaric now."

Rage surged through my veins like wildfire. My hand moved before conscious thought could intervene, striking her cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the ruined studio.

"You have spent months spreading whispers that I treat you as a lowly servant," I said, my voice cold as winter frost. "Very well. For the next three days, you shall truly know what that means. You will clean every corner of my gallery until it gleams like moonlight on fresh snow."

But the moment those words escaped my lips, the heavy oak door crashed open.

Alaric strode in, his powerful frame filling the doorway, brow furrowed with barely contained displeasure. Without uttering a single word, he pulled Lily behind his broad back, shielding her with his body.

"Lyra, can you not control that wild temper of yours for once?" His voice cut through the air like sharpened ice. "Lily works so hard to please this pack. Yes, she comes from a lesser bloodline—but why must you constantly target her?"

My chest heaved with fury, my wolf clawing beneath my skin. "Alaric, you need to understand what truly happened. She was the one who—"

Before I could finish speaking, Lily threw herself into his arms, her body trembling with theatrical sobs.

"Alaric, please forgive me! I was only trying to help Lyra organize her den-studio, and I accidentally destroyed her painting. She threatened to cast me out to the rogue territories! She called my mother a packless whore and said the pup inherited the dam's weakness!"

Her voice cracked and wavered, tears streaming down her pale cheeks—the perfect portrait of wounded innocence.

"I can endure being struck. I can bear harsh words. But why must she drag my mother's memory through the mud?"

Alaric did not ask for my account of events. Did not investigate. He simply accepted her words as truth.

His gaze turned glacial, golden Alpha eyes boring into mine with disappointment. "Lyra, when did you become this cruel creature? You have disappointed me deeply."

I wanted to howl my frustration to the moon itself.

Even with Alaric defending her at every turn, I refused to yield my ground. For three days, Lily scrubbed and swept like the servant she had always pretended to be.

When the punishment concluded, Alaric acted as though nothing significant had occurred. He merely released a soft sigh—light, dismissive.

"That fierce temper of yours, Lyra. When will you learn to let such trivial matters pass? It was merely a painting."

"You have had your vengeance. Let us move forward."

I was naive enough to believe we had.

Several days later, devastating news spread through the territories that Alaric's pack had suffered a catastrophic collapse. Ancient alliances crumbled overnight.

He was taken into Council custody shortly after, leaving me alone to face the destruction.

At first, worry did not consume me. Even if the Blackthorn pack fell into ruin, I still had my parents, my birth pack.

I sent urgent scent-messages immediately.

Both trails had gone cold, severed completely.

Panic clawed at my throat like a feral beast.

I raced back to the Nightveil estate, only to have Cedric meet me at the entrance, his weathered face pale as bone.

The day they received word of Alaric's capture, my parents had rushed back to offer their aid. A mountain storm had caught their carriage on the treacherous pass.

Neither survived the fall.

In a single night, my entire world crumbled to ash.

No mate. No parents. No pack left to shelter me.

I sold everything I possessed and retreated to a damp underground den at the edge of unclaimed territory, hiding from the rogue hunters who had purchased Alaric's blood debts.

Sleep became an impossibility. I would lie awake through endless nights, flinching at every rustle, every distant howl.

Eventually, they tracked my scent.

A group of rogues kicked down my door, armed with silver-tipped clubs.

They shattered two of my ribs. Broke my wrist so badly that I could never hold a brush again, could never create the moon-blessed art that had once defined me.

It took three years to accept my fate.

I surrendered everything—my art, my pride, my dreams of finding my true mate—just to survive another day.

And now I was being told it had all been an elaborate deception.

Alaric's "penance" had stripped me raw, peeled away every layer of who I once was, and rebuilt me into someone I could no longer recognize.

My message stone hummed with incoming energy.

A scent-message from Alaric.

"Lyra, I am being released from Council holding in three days. Do not forget to collect me."

My fingers tightened around the smooth stone until my knuckles went white. A dull ache spread through my chest, settling deep in my bones.

Even now, he was still playing his cruel games.

He was already at his celebration gathering. I had witnessed it with my own eyes.

He had been holding Lily close, celebrating his freedom, surrounded by an enormous feast and beautiful decorations befitting an Alpha heir.

And yet he was still treating me like a fool to be manipulated.

I stared at those words until tears blurred my vision, turning the glowing script into meaningless smears of light.

Then I blinked them away and read the message once more.