The pain came suddenly, sharp as a claw, twisting low in Selene’s belly. She hadn’t shifted, she hadn’t even come into heat this cycle—so why did it burn so much, as though silver had touched her skin?

She pushed off the velvet bench in the gallery and staggered toward the door of the restricted corridor. When her fingers curled around the bronze handle, it didn’t move. Locked. From the outside.

Then came the voice she dreaded—cool, honeyed, and barbed—sliding under the door like smoke.

“Poor little Beta bride,” Lyra Moonshadow purred. “How does it feel, living on scraps of someone else’s love?”

Selene’s vision blurred. She braced herself on the doorframe, panting.

“Ronan’s always been mine,” Lyra went on, her voice rising with a cruel little laugh. “From the very first moon. Now that I’ve returned to the Ironfang Pack, you’re just an intruder. And you still had the gall to show up at this ceremony tonight, trying to steal my light?”

Selene gritted her teeth, sweat cooling on her brow. Her voice came out thin but steady.

“If you want him, take him. I’m finished fighting for a mate who won’t fight for me.”

A scoff. “You think I’d believe that?”

“You took my mother’s place in the Alpha’s heart. Now you want my bond too? You’re pathetic. Stay in there. No one’s coming.”

Selene heard something scrape on the other side—Lyra dragging a heavy sign across the threshold. “Restricted Area. Do Not Enter” in bold red letters.

Tonight’s conclave had strict rules: no phones, no photos, no magic recordings. All personal devices had been collected at the door. Even a wolf in trouble would go unheard in this wing.

Selene’s claws half‑slid out before she forced them back, but the cramps were like hot chains across her stomach. Her knees buckled. She slid to the stone floor, leaning against the cold wall. Her hands trembled as she beat at the door.

“Please… somebody…” her voice cracked, echoing against the empty corridor. “Help me…”

But no one came. Any wolf who might have walked by would see the red warning sign and turn away.

Time blurred. The pain deepened until even her enhanced senses dulled. The cold crept in through her thin ceremonial dress. Finally, darkness rose up and pulled her under.

---

On the main floor, the conclave dragged on. When the last sacred artifact was unveiled and the chants faded, Ronan Draven realized Selene had not returned. A faint furrow appeared between his brows.

Beside him, Lyra tilted her head, her eyes wide and innocent. “Alpha Ronan,” she murmured sweetly, “do you think she left because I took her seat at your side? I didn’t mean to upset her…”

“You’re the rightful daughter of the Moonshadow line,” Ronan said flatly. “You think a secretary should sit where you belong?” He exhaled sharply. “Forget it. Selene’s been too proud lately. A night alone might cool her temper.”

Lyra’s lips curled when he turned away, her thoughts a victorious hiss: Selene Valen, you never learn. You couldn’t win my mother’s favor; you won’t win my mate’s either.

That night Selene did not return to the packhouse. Ronan never asked again.

---

The next morning, when a cleaning omega opened the sealed chamber during her rounds, she nearly dropped her bucket.

Curled in the corner, drenched and trembling, lay Selene. Her gown clung to her like wet parchment; her skin had gone pale as moonlight.

“By the goddess—Miss, how did you get locked in here?” the omega cried, rushing to her. “You’re freezing. Should I fetch the healer?”

Selene’s lashes fluttered. She pressed her palms to the floor, forcing her body upright inch by inch. “No… thank you. I’ll manage.”

The cramps had faded to a dull ache, but the cold had seeped into her bones. She’d really thought Ronan might come looking for her.

But clearly, she’d overestimated herself again.

She remembered how, when Lyra once went missing for only ten minutes as a pup, Ronan had nearly summoned the entire patrol in a panic. And now, after an entire night without word, he hadn’t even raised a howl for his bonded mate.

So this is the difference, Selene thought, steadying herself against the wall. The difference between love and indifference.

Step by step she left the chamber, the omega hovering behind her but not daring to question an Alpha’s wife. Outside, she flagged down a pack‑run carriage to the edge of the territory.

At last she was given her confiscated phone back. The screen lit up. Not a single message from Ronan.

Instead, there were several from Kael Ralston.

[Selene, I can’t wait a full moon. One week. I’m coming to get you in one week.]

Selene closed her eyes. For the first time in hours, warmth flickered in her chest—a faint ember against the frost.

Selene’s paws trembled as she read Kael’s message. A warmth she hadn’t felt in years flickered in her chest.

[Understood. One week is enough.]

One week. Not a full moon, not a whole cycle—just a week. After that, she would be gone from Ronan, from the Ironfang Pack, and finally free of the betrayal that had marked every heartbeat of the past three years.

She slipped back into the villa, the corridors eerily quiet. The sight that met her in the sitting hall made her blood run cold.

Lyra lounged on the couch, reclining in a silk gown—Selene’s gown. Her fingers drummed casually against the armrest, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention. Lyra’s sneer sharpened. “Back already? You look like the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.”

Slowly, she rose, tilting Selene’s chin with a possessive, mocking grace. “Look at you—pale as the moonlight. Anyone would think you’d nearly died.”

Lyra leaned closer, whispering in Selene’s ear, her voice a venomous caress. “Last night… with Ronan, he said he only feels like an Alpha with me. Said you lie there like a sleeping pup—completely useless.”

Selene’s golden eyes narrowed, and with a swift motion, her paw met Lyra’s cheek.

“Lyra,” she hissed, teeth bared, “know your place. I am still Ronan’s mate. You are nothing but a pretender. Push me too far, and I will reveal every deceit you’ve spun in the pack. Everyone will see the truth of what you are—a wolf who uses others to claim what she cannot earn.”

Lyra laughed coldly, a sound that scraped against the stone walls. She raised her hands in mock surrender, but it was obvious—she had no intention of stopping.

Before Selene could react further, Ronan appeared, stepping out from the shadowed hallway. Lyra froze, knees weakening, and stumbled forward toward the nearest pillar.

Ronan’s reflexes were swift. He caught her just in time, his hold firm.

“Lyra, I invited you here. If anyone has a problem with you being present, they have a problem with me,” he barked, his voice sharp as a fang.

Selene pressed her lips together, a bitter, hollow smile crossing her face.

“Selene,” Ronan growled, glancing at her, “apologize to her.”

“I did nothing wrong. Nothing!” she snapped. “And Ronan, aren’t you even curious where I was last night?”

“Don’t care,” he cut her off, his amber eyes glinting with cold authority. “But you do not hurt Lyra! Apologize now, or face suspension from pack duties—until you submit.”

Selene realized then: in his eyes, she was just a loyal worker, a mate in name only. He believed a suspension would punish her—but she had long ceased to live for him. She had only endured for him.

Her chest tightened at the sight, but she held her dignity. Ronan turned, leading Lyra with him, leaving Selene behind.

Even the pack caretaker obeyed Ronan’s silent orders: do not feed her until she “admitted her mistakes.”

Selene’s amber eyes filled with tears, silent as she watched them go. This was the wolf she had once loved, the one she had trusted with her entire heart. Now, there was nothing left.

Days passed. She remained locked within the villa’s private wing, visited only by the caretaker three times a day with the same question: “Have you seen reason?” She said nothing, staring out the balcony at the forest beyond. She was counting. Five more days.

Her communicator buzzed constantly, but all of it came from Lyra—messages of mockery, reminders of her place, images of Ronan tending to Lyra, laughing with her, their closeness on display.

Selene did not cry. Her heart, which once ached for him, was now an empty den.

On the fourth day, her caretaker withheld all food as instructed. Selene drank only water, surviving on willpower alone. That evening, she ventured into the courtyard, her paws weak beneath her.

A young timber wolf dashed from the treeline, colliding into her. Normally, the wolf’s strength wouldn’t have mattered—but her body, deprived of nourishment, crumpled under the impact.

Pain seared through her belly, and instinct told her the truth: two moons ago, in a moment of rare intimacy, she and Ronan had shared a bond without protection. Now her womb protested violently.

Gritting her teeth, she begged the caretakers for assistance. The Alpha guarders leaped to her side, rushing her toward the healer’s den—but the forest path had been blocked.

“Miss Valen,” one guard stammered, “it’s Lyra’s celebration tonight. The roads through the pack territory are closed by Ronan’s orders. We cannot reach the healer quickly.”

Outside, the fireworks of the festival lit the sky, echoing through the hills. All for Lyra. All orchestrated by Ronan.

Selene collapsed against the forest floor, trembling. With the last of her strength, she ripped the silver band from her paw—her bond ring—and hurled it into the undergrowth.

Ronan. The pack. Their marriage. She wanted none of it anymore.

Selene awoke to the faint scent of medicinal herbs and the warmth of a low-burning fire. Her body felt weak, her muscles stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in her lower belly. Slowly, she realized she was no longer in her room at the Ironfang villa, but in the pack infirmary, tucked among soft blankets in a quiet chamber.

The healer, a silver-furred shifter with gentle eyes, knelt beside her. “Selene… you haven’t eaten or rested properly for days,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “Your body could not carry the pup. I’m afraid… it didn’t survive. I’m truly sorry.”

Selene’s paw instinctively moved to her abdomen, feeling the emptiness where new life had begun. A sharp, stifled sorrow pierced her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently. Perhaps the pup had sensed the coldness surrounding her—the lies, the betrayals, the pack’s indifference—and chosen not to come into this world.

“You will need time to recover,” the healer continued. “Your mate should be here. He—”

Selene shook her head, cutting him off before he could speak her pain aloud. “Ronan is no longer my mate,” she said quietly, her voice flat. Then, almost to herself, she asked, “How soon can I leave?”

“Three days,” the healer replied. “After that, you should be strong enough to travel safely.”

Three days. Just enough time for Kael to come for her, just enough time for her to escape this life of empty promises and lies.

Before she could settle back into the blankets, the infirmary door swung open. Ronan stepped inside, his posture tense, amber eyes scanning her carefully. “Selene… what happened? Why are you here?”

She lifted her head slowly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I hadn’t eaten. My body gave out, and I collapsed.”

From the shadows at the door, Lyra’s sharp, mocking voice cut through. “Selene… you’ve always been fragile. How did you survive all this time in the field if you couldn’t even sustain yourself now?”

Ronan’s lips pressed into a thin line, though the sharpness in his gaze softened a fraction. “When did you become so stubborn?” he murmured. “Admitting weakness wouldn’t have killed you. If you felt ill… why not call for help?”

Selene’s jaw tightened. Call him? After all he had done—refusing her food, ignoring her pleas, indulging Lyra at every turn—what good would it have done to summon him? Humiliation and scorn, nothing more.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said calmly, her voice deceptively casual.

For a brief moment, she saw hesitation flicker in his eyes. Perhaps he realized, too late, how much he had overstepped. Over the following days, Ronan began appearing in the infirmary more often, his visits tentative and careful, yet hollow. His concern came too late, and Selene knew it.

When the healer finally released her, Selene immediately retrieved her communicator. Kael would come for her soon—he would finally take her away from everything that had brought nothing but pain.

Ronan noticed her focus. “Selene, who are you messaging?” he asked, stepping closer.

She instinctively moved it away, holding his gaze evenly. “Do you really need to read my private messages?”

He paused, then withdrew without another word. His care these days was born not of love, but guilt—and she did not let herself forget it.

Once the infirmary carriage deposited her at the villa, Ronan left without a backward glance. Selene moved through the empty halls like a ghost, careful to disturb nothing. She entered her private chamber, opened the hidden vault beneath her bed, and placed the infirmary’s report inside.

Then, she paused by the window, letting the sunlight warm her fur for a moment, and whispered into the quiet room:

“All that I carried, all that I hoped for… gone.”

She let the words linger, a silent acknowledgment of the life lost, and the life she was about to reclaim.

A divorce agreement, her resignation from the Ironfang leadership, the record of her lost pup, and a hundred chronicled betrayals. Each a mark of patience stretched beyond its limits. This was her ultimate farewell to Ronan—and to the life that had never been hers to claim.

Selene carefully packed her belongings, leaving the keys to the villa on the dining table. She wiped her paw print from the smart lock, erased every trace of herself from the villa’s records, and closed the door behind her.

Every memory, every trace of her presence in the Ironfang estate, had been wiped clean.

Selene took a slow, steady breath, feeling the weight of finality settle over her. The life she had known—full of deception, betrayal, and loss—was over.

And soon, Kael would arrive to take her away, to give her a future that truly belonged to her.