Rachel’s POV

“What nonsense are you saying?” Michael thundered, his voice echoing through the trees like a clap of thunder.

The sky above had dimmed, thick clouds casting a gray pall over the compound, as if even the heavens sensed the storm brewing between us. His face, usually unreadable behind carefully constructed charm, was contorted with anger now. His golden eyes blazed with restrained fury, his energy pressing down on me like an invisible weight, stifling and hot. Still, I didn’t back down.

“It’s the eighth year, Michael. I want to leave,” I stated, voice calm but unyielding.

His features twisted with disbelief, then indignation. “Why are you making a fuss? Ivan is just a child. Don’t take what he did to heart. Today is his birthday. Come along, I’ll punish him later.”

He reached out and grabbed my wrist—not harshly, not yet—but with the kind of practiced insistence that came from years of assuming I’d obey. That I’d fold under pressure. But not this time. I yanked my hand free with a sharp motion, my skin crawling at the contact.

“You said that when he turned eight, I could leave. I’m simply holding you to your word,” I said, keeping my tone level, despite the fire rising in my chest.

Michael’s lips parted, maybe to argue, maybe to lie. But before he could speak, another voice—sharp and familiar—sliced into the moment like a blade.

“Rachel, how shameless can you be? Always stealing the spotlight, even when it’s a child’s special day!”

I turned to see Sarah storming toward us. Her expression was pure disdain, every movement stiff with righteous fury. My stepmother, Ivan’s grandmother. She had aged over the years—lines etched deeper around her mouth, hair silvering—but the venom in her tone hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had fermented, grown sharper with time.

She was the one who’d made the agreement. Eight years. That was the deal. So why was she now acting like I was the one breaking faith?

“I’m not stealing anything, Sarah,” I said firmly. “You were the one who said I could leave after eight years.”

Sarah scoffed, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Must you talk about it today, huh? On my grandson’s birthday, of all days?”

“It’s fine,” Michael interjected, voice forced into a placating smoothness. “I’m sure Rachel didn’t mean it like that.”

Years ago, that tone might have softened me. It might have made me second-guess myself, believing he was diffusing the situation for my sake. But not anymore. Now I saw it for what it was—manipulation dressed as diplomacy. He didn’t care about me. He never had. He cared about control, about appearances. About keeping me exactly where he wanted me: quiet and compliant.

“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the pack hall, voice low and coaxing. “Let’s go to the party.”

I didn’t resist. Not outwardly. I let him guide me, stepping into the grand hall with my jaw clenched and my thoughts spinning. But inside, something was unraveling, a thread pulling loose with every passing second.

The hall buzzed with the noise of celebration—music, laughter, the soft clink of glasses. The smell of roasted meat and herbs hung in the air. Ivan stood at the center of it all, surrounded by friends, his golden eyes—so like his father's—flashing with joy and pride. The room revolved around him, the youngest prince of this fractured kingdom.

Then he saw me.

His face twisted instantly into a sneer. Contempt, pure and practiced.

“Look, Ivan, your mother is here,” one of the other children said.

Ivan didn’t miss a beat. “She’s not my mother!” he screamed

The words rang louder than any music in the room. I felt the weight of them like a slap, sharp and cold. But I didn’t flinch. I’d expected it. Braced for it.

Michael moved quickly, crouching to Ivan’s level. “We don’t say things like that. Rachel has taken care of you all these years.”

Ivan’s lip curled. “No! She can never be my mother. She killed my real mom.”

Silence. Total, suffocating silence.

Whispers stirred like dry leaves.

“She’s the boy’s aunt, isn’t she?”

“I thought she raised him…”

“Maybe she treats him badly…”

Michael’s jaw tensed visibly. “Apologize, Ivan,” he said, his voice low, warning.

But I raised my hand to stop him. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

And then I turned, walking away without another word, ignoring the dozens of eyes tracking my every step. Let them stare. Let them judge. Their opinions no longer held any weight. Not to me.

In the past, words like that would have shattered me. It would’ve left me crying behind locked doors, begging for understanding that never came. But not anymore.

No matter what I did, no matter how many sacrifices I made, Michael’s heart would always belong to Amelia. And Ivan would always see me as the one who stood in her shadow—a threat, a replacement, never a mother.

Outside, the air was cold. The wind cut against my skin like icy fingers. I barely noticed.

“Why must you create a scene today?” Sarah's voice followed me like a curse.

I stopped. Slowly turned. My pulse thudded in my ears.

“What do you want, Sarah?” I asked, exhaustion creeping into my tone. “I played my part for eight years. I’m done.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You should take care of Ivan like he’s your own. If my daughter were alive, she would have treated him better.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Pity she’s dead, then.”

Her hand moved fast, but mine moved faster. I caught her wrist in midair, tightening my grip just enough to make her wince.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice a whisper, but sharp as a blade. “Not today.”

She yanked her hand back, rubbing at her reddened wrist. “Do what you want, Rachel. No one will ever love you. Not even your father wants to see you.”

I said nothing.

Just smiled—tired, worn, but strangely free.

Eight years. Eight years since I had seen my father. Since the day he sent me away like an unwanted burden after Amelia’s death. I’d stopped hoping he’d look back a long time ago. His silence had taught me all I needed to know.

I remembered the last conversation I had with him before I was taken to Michael's home. He stood by the window, eyes vacant, as though his soul had left with Amelia. When I begged to stay, he merely nodded to the waiting guards, and they took me without another word. That day forged the steel in my spine. I had vowed I would never beg again.

A small noise—almost a breath—pulled me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I got you a gift.”

I turned, startled. Ivan stood there, a wrapped box in his hands, looking small and innocent in the twilight.

My eyes widened. “You didn’t have to.”

He giggled. “I wanted to. Open it.”

I took the box carefully, a cautious smile forming. Maybe... maybe there was hope, after all.

Then I opened it.

A sharp, foul stench hit me immediately. My breath caught in my throat.

Inside was my cat—limp and cold. Lifeless. An arrow pierced its tiny body. Blood had dried along the fur. Its eyes, once bright, were now dull and glassy.

My body went still.

The hall faded. The voices. The wind. All of it dimmed.

Ivan leaned in closer, eyes glittering with sick amusement. “That’ll be you soon,” he whispered, giggling. “If you don’t leave me and my father alone.”

The box trembled in my hands as I inhaled sharply. My fingers curled around the edges until the cardboard crumpled beneath them.

Enough.

This wasn’t just about leaving anymore. It wasn’t about escape.

It was about reclaiming my life.

This time, I wasn’t just walking away.

I was taking back what was mine.

Rachel’s POV

I stared at the lifeless body of Fei Fei, my only companion in this house. In the same way I had taken care of Ivan, I had cherished my pet. And now, he was gone. Killed by the very boy I had protected for eight years.

“Don’t mess with me, and don’t get my father upset with me!” Ivan spat before stomping off, his golden eyes gleaming with triumph.

A bitter laugh escaped me. Fate was cruel. I was the one who had taught Ivan how to wield a bow, and now he had used it against me. My hands trembled as I cradled the box, staring at Fei Fei’s still form. A single tear slipped down my cheek.

“Why are you out in the cold, Rachel? You’ll get sick.”

Michael’s voice reached me before he stepped closer, draping his jacket over my shoulders. I shrugged it off immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, then his eyes landed on the box. His face twisted in slight disgust.

“Your son came to apologize,” I said flatly.

Michael’s frown deepened. “He’s your son, too.”

I scoffed. “He hates me, Michael. He killed my cat.”

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was probably just a prank. He’s a child, Rachel.”

“A child who knows exactly how to hurt me.”

I turned away from him, the snow crunching beneath my boots as I walked toward the edge of the garden. The moon cast long shadows across the trees, and for a moment, I imagined Fei Fei darting through the underbrush, chasing moonbeams like he used to when he was alive.

Michael didn’t argue. Instead, he tried to lead me inside. “Come. You can bury it tomorrow.

I pulled away, carrying the box toward the garden. “I won’t leave him outside for some animal to feast on.”

Michael followed, grumbling about how stubborn I was. Still, he stayed while I buried Fei Fei beneath the full moon’s glow. The cold wind howled through the night, whispering secrets only wolves could understand.

I knelt in the dirt, hands shaking as I covered the small grave. I remembered the day I found him—just a kitten, soaking wet and barely breathing by the riverbank. I had nursed him back to health, hidden him in my room despite the strict house rules. He had grown alongside Ivan, curling up in my lap during the cold winters, purring when my tears fell silently in the dark.

The final handful of soil felt heavier than all the rest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You didn’t deserve this.”

When we returned inside, the party had long ended. The house was eerily silent. I sneezed just as Michael caught my wrist, pulling me toward him.

He sat down, settling me onto his lap. I cringed inwardly.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

Michael sighed. “I’ll get you a new cat.”

“I don’t want a new cat. I want to leave. Tomorrow.”

Michael tensed. “Ivan is a child. I don’t trust anyone else to take care of him. Besides, where would you even go? You have no one.”

I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I have no place here. You’ve refused to make me your Luna after eight years.”

He exhaled sharply. “Rachel, I told you, I can’t take another mate right now.”

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want to be your mate anymore. I just want to leave.”

Michael remained silent for a long moment, then spoke carefully. “Then stay as the mother of my child. Have a pup with me. If you bear my heir, no one will dare question your place in this pack.”

A sad smile crossed my lips. Eight years. I had given him everything, stripped myself of dignity, and still, this was all I amounted to—someone to birth his child and raise his firstborn.

I stood, shaking my head. “I’ve already instructed the maids on how to care for Ivan. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

Michael caught my wrist again, pressing a lingering kiss to my palm. “Sleep on it.”

That night, I didn’t sleep at all. Instead, I packed my things. But even as I folded my clothes, my mind replayed the image of Fei Fei.

I paused beside my dresser, opening the drawer where I had hidden a crumpled photo. It was the only one I had left—of me and my parents, taken before the war tore through the Royal Pack. My mother’s eyes looked back at me, proud and strong. I folded the picture and tucked it into my coat.

I glanced around the room, once a place of confinement and sorrow, now stripped of sentiment. I closed the suitcase and stared at the door.

By dawn, I was ready.

Dragging my suitcase toward the gate, I exhaled, feeling lighter than I had in years. Finally, I was leaving.

But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

A slow clap echoed through the courtyard, followed by a sickly sweet voice.

“Well, well, well.”

Susan leaned against the pillar, smirking. Her red-painted lips curled in satisfaction. “Leaving, are we?”

I sighed. Of course, she would be here to witness my departure. Michael’s mistress. Ivan’s favorite.

I ignored her and continued walking, but she stepped into my path.

“Eight years, Rachel.” She tilted her head. “Eight years of playing house, waiting for a man who never wanted you. And now you’re finally leaving? Took you long enough.”

I met her gaze. “Enjoy it, then. None of this concerns me anymore.”

Susan’s smirk widened. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry. Soon, I’ll be the Luna.”

Before I could respond, the front doors burst open.

Michael stepped out, followed closely by Ivan.

And just like that, Susan changed.

She gasped dramatically and dropped to her knees, clutching my dress. “Rachel, please!” she sobbed, her voice dripping with false desperation. “Please don’t go! Ivan needs you!”

I stared down at her blankly.

“He loves you, he does! He’s just a child. Please don’t abandon him.”

Michael sighed, clearly annoyed. “Enough, Susan. Stop making a scene. I’ll get Rachel another cat.”

I clenched my fists, but before I could speak, Ivan ran to Susan, wrapping his arms around her.

“Stand up, Susan,” he said softly, his tiny hands wiping away her fake tears. Then, he turned to me, his golden eyes filled with hatred. “You killed my mother,” he spat, his voice trembling with rage. “And now you’re trying to hurt Susan too!”

He turned back to Susan, his gaze softening. “Don’t worry. Let Rachel go. I don’t need her.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “I want you to stay. You should be my mother. You should marry my father.”

His words struck harder than any wound.

After eight years, if this was how he truly felt… There was no point in staying.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took one last look at the boy I had raised, the man I had once loved.

Without another word, I turned and walked away.

But just as I reached the gate, a sharp whistle split the air.

And then I felt pain, blinding, searing pain.

Rachel’s POV

"Don't dare think that if you pretend to be pitiful like this, I will keep you and let you be my stepmother! If you can leave, never come back!"

Ivan’s words cut through the night like a dagger, each syllable echoing with venom and finality. I barely had time to react before the sharp arrow, carrying the young Alpha’s resentment, shot straight at me. My instincts screamed, but I was too slow—pain exploded in my shoulder as the silver-tipped arrow grazed my skin. A choked scream tore from my lips as I staggered backward, the stench of my blood thick in the air, sharp and metallic.

Michael was beside me in an instant. “Rachel!” His voice held panic, but I could barely focus on him through the dizziness and the throbbing ache that spread down my arm, threatening to pull me into unconsciousness.

A sharp cry cut through the tension.

“Papa! Aunty Susan fell while rushing to help that witch!” Ivan’s voice rang out, high-pitched and laced with malice.

Michael turned, conflicted. His gaze darted between me and Susan, who lay dramatically on the ground, clutching her ankle like a damsel in distress. I could see the glint of triumph in her eyes, even through the fake tears she tried to summon.

“It’s a clean injury, Rachel. Go to the healer, I’ll meet you there,” Michael said quickly. “Susan, she needs help now.”

Disappointment clenched my heart like a vice, but I didn’t show it. I just stood there, blood dripping from my wound, watching Michael lift Susan into his arms as she let out a pitiful whimper. Ivan followed close behind, sparing me one last glare and smirk before they disappeared into the night, their silhouettes fading like a memory, like shadows dissolving in the dark.

And just like that, I was alone.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, dry and painful. I had spent eight years in this pack, dedicated my life to raising Michael’s son, and now I was nothing more than a discarded outsider, abandoned without a second thought. The cold air pressed against my skin like a punishment, every breeze a cruel reminder of my utmost insignificance.

I struggled to my feet, swaying slightly. The scent of my blood was heavy, hanging in the cold air, and I knew it wouldn’t take long before rogue wolves caught the smell. I needed to leave right now.

But before I could take a step, heavy footsteps crunched against the gravel behind me.

“You wretched good for nothing girl! Why are you still here? Didn’t you already announce to the entire pack that you’re leaving?”

I didn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice—Maria, Michael’s mother. The woman who had despised me from the moment I set foot in the pack, her hatred festering like a wound that never healed.

I met her gaze, and she gasped when she saw my wound.

“You want to cause trouble for my son, don’t you?” she sneered. “Are you trying to make him feel guilty so he’ll beg you to stay, huh? You whore!”

I clenched my jaw, holding back the rage simmering beneath my skin. “I was leaving, Maria. But your grandson shot me.”

She scoffed. “You probably did it to yourself for attention.” She grabbed my suitcases with surprising strength and hurled them toward the gate. “Get out, you filthy rogue. Go die outside on your own.”

I staggered, nearly falling to my knees as I clutched my bleeding shoulder. My wolf whimpered inside me, but I forced myself to stand tall, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.

“You’ll regret this,” I said, my voice low with a promise. A dangerous one, forged in betrayal and fire.

A car pulled up, and the Uber driver stepped out, looking concerned. “Miss, are you alright?”

I ignored Maria’s scowl and climbed into the car, dragging my suitcase behind me with the last of my strength.

“Hospital first,” I muttered before exhaustion pulled me under like a dark tide and I passed out.

I woke to the beeping sound of a machine. My shoulder throbbed, and the air was thick with antiseptic. I was in the pack hospital, the sterile lighting making the room feel colder than it already was. A white ceiling stretched endlessly above me, devoid of warmth.

The door opened, and the pack doctor entered. “Miss Rachel, you’re awake. You lost a lot of blood, but the silver didn’t go too deep.”

I exhaled in relief. If it had, my healing would have been slower, more painful.

“I’ll have you discharged soon.” The doctor smiled politely, his eyes flickering with sympathy.

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. I checked my phone—no missed calls from Michael. Not even a single text. Not even a courtesy message asking if I had survived.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. What had I expected? That he’d rush to my side? That he’d care after all this time?

The door swung open again, and my stomach twisted as Susan waltzed in like she owned the place, her heels clicking on the floor with smug satisfaction.

I sighed. “What do you want? Shouldn’t you be limping?”

She giggled in delight, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. “Oh, that? It was just a little act.” She smirked. “Michael chose me, after all.”

I clenched my fists, but she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“There’s something you should know.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “I’m pregnant.”

The world tilted beneath my feet.

I struggled to keep my expression blank, but the pain that shot through me was undeniable. Eight years. Eight years of loyalty, of sacrificing my happiness for Michael and his son. And all this time, he had been making sure I never bore his child, while giving Susan exactly what I had once dreamed of.

Susan must have seen the flicker of pain in my eyes because she laughed, the sound sharp as broken glass. “Poor Rachel. You were never going to be his mate. Michael never even considered it.”

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Haven’t I?”

I exhaled and stood up, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. I wouldn’t let her see me break. I wouldn’t let any of them win.

“I’ll let you have this victory, Susan,” I murmured. Enjoy your time with him. You’ll learn soon enough that Michael only values what he can control.”

I grabbed my suitcases and walked past her, my heart pounding with unspoken rage and bitter clarity.

I was done.

I had given everything to this pack, to a man who had never truly wanted me and had done nothing but use me. But now, it was time to leave. I was finally walking away—not as a victim, but as someone finally reclaiming their life. A chapter was closing, and in its place, a new story was waiting to be written.

And the next time they saw me, they would regret ever casting me aside.

As I stepped out into the night, the moonlight bathed me in silver. My wolf stirred within me, restless and fierce. A whisper of something more powerful, something dark hummed, buzzed in my veins, awakening like a sleeping storm.

Something was coming. And for the first time in years, I welcomed it with open arms.

I was no longer just Michael’s discarded lover. I was something else.

Something stronger, more powerful.

Something reborn.

And the pack would never, ever see me coming.