Evander’s expression changed the moment he stepped into the fitting chamber.

The air itself seemed to tighten around him.

Without a word of inquiry, he bent and helped Vespera up from the floor, his attention already sharpening into something colder as it shifted toward Aveline.

“Aveline.”

Her name came low.

Controlled.

But edged with something dangerous.

“If you did not wish her to wear the gown, you could have refused. Why allow it, then harm her?”

Aveline let out a short, disbelieving sound—almost a laugh, but without warmth. Her hands moved quickly, sharper than usual.

I did not touch her. She struck herself.

Evander did not even blink.

“You still insist on lying?”

His voice dropped further. Colder now. Absolute.

“Vespera is not like that. She would not accuse you without reason.”

He stepped closer.

The scent of his anger filled the room before his presence did.

“Apologize.”

One word.

Not request.

Not suggestion.

Judgment.

Aveline went still.

For a fleeting moment—so brief it almost mocked her—she waited.

Waited for the man who once pulled her from ruin to see what stood in front of him.

But he did not look at truth.

He looked at Vespera.

Her chest tightened until breathing hurt.

She turned.

To leave.

But his hand closed around her wrist.

Hard.

In one motion, he pulled her back into the center of the room, placing her there like something to be examined.

“You are too kind,” he said to Vespera, voice steady now. “If she injured you, then you decide her punishment. Tenfold return.”

Aveline’s head snapped up.

For a second, she thought she had misheard.

Tenfold return.

As though she were property governed by repayment law.

Vespera hesitated, lowering her gaze as if performing reluctance.

“Evander… that is too severe. I only wished to help her try the gown…”

Evander did not even look at Aveline when he replied.

“You are too soft.”

A pause.

Then—

“If you cannot decide, I will have the pack guards enforce it.”

Calm.

Measured.

Like ordering meat prepared for feast.

Vespera suddenly brightened, as though struck by inspiration.

“There is a correction house,” she said lightly. “One of my acquaintance’s families keeps it. It is… useful for women who forget their place.”

Aveline felt the air drain from her lungs.

Correction house.

A place without moon rites. Without mercy. Where noble wolves sent those they no longer wished to acknowledge.

She looked at Evander.

Searching.

Begging, in the only way she no longer had a voice for.

He did not hesitate.

“Do it,” he said.

Just like that.

**

The place was not called a prison.

It was called a training house.

But the Moon did not bless anything within its walls.

On the first night, they took her name away.

On the second, they took her dignity.

On the third, they began taking what remained of her will.

They did not question. They did not explain.

They only corrected.

When she was too slow, they struck her.

When she did not respond, they struck her again.

When she stopped resisting, they grew bored—and then creative.

By the third night, she no longer counted how many times she fell.

Only how long she stayed conscious afterward.

On the fourth day, they dragged her out before dawn.

A guard crouched beside her, sneering.

“Lord Hart said you would learn,” he said. “Have you learned your place yet?”

She did not answer.

She could not.

Pain had become something constant now—like breathing, like gravity.

Then she felt it.

Warmth.

Wrong.

Her body curled instinctively around the sensation, confusion breaking through exhaustion.

The guard frowned in disgust.

“Tch. Useless.”

He stood.

“Throw her out.”

And she was.

Discarded like something that had served its purpose and failed to remain valuable.

Her head struck stone outside the gates.

The sky above was pale with morning mist.

A carriage waited.

Hart sigil carved into its wood.

Evander’s driver did not speak.

He only opened the door.

And brought her back.

**

The estate was silent upon her return.

Not peaceful.

Just empty.

Aveline stood unsteadily as she stepped inside, pain blooming in her lower body—different from the rest. Unfamiliar. Deep.

She had stopped at the healer’s stall on the way back, almost without thinking, and taken what was offered.

Now she stood in the bathing chamber.

And stared.

Two marks.

Clear beneath the waterlight.

The world did not tilt immediately.

It simply… stopped making sense.

Pregnant.

Not joy.

Not fear.

Memory came first.

A night under a half-waning moon.

Soren’s voice low.

Just once. No harm will come.

She had believed him.

Trusted wrong twice in the same life.

Her hands trembled.

Footsteps approached.

The door opened.

Evander entered.

“You did not answer my calls,” he said at once. “Why—”

He stopped.

His eyes took her in.

The uneven cut of her hair.

The bruising beneath her skin.

The exhaustion carved too deeply into her face.

Something shifted.

Not softness.

Not concern.

Recognition that something had gone wrong without his permission.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Who did this?”

Aveline gave a quiet, fractured laugh.

Who do you think signed the order?

She did not answer aloud.

Her gaze drifted instead to the basin.

The small wooden test strip resting there.

Still damp.

Still undeniable.

Silence fell.

Then—

“You are with child?”

His voice changed.

Not gentle.

Not warm.

But sharp.

Controlled.

Like the moment before a blade is drawn.

As if something inside him had just decided how this story would continue.

Before Aveline could form a response, Evander was already gone.

No hesitation.

No lingering glance.

Just the heavy door shutting behind him—solid, final—like whatever she had become in that moment no longer required his attention.

She didn’t need instinct to tell her where he went.

In their world, there were only ever two summons that could pull a man like Evander away without a second thought.

The Moon Court’s affairs of power.

And Vespera’s voice.

**

The silence had barely settled when the second man arrived.

Soren.

The door opened with familiarity that did not belong to strangers.

He stepped in as if he had always had the right to enter her space, as if nothing between them had ever fractured.

Before she could move back, he pulled her into his arms.

Familiar.

Possessive.

Wrong.

His voice dropped low near her ear, warm in the way venom sometimes disguised itself.

“Aveline… this is good news. You carry a child.”

The scent of him closed in—iron, herbs, and the cold undertone of a man who had long stopped separating love from control.

It made her stomach turn.

She didn’t hesitate.

She pushed him away.

Hard.

The contact broke clean.

Her eyes lifted—no softness left in them now. Only something stripped raw.

A child born under deception was not blessing.

It was consequence.

A chain disguised as life.

Her hands moved quickly, sharply.

I will not keep it.

The moment the words formed, Soren’s expression changed.

Not shock.

Recognition.

Then calculation—swift, practiced, buried beneath a gentle smile.

“You would end it?” he asked softly. “No. That cannot be.”

His tone lowered.

“That is my blood.”

Aveline’s fingers trembled—not in fear, but in fury she no longer bothered to hide.

The child is within my body. You do not decide anything.

For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes.

Something human.

It died quickly.

He exhaled and softened again, slipping back into the voice he always used when he wanted obedience instead of resistance.

“Aveline,” he murmured, stepping closer, “why are you like this lately? This is our child.”

Our.

A word that had never been real.

He reached for her again as if closeness could overwrite truth.

“We are to be wed within days,” he continued. “Is this not favorable? I will provide for you. The child—boy or girl, it matters not. I will raise it. I will take care of you both.”

From now on.

Always from now on.

As if the past could be buried beneath promises spoken too easily to mean anything.

Aveline almost laughed.

But there was nothing left in her to laugh with.

What future?

There had never been one.

Only carefully layered deception held together by names she was never meant to question.

He drew her into his arms again, attempting to press her back into place, like something that had briefly broken and needed to be fixed by force.

“Three days remain until the wedding,” he murmured against her hair. “Do not think so much. Just be my bride.”

Then, softer—almost rehearsed:

“I was wrong before. Forgive me.”

That was when she moved.

She broke free.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

Final.

Distance snapped back into existence between them like iron gates slamming shut.

Her gaze did not waver.

And for the first time, Soren saw it.

Something had gone still inside her.

Not grief.

Not confusion.

Something far more dangerous in a world ruled by wolves.

Clarity.

A messenger howl echoed faintly outside the estate walls.

Soren’s attention shifted instantly.

A distant voice from the corridor carried news through pack channels.

Vespera.

The name alone altered him.

The mask returned immediately.

“…I understand,” he said, already turning. “I will handle it.”

He ended the exchange and faced Aveline again as if nothing had changed.

“Vespera’s matter requires attention,” he said flatly. “You must finish the song within three days.”

The shift was almost insulting in its ease.

From vows of marriage to orders for another woman in a single breath.

Aveline looked at him then—really looked.

And something in her expression settled.

So this was it.

Warmth when he wanted her compliant.

Orders when Vespera called.

And he still believed she did not see the pattern.

Soren must have noticed her silence, because he softened again—quickly, instinctively.

“I spoke too sharply,” he added. “Do not take it to heart. This project is important for her.”

Important for her.

Never for Aveline.

Always for Vespera.

She gave a small nod.

Not agreement.

Not acceptance.

Something far more deliberate.

Soren relaxed.

“That is my Aveline,” he said, satisfied. “Good girl. I will return later.”

He left.

The door closed.

And Aveline did not move.

Because she already knew.

He was not going to any council meeting.

He was going to Vespera.

**

The night deepened.

A messenger bird arrived at the window.

Her mother’s seal.

Aveline.

How are preparations for the union? I look forward to seeing you in your wedding dress beneath the moonlight.

Her fingers paused.

Memory followed immediately.

White gowns.

Mirrors.

Laughter that did not belong to her.

She replied carefully.

I am well, Mother. Do not worry.

Another message followed almost at once.

Take care of yourself. Do not let Evander tire you too much. Leave the preparations to the house attendants if needed.

Her throat tightened.

Then—

Your father would have been proud.

That name.

That absence.

Aveline went still.

Her father.

The man who never returned from the old forest road.

The accident they called it.

The silence they buried it under.

Evander’s world.

Soren’s deals.

Vespera’s inheritance.

Everything built on something that had once been human.

Her grip on the parchment tightened until it creased.

If not for them, he would still be alive.

If not for them, her mother would not be broken beneath healer’s care.

A debt that could never be repaid.

But even as rage rose—

her hand drifted once, instinctively, to her abdomen.

Something alive.

Something that had done nothing wrong.

The cruelest contradiction of all.

She sat there through the night without moving, caught between vengeance and something she refused to name.

**

She did not know when sleep took her.

But when it did, it was not rest.

It was invasion.

The door slammed open.

Violent.

Unannounced.

The wards on the chamber trembled.

Aveline sat up instantly.

Vespera stood at the threshold.

Like she had always belonged there.

Like the room itself answered to her presence.

“I heard,” Vespera said lightly, smiling, “that you carry a child.”

She stepped inside.

Unhurried.

Certain.

Then struck.

Her fist drove into Aveline’s abdomen without warning.

Pain detonated through her body.

Aveline collapsed sideways, breath breaking, hands instinctively curling inward as something inside her tightened violently.

Vespera watched her fall like it was art.

Then she laughed.

Soft.

Satisfied.

“So it has come to this,” she said, circling slowly. “You truly believed you would become Luna of the Hart pack?”

She crouched slightly.

Voice lowering.

“Let me correct your understanding.”

A pause.

“The man you cling to… was never yours.”

Aveline’s breath shuddered.

Vespera’s smile widened.

“Soren was the one who lay with you.”

A beat.

“And Evander?”

Her eyes gleamed.

“He belongs to me.”

Her voice softened into poison.

“They both do.”

Then, closer:

“You were never chosen. Not even as a substitute. Just something used when convenient.”

Aveline’s vision blurred with pain.

Vespera’s final words cut deeper than the strike.

“If you keep this child… then finish the song. Or I will make sure your line ends with your father.”

Something inside Aveline snapped.

Not into collapse.

Into edge.

Vespera only smiled wider.

“Try me.”

A second later—

The door opened again.

Soren stepped in.

“Vespera?” His brows furrowed. “Why are you here?”

Vespera’s expression changed instantly.

Soft again.

Fragile.

“I was only speaking with her,” she said sweetly.

Then, under her breath—only for Aveline:

Remember.

Soren’s attention shifted.

Then—

He saw it.

Blood.

Aveline’s body went rigid.

Warmth spreading too fast.

Too wrong.

The sheets beneath her darkened.

Soren’s expression broke.

“Aveline!”

He moved forward immediately—

But Vespera suddenly clutched her own abdomen.

“Agh… Evander… it hurts…”

Everything changed in him instantly.

Like a command had been issued.

He turned.

“Vespera!”

He lifted her without hesitation.

And left.

No second look.

No pause.

Only footsteps fading down the corridor.

Aveline lay curled on the bed, breath shallow, vision fracturing at the edges.

Her lips moved.

“…save… the child…”

But the room was already empty.

Only silence answered.

Only then did Soren stop outside the door.

Slowly.

Like something in him had finally caught up.

He turned back.

His voice came out broken.

“…Aveline?”

A pause.

Then—

Shock sharpened into disbelief.

“Your voice…”