Angela's POV He didn't hold me after sx. He lit a cigarette instead. "Let's dissolve our matebond." His voice was flat. The same tone he used to approve supply requisitions. I sat up. The sheets were still warm. Five minutes ago his hands had been in my hair. Don't, Silvia said. Not loud. Just a warning pressed low against my ribs. "Her bloodline carries a curse," Jake said. "It weakens their wolves with every generation. She can't shift. Can't heal properly." He took a slow drag. "The healers give her six months. Maybe less." The smoke drifted. "It's her dying wish," he said. "To be my mate." No. Silvia hit my ribs so hard I lost half a breath. Then she went quiet. That quiet was worse than the blow. "We'll resume the bond after," Jake said. "Six months. It's only to comfort her, Angela. You understand that." It wasn't a question. I looked at the wall. Our shadows were side by side on the white plaster — close enough that the edges overlapped. He means it, Silvia said. He actually means it. I know. Say something. Fight him. We don't have to— I know, I told her again. Quieter this time. She went still. Not accepting it. Just exhausted. I stared at him.  As the Alpha, he could force me to comply.  Yet he was leaving it my choice.  As if I would ever disobey him. One stormy night, the wind howling, he had stepped between my stepfather and me. In his hands was a rotten plank. Knuckles turned white. “t***h her again and I’ll make sure you regret it!” he had snarled, teeth bared.  I couldn’t forget it. The look in his eyes that night.  After that, I fell head-over-heels in love. Nothing was too much. Whatever he asked, I’d hand it over.  Seven years. That was how long I had loved this man. Before the altar. Before the mark. Before I was ever called Luna. My wolf had chosen him when I was seventeen and too foolish to understand that choosing someone didn't mean they chose you back. I'd spent seven years orbiting a man who treated my devotion like background noise — a ruffle of my hair when I did something right, a feather k**s that landed and disappeared, warmth rationed out like it cost him something. People called me a simp. I called it love. I wore both labels and told myself the difference mattered. A year ago his grandfather fell to Alpha madness. The elders passed the succession to Jake overnight, and suddenly there was a Luna position to fill, and elders to satisfy, and I was the obvious candidate — seven years devoted, no complications, already trained to want nothing from him. He brought me to the altar. We marked each other under the Moon Goddess's eyes. I thought that meant something. On our ceremony night, he turned away from me in bed. I told myself he was tired. The year we became mates, the more I attached myself to him, the more distant he grew. I could even taste his impatience in the air. "Angela." His voice cut through. "Are you listening?" "Do we have to do this?" He exhaled. Long and slow. "She's dying." "I know that." What about us? Silvia's voice was very small. What about what we built? I swallowed it. The words sat in my throat like a stone. A trace of impatience flashed across his dark eyes. He waited three seconds before saying, "She loves me," he said.  "She's always respected our mate bond — never crossed the line, even when—" He stopped. Started again. "She's a good person. She's suffered enough. Don't make me believe you're the kind of woman who'd deny a dying girl this one thing." I looked at him then. The same face I had memorized a hundred times. Sharp brows. Straight nose. Thin mouth, pressed flat. The face of a man who had just rewritten cruelty into compassion and expected me to sign off on it. When did you stop smelling like ours? Silvia asked. I didn't have an answer for her. But it had started the day that she appeared in our lives. "If we sever the bond," I said carefully, "it won't come back the same." "I know what I'm asking." "Do you?" Something moved behind his eyes. Not guilt. Impatience. He waited three seconds — I counted — then said, "Yes. You—" "Fine." He blinked. I had never cut him off before. Not once in seven years. He studied me the way he'd study a threat. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight. "You timed this," he said. Low. Controlled. "You're trying to force my hand, aren't you?" I said nothing. I watched our shadows on the wall instead. Two shapes. Overlapping at the edges. Meaning nothing. Jake stubbed the cigarette out. Got dressed without a word, each movement clipped and precise, and walked out without looking back. The door slammed. The echo of it moved through the room and then it was quiet. I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for the sheets to go cold. Long enough for Silvia to stop pacing. The bond pulled once, low in my chest, as his footsteps faded down the corridor. Habit. Seven years of my wolf tracking where he was at every moment. I pressed my hand flat against my sternum and waited until it stopped. Then something slid under the door. White envelope. No name. I crossed the room and picked it up. I'd received them before — blurry photographs, inanimate objects, nothing Jake couldn't explain. A stalker, he'd told me the first time. You could have staged these yourself, the second. I'd believed him. Or I'd wanted to. Same thing. I opened this one. One photograph. Clear. Crisp. Jake's profile caught in the foyer mirror — sharp and undeniable. His expression was open in a way I had never once seen it directed at me. Something in his eyes that I didn't have a word for, because he'd never looked at me like that. Tender. I turned it over. He came to see me again. My hands kept moving. More photographs beneath the first. I went through them one by one, flipping each to the back, reading each inscription in her neat unhurried hand — the writing of a woman with nothing to hide. He told me I'm the one in his heart. Two figures sharing an umbrella in the rain. Rainy nights are cold, aren't they? Not for me. He keeps me warm. A blurry shot of a man mid-laugh, head thrown back, every line of him unguarded. The real mistress is the one who isn't loved. Angela, you were a spur-of-the-moment choice. He admires me. He shares my passions. I'm the one he loves. I set that one down. Adrienne Jenson. I had known her name for months. Celebrity florist. The bouquet in our living room that Jake swore he'd chosen himself. I'd touched them and thought how strange it was that he'd noticed what I liked. He hadn't. She had. She's been marking our territory, Silvia said. Quiet and precise. His jacket. The packhouse entrance. The living room. Three months of her scent in places that should only carry ours. I knew something was wrong. I just couldn't make you listen. I looked at the photographs spread across the bedsheet. Silvia was utterly still inside me. Not pressing. Not howling. Just still, the way wolves go still before something ends. My hand moved to my stomach. Three days ago, a healer had pressed warm hands there and smiled. Congratulations, Luna. Jake's pup. Growing in me right now, while he slammed doors and called his dying lover a good person and asked me to simply step aside. A tear hit the photograph. Then another. I didn't wipe them. Do it, Silvia said. Her voice was very quiet. Now. Before you change your mind. I picked up Jake's lighter from the nightstand. The first photo caught fast. Her handwriting went first — the one he loves — curling black at the edges, then collapsing. I fed the rest in slowly, one by one, watching seven years of evidence reduce to ash in the glass tray. The last ember died. I set the lighter down. He had no idea what he'd just agreed to. He thought he knew me — the Angela who chased and forgave and swallowed her own hurt and stayed. He thought that woman would be here when he came back. She wouldn't. Seven years of my life. Every last one of them repaid tonight. We're done, Silvia said. I made a decision. I’d no longer love him.

Jake's POV The Elders' Chamber lobby was full. Every wolf in the room found somewhere else to look when I walked in. Good. I wasn't in the mood to be gawked at. I took a seat and checked my phone. The screensaver was my Luna Angela — my Angel — caught mid-laugh in sunlight, the kind of photo that happened when someone wasn't paying attention to the camera. I'd set it two years ago and never changed it. My thumb moved across her face before I caught myself. Getting soft, Marco muttered. I know. She's going to make this difficult. She never makes anything difficult. That was the whole point of Angela. Seven years of proof. Marco didn't answer. That was new. The mind-link opened before I could think about it. Jake. My grandmother's voice, warm and unhurried, the way it always was before she said something she knew I didn't want to hear. You and Angela have been mated a full year now. When are you giving us pups? We're young, Grandma. There's no rush. No rush! A pause. Your grandfather's health is improving, but we're not getting younger. It could be any day. Grandma— Don't change the subject. Her tone shifted. Not anger. Something quieter and harder. I've heard the rumors, Jake. You mustn't mistreat that girl. Three seconds of silence. Did you hear me? I pressed two fingers to my temple. Yes. I hear you. I closed the link before she could say anything else. My fingers went back to drumming the armrest. I'd sent Angela a mind-link twenty minutes ago. The rejection wouldn't be long, just involving the severance of our Mate Bond, and requiring her acceptance of my rejection in person. Where are you? I linked her. The lobby door opened. Angela walked in. I stood automatically, about to give her my chair. A nearby wolf vacated his before I could. Alpha perks. I sat back down. She looked at me once. Then away. I noticed, without meaning to, that she was wearing the grey dress. The one she'd bought herself for pack functions. She'd asked me once if I liked it. I hadn't answered. I couldn't remember why. I also noticed I was still wearing yesterday's clothes. The shirt she'd laid out for me. I filed that away and looked at the entrance instead. Something pulled in my chest. Low and familiar. The bond. Even half-severed, it still recognized her. I pressed it down and looked away. "You're late," I said. "I'm not." She lifted her chin. "I'm exactly on time." Her face was pale. She hadn't slept. I could tell from the tightness around her eyes, the way she was holding her jaw. "Grandma mind-linked me this morning," I said. "Don't tell her or Grandpa about the annulment. They can't handle that kind of news right now." "What did she say?" "She wants pups." I kept my voice level. "Sooner rather than later." Silence. Then Angela laughed. Not a real laugh. Something dry and hollow that didn't reach anywhere. I clenched my hand once under the armrest. Released it. "Last chance," she said. The laughter was already gone. "Jake. Are you really going through with this?" Adrienne was at home waiting. Six months. That was all I was asking for. “Are you thinking of backing out now?” I snapped at her impatiently. Adrienne was at home waiting for me. The sooner I got back to her, the sooner all this would be over. She didn't answer. Instead she reached into her bag and slid a document across to me. Property division agreement. Neatly formatted. Ten pages. Her signature already on the dotted line. I read through it slowly. She was taking almost nothing. Why? I didn't ask it out loud. I turned the pages and looked for the angle — the buried clause, the leverage. Angela wasn't stupid. Seven years of watching her had confirmed that much. I found nothing. She's trying to trap you, Marco said. Don't sign it. But I couldn't see how. The document was clean. Almost insultingly so. Or, Marco said slowly, she just doesn't want anything from you anymore. That's not possible. Angela always came back. She always had. Adrienne only had six months left to live. The plan was to stay with Adrienne through her final months and afterward return to Angela. We’d continue to live under the blessings of my grandparents and the Moon Goddess, the same as before.  In my mind, Angela had never been indispensable. Throughout our time together, it was obvious she had very few boundaries.  I had once gotten annoyed with her and deliberately pressured her to give things up. Never once did she refuse me. She would come up to me, holding out the result with a smile on her face and say, “Jake, look! I did it! How awesome is that?” Time and time again, she had proven to be an obedient mate, and for seven years, I had tested and confirmed it countless times. If not for Adrienne appearing in my life, our matehood might’ve continued in this vein, unchanged. However, just picturing Adrienne coughing up blood, her face miserable and stubborn, hurt me until I could barely breathe. Already I could tell that her wolf was weakening. It wouldn’t be long now.  Was she trying to blackmail me? After all, she had once forged records to frame Adrienne. I knew for a fact that she hated Adrienne with a passion I didn’t understand. The receptionist called us in and we stood before the court of Elders.  I was the first to step up. “I, Jake Weiss, reject you, Luna of the Fireflies Pack, as my mate.” Angela, who was beside me, spoke up next. “I accept your rejection and forfeit my title as Luna.” With just a few words, our matebond was severed. One second I was her mate. The next we were strangers. It felt like a huge chunk of my soul was missing. I looked down at my hands. Foreign. No longer a part of me. Separate.  Marco howled painfully, the dissolution of the matebond tearing him apart. No longer whole, I looked at her. And saw that she felt the same.  The intensity of our broken matebond must be wreaking havoc on her wolf too.    It took ten seconds. Ten seconds to undo a year of mating and seven years of whatever came before it. Now, in our Moon Grace Period. I couldn’t even look at her. According to Pack Lore, the Moon Goddess would be granting us what was called a Moon Grace Period. During the 30 days of the moon cycle, mates could withdraw their rejection. After this period ended, the rejection would become permanent.  Without another word. We walked out into the corridor. The other pack members moved past us, unhurried, carrying their ordinary business. Nobody knew. Nobody stopped. I looked at her profile. Still unreadable. Still pale. "You can keep the Luna quarters during the Moon Grace Period," I said. "I'll keep the monthly transfer going. As long as you don't say anything to Grandma and Grandpa." She said nothing. I took that as agreement and kept walking. My car was in the lot. Adrienne's Florals was twenty minutes away. I pushed open the shop door. The smell of cut flowers hit first. Adrienne looked up from behind the counter. I set the receipt on the counter. "We're done," I said. "Angela didn't fight it." Adrienne looked down at the paper. Something moved across her face that I didn't have a name for. I told myself it was relief.     Angela's POV Healers' Quarters.  The curtain rings scraped against the rail as Rosalie drew the privacy screen closed. She sat across from me with her healer's face on — careful, neutral — but her hands were still for once. That meant she was worried. "Angela." She said my name like a question. "Are you sure?" I kept my hand flat on the table. "You've been preparing for this for months," Rosalie said. Her voice dropped. "You asked me to help regulate your cycle. You were trying really hard for this pup. You—" "Rosalie." She stopped. I looked at her. My oldest friend. The one person in this pack who had never once asked me to be smaller than I was. "Yes," I said. The word came out clean. No shake in it. Nothing she could catch hold of. "I don't want it."

Angela's POV Just thinking about the little pup in my w'omb breaks my heart. I'd known Rosalie for over a decade. She’d been there for me from the beginning. The first person I turned to when I wanted to confide something. The first person I told about my infatuation with Jake. She was there when we sealed our matebond before the altar.  Smiling that smile of hers. As if she understood everything. Now she was sitting across from me in the Healers' Quarters, listening to me speak about my broken matebond, about wanting to end my pregnancy. . "I don't love him anymore," I said. I gave her a small smile. Rosalie didn’t argue with me. "I haven't told Jake about the pregnancy," Ie said. "Things will be awkward if I continue to stay at the Luna quarters, despite the rejection." I didn't need to explain. If Jake found out, he'd have leverage. He'd use it — not out of love, but because that was what Alphas did when something slipped out of their control. Rosalie ordered the panel and turned back to me. "You'll need to wait a few days before the procedure," she said. "Why?" I asked. "RH-negative blood type. Rare even among wolves. I've already contacted the blood bank — it'll take about a week to secure a match." She paused. "There's something else." I waited. "You're showing early signs of miscarriage." Rosalie kept my voice clinical. Even. "Take care of yourself this week. No stress. No overexertion." I looked down at my hands. Rosalie took one of them. "I'm off at noon. Wait for me. We'll get lunch." I nodded once. Didn't speak. The words escaping me. I stood in the hallway and pressed my palm flat against my stomach. Early signs of miscarriage. Did the pup already know? We won't let it, Silvia said. Her voice was fierce. The baby is ours. It's pack blood. It deserves to live. Silvia— Don't. Her voice cracked. Don't tell me you've already decided. I felt what you felt in there. You're not sure. You're just scared. I pressed my l**s together and didn't answer her. She was right. I wasn't sure. But being unsure wasn't the same as having a choice. My phone buzzed. Bank alert. The new account — the one I'd opened yesterday, separate from everything tied to Jake. The notification read: Payment for song composition and lyrics has been transferred. Before taking on the role as Jake’s Luna, I’d worked as a behind-the-scenes musician. When my father was still alive, he had spoiled me. Ensured I got the best out of everything. Which included a formal musical education.  What was once seen as a cultivated hobby. Later turned into a steady source of income for me.  However, in the beginning, it wasn’t as steady as I would’ve liked it.  The reason being that the former Alpha, Jake’s grandfather, had been an authoritarian.  He pressured pack members to keep matters of the pack and the outside world separate, discouraging our wolves from having lives outside the pack.  In order to make a living outside, members would have to resort to sneaking out of the pack when Alpha Nolan wasn’t looking or working remotely. Now that Jake was the Alpha, those days were long over. I could now communicate freely with my employer without looking over my shoulder.  The steady income would prove to be invaluable, especially now that Jake and I had decided to go our separate ways. A message followed. That's yours. You deserve every cent. There's a competition running right now that was made for you. Details in your email. I saved you a spot. I opened the email. Music competition. High original content requirement. The kind of stage my father had always said I was built for, back when he was alive and the world still felt like it had room for what I wanted. I'll think about it, I typed back. Pain moved through my lower abdomen. Dull. Insistent. My phone buzzed again. Another alert from my phone momentarily distracted me from the pain. It was from Cipher. The forum that only wolves had access to. The forum was one of the more progressive moves that Jake had made shortly after becoming Alpha. Members inside and outside the pack could post anything from job leads to gossip—which happened to be the case right now. As long as no one broke the rules of the forum, members could post freely here. All you had to do was sign up. The post had already collected hundreds of reactions. [Adrienne Jenson — bloodline curse confirmed. Six months. She's launching a real-time diary of her final days. Video attached.] I clicked on the link. Packhouse foyer, earlier today. Adrienne stood in front of a small crowd, pale and composed, a wanly constructed smile on her face. "I want to document this journey," she said. "If it helps even one person facing the same illness feel less alone, that's enough for me." Someone called out: "What about the rumors? Alpha Jake already has a mate." Adrienne didn't flinch. "I won't pretend I don't have feelings for Jake. He's an exceptional Alpha. But I will never be the third party in someone else's mating. That is my line." The video ended. She's lying, Silvia said flatly. I can't smell her through a screen but I know. She's been marking our territory for months. Little things. His jacket. The packhouse entrance. The living room flowers. Wolves notice even when Alphas don't. By the time you caught on, she'd already made half this pack feel like hers. I stood in the corridor and looked at the blank screen. I knew. I'd known for a long time.   Adrienne's POV Packhouse corridor. Moments later. I let the smile drop the second I cleared the crowd. Sandra fell into step beside me. "Ms. Adrienne." Low voice. "If the other healers talk — if anyone investigates the diagnosis—" "They won't." "But your actual condition is anemia. If the truth—" I stopped walking. Sandra stopped too. "Two options," I said. "One: I continue receiving treatment from the Fireflies healers and make a miraculous recovery. Love heals all, the pack weeps with joy." I tilted my head. "Two: the healers' diagnostic records come into question. Medical malpractice. Territory-wide." Sandra's face went the color of old paper. "So," I said. "Which is it?" "I'm sorry, Ms. Adrienne." Barely above a whisper. "I was being overly cautious." Loser, Beatrice muttered. I didn't disagree. "Healers' Quarters," I said. "I need the Moonshade Elixir and my terminal paperwork." I opened the mind-link to Jake as I walked. Meet me at the Healers' Quarters. His reply came in under ten seconds. On my way. I allowed myself one small, private smile. Everything was moving exactly as it should.     Angela's POV Healers' Quarters restroom. The same moment. I gripped the edge of the sink. The tissue in my other hand was stained red. The pain in my lower abdomen had moved from dull to sharp. My wolf aura flickered — unstable, scattered, the way it got when the body was fighting something it couldn't win. Silvia's howl filled my skull. Not words. Just grief. I'm sorry, Silvia whispered. She never apologized for anything. I'm so sorry, Angela. I pressed my l**s together and looked at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back was pale. Controlled. Holding it together one breath at a time. I knew what this was. Early signs of miscarriage.

Angela's POV Healers' Quarters corridor. My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating with alerts from Cipher. Posts and messages poured in, bombarding my phone with notifications. Some of these posts were greetings, some were probing, and some were outright taunts. All of them concerned Adrienne and Jake. I had skimmed the headlines and seen the video announcement Adrienne made about her death countdown. I didn’t have the stomach to read any further.  I turned the notifications off. Silvia was pacing. I could feel her moving in circles at the back of my skull, low and restless. It doesn't matter, I told her. Her scent is on him, Silvia said. It's been on him for weeks. How did we not— Don't. We should have known. A mate always knows. Stop. She didn't stop pacing. But she went quiet. Jake was allowing me to stay in my Luna quarters while I searched for a new place. After that, Jake and I would be strangers with a shared history and nothing else. Whatever Adrienne was building on that open channel — none of it would be my problem anymore. I pressed my hand against my abdomen. The pain had dulled to something persistent and low. I breathed through it. Rosalie appeared at the end of the corridor, already scanning my face for information. "How bad?" she asked. "I'm fine." She gave me the look she'd been giving me since we were twelve. Then she took my arm and steered me toward the elevator. The ground floor was busier than it should have been. I noticed them first — the ones h******g near the entrance with their phones raised, eyes scanning every face that came through the doors. Pack members who lived on the open channel, who treated every broadcast like a trail to follow. Trackers, Silvia said flatly. Rosalie's grip tightened on my arm. Then she saw what they were tracking. "Angela—" Too late. Jake and Adrienne were twenty feet away. Adrienne's hand was through Jake's arm. She was leaning into him slightly — not enough to be obvious, exactly enough to be noticed. She was looking up at him with an expression I recognized from the back of every envelope I'd ever burned. Jake was looking at me. His expression went from neutral to sharp in under a second. The bond pulled, Silvia said quietly. Just now. Did you feel it? I'd felt it. He felt it too. Look at his jaw. I looked away instead. "Let's go," I said to Rosalie. "He’s allowing you to stay in the Luna quarters," Rosalie hissed. "This means you're literally still his Luna. Him showing up in public with her like this—" "Rose." Rosalie seemed to take the hint and immediately stopped paying attention to the couple.  We left.     Adrienne's POV I watched them go. Leaving already, Beatrice said. Disappointing. Be patient. I just wanted to see her face a little longer. I let myself have one moment — the image of Angela's back, straight and careful, walking away. Then I turned back to Jake. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't mean for this to become so public." He shook his head. "See your healer first." The examining room was small and clinical. I handed over my file and watched the healer's face as he read through it. His brows pulled together. "This is serious," he said. "I know." I let my voice soften. Just enough. “What you need is to be admitted into the infirmary—not a pill that will boost strength, speed, and healing for your practically non-existent wolf,” the doctor said as he perused my file. “You’ll need to start aggressive treatment and see what ways we can help prolong your life.”   "No." I shook my head slowly. "I don't want treatment." I felt Jake's hand close over mine. I looked down at it. Let the silence hold. "I want to live whatever time I have with some dignity," I said. "Just the Moonshade Elixir. Enough to keep me strong." The healer sighed. Nodded. Outside the door, phones were already raised.   Angela's POV Corridor bench. Twenty minutes later. I was waiting for Rosalie when the doors opened and they walked out. The Trackers moved before I could. One of them spotted me — and suddenly the space between me and the exit was full of pack members with phones raised and questions already forming. Jake saw me. His frown landed like a weight. "What are you doing here?" I stood. I looked at his face. At Adrienne's hand still through his arm. At the way he was already reading the situation as something I had caused. "Luna Angela — did you come to confront them?" "How does it feel seeing your mate with another woman?" The voices came from every direction. Jake's jaw tightened. "She's sick," he said to me. Low. Warning. Angel. His voice through the mind-link, sharp and expectant. He wanted me to speak. To smooth this over the way I always had. The bond flared when he used my name like that. Hot and involuntary. I pressed my palm flat against my stomach and breathed through it. "I came to see a friend," I said. Loud enough to carry. That was all I gave them. I turned for the exit. The Trackers closed in. Bodies pressing from every side, phones inches from my face. "Luna Angela, the whole pack wants you to step aside—" "You know she's dying—" Someone shoved. I didn't see who. The ground came up fast. I hit the floor hard — hands first, then my knee, then the impact rolled through my h*p and into my stomach. THE  PUP!  Silvia screamed. GET UP. GET UP NOW.

Angela's POV I got up. Slowly. One hand braced on the floor, then my knee, then upright. Silvia was still screaming. I pushed her down and locked her there. You can't just— Watch me. Cameras were everywhere. I didn't look at them. Jake was watching me with ice in his expression — that particular cold that meant I had embarrassed him. He wanted me to speak. To smooth it over, turn to Adrienne with something generous, give the crowd a Luna moment they could respect. I felt the pain still moving through my lower abdomen. I turned my back to him. "I sympathize with Ms. Adrienne's condition," I said. Even. Voice carrying despite everything. "That's all." "So you two are friends now?" someone called out. I laughed. One cold sound. "Friends?" I said. "No one befriends a woman who makes a career of wanting someone else's mate." A ripple went through the crowd. Angela. Jake's voice through the mind-link. A warning wrapped around my name. The bond surged when he linked me directly. Sharp and unwanted, like a hand grabbing my elbow. Seven years of conditioning — every time he called, I answered. Not this time. I ignored it. Rosalie materialized at my side. She took one look at the scene — at Adrienne's carefully arranged expression, at the phones still recording — and turned to face them. "Funny," Rosalie said, loud enough to carry. "Looking at this, I'd think she was the Luna and Angela was the one fighting for scraps." Adrienne's composure cracked. "You—" "On camera," Rosalie added pleasantly. "Just noting." Adrienne's face went stormy. Her knees buckled — graceful, timed — and two of her people caught her before she reached the floor. Rosalie took my arm and walked. We made it to the elevator before either of us spoke. "She faked it," Rosalie said. "I know." "I've watched a hundred real faints. That wasn't one." "Rose." I looked at her. "What about your job?" She waved it off. "My father runs this department. I'll survive." The elevator opened. "What I want to know is whether you can endure it too." I didn't answer that.   Luna quarters. Two hours later. "Help me move out," I said, grabbing Rosalie's wrist the moment we were through the door. "Today. Right now." She looked at me for one long moment. "Okay," she said. We called omegas to help with the heavy work. Rosalie directed them. I started with the shelves. My hands found the perfume bottle before I was ready for it. Jake had brought it back from a business trip — our first month as mates, when his wolf was still new to the bond and pulled him home faster than he'd planned. I took the cap off. Same scent. Exactly the same. Don't, Silvia said softly. Put it down. Don't let it pull you back. I put the cap back on. I set it on the table. Next to it I placed the wolf fang pendant — our first hunt together, the matching set, his version unworn in some drawer I'd never been invited into. The omegas worked fast. An hour later the Luna quarters were empty. Everything I owned was boxed and loaded except for two things in a drawer and a room that still smelled faintly like a life I'd built by hand. I stood in the doorway and looked at it. The bond gave one low pull. Not asking for anything. Just acknowledging the distance. Silvia, I said. Are we doing the right thing? A long pause. Then: I don't know. But we're doing the only thing. I turned off the light and walked out.   In the car, the packhouse shrank in the rearview mirror. I watched it go. My father's death. The investigation I'd put on hold for seven years because Jake had always come first. I pulled out my phone. The message from my producer was still open. Count me in, I typed. I sent it before I could change my mind.   Adrienne’s POV Fireflies Packhouse. Tears poured down my face. Jake was whispering in my ear. His hand was on my back and his mouth was making the sounds that the moment required, but I could tell his mind was on other things He had a look on his face as if he was at war with his wolf at the moment. Arguing. Struggling for the upper hand.  After what happened. I smiled smugly. Beatrice chortled. Clearly pleased with the outcome. Haha. Did you see her take that fall? That bltch deserves everything that’s coming to her. Oh, that’s only the beginning, I told my wolf. "Jake," I said, snapping back to the present moment. My voice rough from crying. "Please don't blame Angela for today." Then the cough. A hard one. Blood hit my palm. "Adrienne—" I shook her head. Pale smile. "It's just the curse. Don't." I heard him shout. “Don’t worry, Adrienne. I got you. I’ll link the nearest healer right now.” The moment Jake's back was turned I palmed the blood pouch and handed it to Sandra. "Dispose of that." I settled back against the cushions and opened the pack channel. The posts were still running — Angela's fall on loop, screencapped and shared. Step down. Step aside. Let him go. Angela fell flat on her face and still had the nerve to speak. "Today was perfect," I said. "Keep pushing it. I want the pressure on her constant." I set the phone face-down. "And find out why she was at the Healers' Quarters." Sandra hesitated. "You think she's—" "I think Angela doesn't do anything without a reason." I looked at the ceiling. "Find out what hers was."

Jake's POV Grandma wouldn’t stop mind-linking me. I felt a migraine forming behind my eyes. My efforts to block her were creating built-up tension around my temples. I frowned. I gave in. Grandma. So you finally remembered you have a grandmother. Her voice came through the link sharp and clear. What is this mess with Adrienne? She's sick. She doesn't have bad intentions. Are you out of your Dam mind? The link crackled with her anger. She knows you have a mate. She has always known. And she keeps coming anyway. That's not innocence, Jake — that's calculation. Cut ties with her. Go find Angela. Right now. Angela's face flashed through my mind. The corridor. Her back, walking away. I pushed it aside. Did Angela complain to you? Angela doesn't need to say a word. Grandma's voice dropped to something harder. Your Luna fell to the ground in front of the whole pack and you just stood there. Do you understand what that does to her standing? Every wolf in this territory saw their Luna hit the floor while her Alpha watched. I didn't answer. Jake. Grandpa Nolan's voice cut in. Rougher than it used to be. The Alpha madness had taken the smoothness out of it, but the authority was still there. You brought Angela before the elders yourself. You said you wanted her. That means you answer for her. Come to dinner tonight. Bring her. The link closed. I sat alone in my Alpha chambers. My fingers tapped the armrest. I looked at Angela's photo on my phone and then opened the mind-link channel. Ever since the severance of our matebond, communication with her had been lax. As if my Alpha authority over her had weakened to the point where she didn’t even have to answer my mind-links. I tried again. This time she picked up. What are you doing? I said. What do you want? She answered my question with one of her own. I pressed two fingers to my temple. Why were you at the Healers' Quarters? I went to see Rosalie. Don't lie to me, Angela. Her laugh came through the link. Light. Unbothered. Marco snarled. I felt the same. Come back tonight, I said. My grandparents are expecting us for dinner. I'm busy. Not even a pause. It's Grandpa's order. Silence. I waited. Nothing came back. I tried twice more. She didn't answer.     I went to our chambers myself. Angel. My voice came out low and sharp in the dark room. Nothing. I hit the light switch. The sofa was empty. I stood in the doorway and looked at it. Every time I'd come home — late, distracted, smelling of pack business — the lights had been on. She would be on that sofa with a book sliding off her chest, having fallen asleep waiting. I'd walk past her most nights without stopping. I went room to room. Luna Wing. Empty. Bedroom. Empty. The walk-in closet — empty on her side. I stopped. Looked again. Her half of the rail. b**e. The paired towels — one left. The matching mugs — one left. The spare slippers she'd set out for me every evening — one pair now, mine. Everything shared had been halved. She wasn't angry. She was gone. Marco, I said. He didn't respond. He'd gone to a place inside me where he went when he didn't want to be found. That scared me more than anything else. I grabbed my suits and left. It was only in the car that the smell hit me — faint on the fabric, caught in the collar of my jacket. Her perfume. The one I'd brought back from that first business trip. Still on the air in our bedroom even though everything else she owned was already gone. She's not coming back, Marco said from wherever he was hiding. This time, she's not coming back. She always comes back. She always did, Marco said. The correction was quiet. Past tense, Jake. Same as everything else. I gripped the steering wheel and couldn’t bear to  think about what that meant.     Angela's POV The nail salon was warm and quiet and smelled like acetone and something floral. Rosalie held her finished hand under the light. "You chose the fetus-safe polish." "The pup is still here," I said. "If I can choose, I will." She looked at me sideways. "I thought you were terminating." "I might still have to." I looked at my own hands. "But it's still mine right now." It's ours, Silvia said quietly from somewhere deep. Whatever you decide — it was always ours. I didn't answer her out loud. But I let her words sit. “That’s perfectly fine,” Rosalie said, shrugging. “What’s important is that you’re willing to change. “Manicures are just the tip of the iceberg. Up next are your hairstyle and wardrobe. “Angela, I still remember when we were barely ten, sneaking around in our mother’s pointed high heels,” Rosalie teased, breathing on her nails. “There’s no reason for us to become plain the older we get.” Rosalie let out a long sigh, flexing her sparkling nails under the light. “Too bad I’m a healer now. I can’t go overboard with flashy styles anymore.” After a brief pause, Rosalie asked, "When's the last time you got your nails done?"  I thought about it. I couldn't remember. Somewhere in the year of being Luna it had stopped. Jake's stomach problems meant overseeing every meal. The laundry, the household accounts, the omega schedules, the packhouse calendar. I'd filled every hour with the business of making his life run smoothly and somewhere in there I had stopped doing the small things that had once belonged only to me. "Too long," I said. I looked at my hands. The color I'd chosen was dark. Something I never would have picked as Luna — too noticeable, too much for myself alone. No more, Silvia said. And this time it didn't sound like grief. It sounded like the beginning of something. I straightened my fingers and let the light catch the color. The music competition. The producer waiting on my confirmation. My father's death still uninvestigated, still sitting in the back of my mind like a debt I hadn't been allowed to repay. One thing at a time. But I was starting.

Angela's POV After finishing our manicures, Rosalie and I treated ourselves to a full spa session. By the time I dropped Rosalie off, I had already decided—I was going to chop off all my hair. After dropping Rosalie off, I walked into a hair salon, the bell jingling loudly as I entered. The moment the stylist saw my w***t-length hair, he let out a long sigh. “Are you really planning to cut all of this?” He wanted to make sure, running his fingers through my thick strands.  My hair was dense, glossy, and smooth. It was beautiful black hair and was perfectly straight. I had taken care to keep it that way. I looked at the girl in the mirror. Black, shining hair; skin as pale as snow; a soft yellow dress that accentuated her natural elegance; and a face that didn’t require makeup yet remained breathtakingly gorgeous. I knew that I looked like a blooming lily. Pure, beautiful, and harmless. I smiled quietly, my expression calm and composed.  "Cut it," I said. The stylist ran his fingers through my hair one last time. w***t-length. Dense and black and glossy, the kind of hair that took years of careful maintenance to keep. He sighed. Picked up his scissors. No, Silvia said. It was never ours, I told her. We grew it out for him. She went quiet. Not agreement. Just the particular stillness of a wolf who knows when an argument is already lost. The first cut was the loudest. After that, dark strands fell to the floor in silence, one after another, and Silvia's resistance softened with each one until something else replaced it. Curiosity. Just a small thread of it. But it was there. The stylist stepped back. Looked at his work. Looked at me. "This suits you," he said. There was something genuine in his tone. "Much better." I looked at the girl in the mirror. Same face. Same pale skin. But different shape to everything. Oh, Silvia said softly. What? I forgot what we looked like. When we were just ours. I smiled at the stylist. The first real one in days. “A little coloring and perm would enhance your new look. Do you want to do that now? I have some recommendations. Take a look,” he said, showing me a sample booklet. I glanced down at my stomach before he could open it. "Next time," I said. "Give me about a week. Twenty days at most." By then, a lot of things would be different. He wrote it in his appointment book. Called after me as I left. I nodded over my shoulder and walked out into the afternoon.   Davenport Mall was all glass and light and luxury labels. I stood outside a boutique window and looked at my reflection. The soft yellow dress. The wedge heels. The whole careful palette I'd assembled over a year of dressing for Jake's preference. Compliance, Silvia said flatly. I went inside. I came out with bags.     My new apartment was quiet. I set the bags down and looked around at it — this space that was entirely mine, that smelled like fresh paint and nobody's history. I changed. Valentino. Dior heels. The Chanel bag I'd bought for myself three years ago and never had occasion to carry. I stood in front of the mirror. Lifted my chin. "Angela," I said. "Happy rebirth." The girl in the mirror looked back at me. The corners of my mouth moved. Something approximating a smile. But my eyes didn't follow and I wasn't going to pretend they did. It's okay, Silvia said. The smile will come. We just have to build something worth smiling about first. Seven years. I couldn't say it didn't hurt. I wasn't going to say it didn't hurt. But Silvia was right. If the smile wouldn't come, I wouldn't force it. I checked the time. Pack patrol would be starting. Training hall after that — mandatory attendance for every wolf not on duty rotation. For a full year, coordinating both had been my responsibility. Nobody needed me to do that anymore. The emptiness that came with that thought surprised me. Not grief exactly. More like the particular hollowness of a wolf who'd been removed from her rank without ceremony. I'd managed two winters of supply lines, three border disputes, every administrative overlap between Jake's Alpha duties and the human world. And now I was standing in a new apartment that smelled like no one, and the pack was moving on without so much as a formal acknowledgment that I'd ever been Luna at all. That's what losing rank feels like, Silvia said quietly. Not dramatic. Just — gone. I pushed it aside and opened my calendar. Therapist in the morning. Gregory Perks at three. One step. Then the next.     I was still in the parking lot outside the clinic when my phone rang. It was Gregory. He never called before scheduled meetings. Gregory was the CEO of Stoneclaw Entertainment. The largest entertainment company in Briarwood. Backed by the powerful Stoneclaw Pack and as a potential successor to Alpha Andre, his grandfather, Gregory Perks had a formidable reputation. As the third grandson of the Perks, he was in charge of the entertainment division.  My earlier songs had been released under Stoneclaw Entertainment. After I sealed my matehood with Jake, my Alpha husband had commanded me to take good care of his ailing grandfather. Knowing the former alpha’s days were limited, I turned down a life in the spotlight. Living my days under the radar. But Gregory had always valued my talent. He had me compose under the pseudonym “Rowan Hart.” Even if the songs sold, this kept my foot in the door, making a future comeback more plausible. For Jake’s sake, I had signed a confidentiality agreement with Stoneclaw Entertainment, which was personally handled by Gregory. Only two people in this world knew that “Rowan Hart” was actually me. Besides myself, Gregory was the only other person who knew. Back then, I had been too absorbed with life with my new Alpha husband to pay close attention. Now, the irony of it all left a bitter taste in my mouth. I pulled over and answered the call. "Mr. Perks?" "Rowan Hart." His voice was careful. He never used the alias in private. "Can you come to the office now?" Something's wrong, Silvia said. She lifted her head. I can feel your heart rate from here. "I have an appointment," I said. "What's happened?" "Someone wants to buy your latest track." A pause. "They've asked to meet you directly." "Handle it through the label. That's what the contract is for." "I tried." Another pause, longer. "She came to my office in person. She wasn't alone." I waited. Gregory's voice dropped. "Her name is Adrienne. Adrienne from Adrienne Florals. She says she knows you." He exhaled. "She wants the rights to your song. I turned her down twice. However, this time she came back with Alpha Jake." Oh, Silvia said. Low and dangerous. Oh, she did not. I was already asking myself the same question. "They're still here," Gregory said. "Angela — they're determined."

Angela's POV "Do they know it's me?" I asked. I didn’t state it directly—I meant whether Adrienne knew that “Rowan Hart” was my alias—but Gregory already understood what I meant.  "No. I'm certain of that." I sat in the parking lot and watched the clouds move. She wants the song, Silvia said. The one you wrote about us. About everything we lost. I know. That song is our pain. Our seven years. And she wants to wear it like a costume. I know, Silvia. So what are we going to do about it? I started the engine. I called my therapist first. Moved the appointment to later. Then called Gregory back and told him I was coming. Mask. Sunglasses. Cap. A suppressant swallowed dry in the elevator. The doors opened. My Dior heels hit the tile floor as I walked into Gregory's office. He rose when he saw me. His eyes moved over the new outfit, the shorter hair, and he said nothing — just guided me to my seat at the far end of the table. Adrienne and Jake were already there. The moment I entered, Adrienne stood. "Mrs. Rowan Hart." Her smile was fragile and precisely calibrated. "I'm Adrienne. Perhaps you've heard of me. I truly want to buy your song." I didn't answer her. I looked at Jake instead. He didn't look back. His attention was entirely on Adrienne. Every line of him angled toward her like a compass finding north. His scent reached me even across the table. Cedar and mountain air. The same as it had always been. The bond pulled. Once. Sharp. I pressed my heel into the floor and held still. The suppressant helped, but it couldn't t***h the bone-level recognition — my wolf knowing her Alpha was in the room, the pull that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with seven years of shared territory. Gregory spoke first. "Ms. Jenson. As I've already said — Rowan isn't selling." Adrienne ignored him. Her eyes went red on cue. "This song speaks to my heart," she said. "Rowan, I only have six months to live. Please — grant me this one dying wish." Another one, Silvia said flatly. How many dying wishes does she get? The matebond dissolution had been a dying wish. Now this. "What if I said no?" I asked. Adrienne stilled. "I'm aware of your situation," I continued. "The countdown. The livestream. But I'm not obligated to satisfy a dying wish from someone I've never met." I paused. "Why this song specifically? Is it for the livestream? Or for your funeral?" Adrienne gasped. Then coughed. Jake's hand was on her back before the second cough landed. He looked up at me for the first time since I'd walked in. "Don't you think that's a little harsh?" His voice was cold. Eyes sharp. I looked at him. He was wearing one of the outfits I'd coordinated. Not yesterday's clothes — he'd gone back to the packhouse, opened the closet, and dressed himself from the half I'd left behind. He hadn't noticed I was gone until the closet told him. He still hadn't mentioned it. "Forcing a sale is harsher," I said. "If you're going to push, be prepared for pushback." Jake's jaw tightened. "I've got this." Adrienne touched his arm and he stood down. She turned back to me, voice dropping into something softer. "Rowan. This song is my story. The longing. The sacrifice. The sorrow underneath all of it." Her eyes found Jake's face briefly, then returned to mine. "And the release at the end. Accepting everything. Letting go. That part most of all." Jake's face in that moment. The tenderness in it. Open and unguarded, directed at her without effort or thought. Seven years. Not once had he looked at me like that. Seeing their interactions, I started to feel like an outsider observing a tragic, idealized couple. The irony burned a hole inside my heart. The other wolf, having harvested sympathy from a song inspired by my heartbreak, while I, the rightful Luna, was treated as if I were the villain. It wasn’t fair. Don't, Silvia said quietly. Don't let it in. Too late. I felt it move through me — not jealousy, something older and quieter. The specific grief of understanding, finally and completely, that what I'd been waiting for had never been coming. Adrienne mistook my silence for something else. "Surely you'd want someone who truly understands the pain behind the lyrics to have it," she said. I nearly laughed. She had lived my pain. She had caused my pain. And now she was sitting across a table trying to purchase the song I'd written inspired by that pain. Adrienne’s tears couldn’t manipulate me. I knew what she was trying to do. She was attempting to turn my pain into sentimentality. The entire situation was absurd. I did end up laughing. Quietly, behind my sunglasses. Jake's eyes narrowed. "You let her hear the song. That indicates willingness to sell. Your refusal now means you're unhappy with either the buyer or the price." "Top songwriters earn millions," I said. "Annual royalties on a star track can reach ten million." "Ten million," Jake said. "Done." Ten million for a relatively unknown alias. The number was for Adrienne, not for the song. Adrienne's expression hardened. "That is our final offer. I intend to use it as my signature piece on Rising Notes—" Gregory's hands hit the table. "She said no. We're done here." Jake didn't move. His Alpha pressure settled over the room like a change in air density. Silvia coiled beneath it, hackles up, every instinct bracing. Hold, I told her. Not yet. I reached over and touched Gregory's sleeve. "It's all right," I said quietly. "I'll sell it." Gregory turned to stare at me. I kept my eyes on the table and didn't explain. Rising Notes. The same show I was entering as a competitor. Oh, Silvia said slowly. Then, with something that sounded almost like a growl of approval: Oh, I see.

Angela’s POV I saw Gregory staring at me after I said that.  As if it was no big deal. I simply shrugged and signed the paperwork. I kept my voice flat and unhurried, my oversized sunglasses giving away nothing as I told the staff what to do. The new hair. The Valentino. The Dior heels planted on the office floor gave me a newfound strength. I felt raw energy hum through me. Feeling invincible. Adrienne looked at me with barely concealed contempt. "An unusual decision," she said. "Changing your mind at the last minute like that." I smiled, saying nothing, then got up and walked out of the office without looking back.  Gregory ran up to catch up with me as I poured myself а-'cup of coffee in the hallway. "Angela." He stopped beside me. "Why did you sell it?" I looked at him over the rim of my cup. "Did you hear what she said? She's joining Rising Notes." "As a guest judge. A stand-in slot." He frowned. "Not a contestant." "I know." I set the cup down. "So aren't you curious to see how it’ll play out?" He wasn’t from our pack. Different packs had different hierarchies, laws for mate disputes – the rules were different for each pack. So I kept it simple. "We've finalized the severance," I said. "Thirty days and it'll be official. He wants to move quickly. That song was supposed to be her statement piece — her story, her suffering, her love." I met his eyes. "Imagine when everyone finds out whose story it actually is." Understanding moved across his face slowly, then all at once. I smiled. "I'd like to see that too." "Is this revenge?" he asked carefully. "No." I picked my cup back up. Outside the window, the trees were moving in the wind, slow and indifferent. "I just want to sever every tie cleanly and live my own life." A pause. "But if they walk into it themselves — why not, right?" Gregory was quiet for a moment. He had his own calculations to run. After all, his grandfather was the Alpha of the Stoneclaw Pack. Who had left him in charge of the entertainment division of Stoneclaw Group. It was a huge responsibility. One that might one day mean rising to the ranks of an Alpha. With that h******g over his head. He had a lot to think about. "Perhaps," he said finally, "the severance is for the best." I looked at him. Felt something loosen, just slightly, in my chest. "Thank you," I said. And meant it. Gregory wasn’t wrong for worrying. From what I knew, the three Perks brothers were competing for control of the Stoneclaw Pack. Naturally, the one with the best performance would rise to power. If things didn’t work out and this drama within the Fireflies Pack seeped into other were territories, who knew what the council’s decision would end up being? Gregory had a lot to risk. Knowing this, I felt sorry for him. After some small talk, Gregory promised to keep his mouth zipped about my affairs. We agreed to discuss Rising Notes at a later date. He excused himself. I stayed at the window with my coffee and watched the scenery outside. All alone, I stood quietly, coffee cup in hand, while watching the wind moving through the trees.  I didn’t know how much time passed like that without me even realizing it.  Then I heard footsteps. I recognized the weight of them before I turned around. I pulled my mask up and kept my back to him. "What's the meaning of this?" Jake's voice. Calm. Carrying the particular quality of an Alpha who had never needed to raise it to be heard. Careful, Silvia said. The bond can feel him. Don't let him get any closer. His scent reached me a second later. Cedar and mountain air. Don't breathe it in, Silvia warned. It'll pull you. I breathed through my mouth and held still. "Your compositions show real depth," he said. "You're clearly talented. Why make things harder for someone who's already dying?" I turned around. He looked the same. Slightly furrowed brow, mouth pressed into a thin line. "You think I'm talented?" I said quietly. He looked momentarily confused. "Yes." I smiled. Bitter, small, mostly for myself. Talented. Our mating ceremony night came back without permission. His cigarette. The smoke curling toward the ceiling. Put aside those minor songwriting pursuits, Angel. Act like the Luna you are. He hadn't asked. He'd informed me. And I'd agreed because I loved him and because his frown had told me what the alternative looked like. He'd called it minor. He'd never once asked to hear a single song. "Never mind," I said. I turned back to the window.   Jake's POV She turned away before I could read her expression. Something about her nagged at me. The set of her shoulders. The way she held the coffee cup. A quality in her voice that pulled at something I couldn't locate. Marco stirred. Slow and deliberate. What? I asked him. He didn't answer right away. Well? Nothing, he said. But it didn't sound like nothing. It sounded like a man standing at the edge of something he didn't want to look at. The shoulder-length hair. The heels. The modern silhouette. I couldn't place her. She reminds me of Angel, Marco said finally. Our Angel. That was when it hit me. There was something about her scent. Citrus — with notes of something floral – like jasmine. Angela. That scent reminded me of home. Of affectionate gazes staring deep into my eyes. And the warm embrace of a mate who never once turned me away. Suddenly, I felt a pang that I’d never felt before. The broken matebond. Was it a mistake? What was it about this woman that instantly made me regret everything? There was something about her.  Something that screamed: ‘This is your Angela. In the flesh.’ Go to her! Now！Marco growled.