CHAPTER THREE

SOFIA

I cradle my wounded arm against my chest as I climb the front steps of the pack house. The cuts have stopped bleeding, but they throb with each heartbeat—a steady reminder of my humiliation in the woods.

Behind me, I can hear the excited chatter of pack members recounting Andrew's "heroic" rescue of Anne. Their voices carry easily through the evening air, painting him as the perfect Alpha who rushed to save a helpless damsel.

No one mentions the rogue that actually attacked me. No one asks about my injuries.

I push through the front door and immediately feel the weight of hostile stares. Joan Grafton sits in the main living area with several other pack members, her sharp features twisted in disapproval. Andrew's mother, Karen, stands beside the fireplace like a sentinel guarding sacred ground.

"Well, well." Joan's voice drips with mock concern. "Look who finally made it back."

I keep walking toward the stairs, but Karen's voice stops me cold.

"Don't you dare walk away from us, girl."

The word 'girl' hits like a slap. I turn slowly, my jaw tight. "I need to clean these wounds."

"You need to explain yourself." Karen steps forward, her Alpha bloodline radiating authority even though she's never held official rank. "Do you have any idea what you almost cost this pack today?"

I blink, confusion cutting through my exhaustion. "What I almost—"

"Your recklessness nearly got my son killed." Joan rises from her chair, movements predatory. "Andrew had to abandon his hunt to save you from a situation you should have handled yourself."

The injustice of it steals my breath. "He didn't save me. He wasn't even—"

"Don't you dare contradict us." Karen's eyes flash with barely controlled rage. "We've tolerated your presence here for three years, watched you drag our pack's reputation through the mud with your outsider ways."

"My outsider ways?" My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm.

"You think we don't know what you are?" Joan circles closer, scenting weakness. "A rejected wolf who crawled here begging for acceptance. You bring nothing but bad luck and shame."

The lies build on each other, growing more vicious with each word. My hands shake—not from fear, but from the effort of containing the real me that wants to surface and end this humiliation permanently.

"You should have been thrown out years ago," Karen continues, her voice growing shriller. "But Andrew was too kind, too forgiving. Look where it's gotten him—risking his life for a mate who can't even protect herself from a single rogue."

"That's enough." My voice cuts through their tirade, low and deadly quiet.

The temperature in the room seems to drop. Several pack members shift uncomfortably, their wolves recognizing something dangerous in my tone even if they can't identify it.

Joan laughs, the sound ugly and sharp. "Oh, the little omega finally has some fight in her? How refreshing."

"I am not an omega." Each word falls like a blade.

"Could have fooled us," Karen sneers. "Weak, pathetic, always needing rescue—"

"I said that's enough."

This time, my voice carries a resonance that makes every wolf in the room freeze. For a split second, the careful mask I've worn for three years slips, and something infinitely more dangerous peers through.

Karen recovers first, her face flushing with rage. "How dare you use that tone with me in my own home?"

"Your home?" My laugh holds no humor. "This is supposed to be my home too. I'm your son's mate."

"Mate?" Joan spits the word like poison. "You're a liability. A mistake Andrew will correct once he comes to his senses."

The words hit their mark. I flinch, thinking of Andrew's hands in Anne's hair, his voice soft with protective tenderness for another woman.

Karen sees the reaction and presses forward. "You know it's true. You saw how he looked at Anne today. That's what a real Luna looks like—someone worthy of an Alpha's attention."

"Someone who doesn't bring rogues down on innocent pack members," Joan adds, her smile vicious.

My control finally snaps. "I didn't bring anything down on anyone. That rogue attacked me, and I handled it myself while your precious son was off playing hero for another woman."

"You handled it?" Karen's voice rises to a shriek. "You were screaming for help like a terrified child!"

"Because that's what you expect from me!" The words explode from my chest. "You want me weak, you want me helpless, so you can feel superior. Well, congratulations—you got exactly what you wanted."

Joan moves faster than I expect, grabbing my wounded arm and squeezing until I gasp in pain. "Watch your tongue, little girl, or—"

"Or what?" I jerk free, my eyes blazing. "You'll throw me out? Threaten me? You've been doing that for three years."

"Maybe we should have done more than threaten." Karen's hand shoots out, catching me across the face with enough force to snap my head sideways.

The slap echoes through the sudden silence. I touch my cheek, feeling the sting, and something fundamental shifts inside my chest.

When I look up, my smile is sharp enough to cut glass.

"Mistake," I say softly.

Before Karen can react, my hand closes around the older woman's wrist with crushing force. Karen's eyes widen in shock as she realizes she can't pull free.

"Sofia? What's going on here?"

Andrew's voice cuts through the tension. He stands in the doorway, taking in the scene—his mother's face pale with pain, my grip unbreakable on her wrist, Joan backing away with sudden wariness.

I release Karen and step back, my expression carefully neutral. "Your mother was explaining pack hierarchy to me."

Andrew's gaze shifts between us, clearly sensing the undercurrents but missing the truth entirely. "Mom, maybe you should—"

"She attacked me," Karen gasps, cradling her wrist. "Your mate put her hands on me."

"After you slapped me." My voice remains level, factual.

Andrew rubs his forehead, exhaustion clear in every line of his body. "Look, everyone's had a long day. These things happen during stressful times."

The casual dismissal—of his mother's assault, of my humiliation—is the final straw.

"These things happen?" My voice is deadly quiet.

"You know what I mean." Andrew waves a hand vaguely. "Pack tensions, full moon approaching, adrenaline from the hunt. No real harm done."

I stare at him for a long moment, seeing clearly for the first time in years. This man—this weak, selfish man—is what I sacrificed everything for.

"You're right," I say finally. "No real harm done."

I turn toward the stairs, but Andrew's voice stops me.

"Where are you going?"

"To pack."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. Andrew blinks, clearly not understanding.

"Pack for what?"

I turn back, my smile sharp and final. "I'm leaving, Andrew. Tonight."

"Leaving?" He looks genuinely confused. "What do you mean, leaving?"

"I mean, I'm done." Each word drops like a stone into still water.