Chapter 1

“Luna, I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Iona’s passing is truly heartbreaking. I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose such a little angel,” the healer said as he approached me, fresh from the examination room. The moment those words left his mouth, my legs gave way, and I sank to the floor.

I couldn’t believe it—the very first thing he told me was such devastating news. It felt like my entire world crumbled in an instant. Iona was only four years old, and her fifth birthday was just weeks away.

The attack that happened in the early hours of this morning turned everything upside down, shattering everything I’d worked so hard to protect for so long. It was chaos, pure and utter chaos, and now the cost was far greater than I could have ever imagined.

The most painful part of all this suffering was when Nathaniel ignored me as I lay helpless on the ground with Iona, both of us barely clinging to life while trying to escape. He was too preoccupied helping Yoan and her son, Dane.

Yoan and Nathaniel had been childhood friends, their bond running deep long before Nathaniel even met me.

When he found me gravely injured and Iona unconscious, trapped beneath the rubble of the packhouse, he chose to turn away. He merely called for members of the Pack Medical Centre before focusing his attention elsewhere.

“She’s only fainted and in shock, Yoan. Let’s check on your son first—he’s in worse condition,” he had said at the time.

Nathaniel’s words still ring in my ears, their indifference cutting deeper than the wounds on my body. To him, Iona was simply unconscious, nothing to worry about. But now, as she lies lifeless before me, I can’t understand how he could've dismissed her so easily.

I sat sobbing in the corner of the room, my body trembling, utterly drained of strength. It felt as though every ounce of energy I once had had vanished, leaving me as nothing more than an empty shell. Iona’s small body lay motionless on the bed, her once-cheerful face now eerily serene, as though she were merely sleeping.

But I knew the truth—and it shattered me in ways I could never have imagined.

Both my hands gripped the edge of the table beside me, desperate for something to steady myself, to pull me back to my feet. But there was nothing strong enough to hold against the relentless waves of pain crashing over me. Tears streamed down my face in an endless flow, blurring my vision.

“She’s only fainted, just in shock,” his voice echoed in my mind, cruel and dismissive, like a taunt that refused to fade.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” I whispered, my voice trembling, barely audible. My hand reached out towards Iona’s small, lifeless body, but I froze just before touching her. I couldn’t bring myself to face the truth—that her delicate form was now as cold as the dark of night.

And then, the bitter realisation struck me, Nathaniel’s attention no longer belonged to his wife and child. It was now consumed by his Yoan and her son. At that moment, it became painfully clear that the marriage I had once been so proud of was nothing more than a cruel illusion, a lie I had foolishly clung to.

Nathaniel’s loyalty has always been painfully biased, and I can’t endure it any longer. My foolishness has cost me Iona, and now she’s gone forever.

Once the healer finished treating my injuries, they dressed Iona in a pristine white gown and gently placed her in a coffin. I followed as they prepared to take her to the morgue, my legs heavy with grief.

Before the burial, I planned to tell Nathaniel everything. But first, I needed to make a call.

The number I'd blocked for years, I unblocked. The monotone ring tone greeted me, once, twice, three times, then a deep voice answered.

"Angelina?"

"Hello, Alpha Malcolm... I... I've finally come to a decision about your offer."

"You've agreed, Angie?" The happiness in his voice made it clear he was beaming on the other end of the line.

Yes, I had decided to return to my pack and help them with their agricultural efforts, which had been lagging. I would be leaving Nathaniel as soon as possible.

However, as I and the few cars accompanying Iona's hearse arrived at the Black Widow Pack, Nathaniel caught up to me. His face was etched with deep sadness.

"Angie, please," he begged, his voice cracking with a vulnerability I'd never heard before. "Come back to the Pearl Harbor Pack. We can fix this. I can fix it."

I stared at him, the man I'd once loved with all my heart, and knew there was no going back. The bridge was burned, the chasm too wide.

"No way," I spat, the fire of my pain blazing in my chest. "You made your choice, Nathaniel. And now, I'm making mine."

***

Yesterday's attack had ripped through the Pearl Harbor Pack, leaving chaos and devastation in its wake. The damage was so extensive, so profound, that none of us found peace afterward, least of all me. As Luna, I was expected to be a beacon of strength, a pillar of resilience. But how could I when I had just lost my precious four-year-old daughter, Iona?

The pain was numbing, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. The blood loss and broken bones, the physical reminders of the attack, drained me of any tears. I was too exhausted, too shattered, to even cry.

I lay alone on our bed, staring at the blank ceiling, whispering to myself, "That's too far."

My whole body ached, my very soul felt bruised, but no matter how much I suffered, Nathaniel didn't seem to care. He didn't even ask about Iona. He was too busy overseeing the repairs to the pack houses and keeping Yoan company at the hospital.

Now I was starting to wonder if Nathaniel was really that busy, so busy that he could ignore me and Iona, even after Iona had passed.

I had thought that after the attack, after he'd heard about the two deep slashes I'd received and the bone fracture in my leg from the collapsing building that the enemy had set ablaze, Nathaniel would realize how much Iona and I had suffered. But I was wrong. He hadn't been home since he'd said he was going to oversee the repairs to the buildings that had been burned by the enemy.

I huddled in bed alone, feeling the excruciating pain of my wounds.

I curled up in bed, aching for the one thing I needed most: him. But what I got instead was silence.

Exhausted from the weight of it all, I fell into a restless sleep.

When I woke the next morning, the bedroom door was ajar, and for a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

But then Nathaniel walked in, towel wrapped around his waist, tapping away on his mobile as if I didn't exist.

"Nathaniel, when did you come home?" I asked, leaning against the headboard, still feeling the lingering fatigue in my bones.

"Just now," he muttered without lifting his gaze.

I swallowed hard and whispered hoarsely, "Will you be returning to the office?"

Nathaniel remained silent, not raising his head, entirely absorbed by his mobile phone. Yet, moments later, he growled harshly, "I am the pack leader. After that attack, I must manage everything without pause, unlike you who can sleep whilst others lie critically wounded beyond our doors."

"How dare you—"

"Rather than complaining incessantly, you'd do better preparing my breakfast," he interrupted.

I clenched my jaw and tightened my fists. I desperately wanted to slap him repeatedly and make him understand that his daughter Iona was more than just 'critically wounded'. I wanted to make him realise he had lost his own daughter through his selfish prioritisation of Hazel, Yona's son.

I clenched my jaw, restraining the biting response that trembled on my lips.

He had been like this recently—distant, acerbic, perpetually absent, even when physically present. So, I turned silently and made my way to the kitchen.

Even as I stirred the spaghetti I was making, my thoughts kept drifting to Yoan and his son, Hazel. Was Yoan with Nathaniel all day? Did he sleep over at Yoan's? Did he love Hazel even more than Nathaniel should love Iona? But I tried to push those feelings aside and think more positively. After breakfast was ready, Nathaniel joined me at the table but he was always on his phone.

I stayed quiet, knowing there was no point in starting a conversation. His reply would probably be short and painful.

"We've investigated the attack from the early hours, and we suspect several packs who've long been at odds with us, primarily because our pack is more prosperous than theirs," Nathaniel continued whilst enjoying his meal. "I'll be home rather late today. Would you mind preparing my packed lunch as usual?"

"Yes," I replied with uncharacteristic indifference.

"Has Iona not awakened yet? Poor thing must be terrified and traumatised. I'll take her for a picnic next weekend," Nathaniel mused.

I sighed and stared at him in utter disbelief. Our daughter had been lying in the mortuary for two days, yet he remained completely oblivious to this devastating reality.

Drawing a deep breath, I murmured, "Actually, Iona—"

Before I could explain that our daughter would never wake again, Nathaniel's mobile rang. Upon answering, his face contorted with worry, and he sprung to his feet with alarming urgency.

"Mate, could you possibly drop off that packed lunch at the office later? Something urgent's come up. Hazel's having seizures," Nathaniel announced.

"Nathaniel!" I called out sharply.

"I'm terribly sorry, but this is paramount, Angie. Listen, you've recovered from your injuries, haven't you? So I really must look after Hazel and Yoan. Yoan's a widow now, and her husband was a high-ranking Theta who wielded considerable influence in the Pearl Harbor Pack."

"Yes, I've recovered, and your daughter hasn't awakened," I replied with biting sarcasm, "And perhaps never will."

"Oh, come now, Angie. This is hardly the time for petty jealousy," Nathaniel grumbled.

"Yes, I know."

"Thank you for understanding, Angie. I'll see you at the office later." Nathaniel patted my head before grabbing his coat and departing.

In that moment, I felt like an insignificant fragment of Nathaniel's life—as I had always been. Nathaniel prioritised Yoan and Hazel above all else, whilst I remained an outsider desperately trying to breach their world.

I watched Nathaniel's car begin to pull away from the house, feeling increasingly alienated by the reality before me. Just before his final departure, a courier had arrived with a bouquet of lilies and a box of luxury chocolates. I knew, with crushing certainty, that these were gifts for Yoan and her son.

Nathaniel could be so lavish with others, yet last month's memory stabbed at my heart—when Iona had asked for a new doll, Nathaniel had merely tossed her a packet of cheap hair bands.

I'd always known Nathaniel desperately yearned for a son, but his treatment of Iona had been beyond cruel.

To him, Hazel might as well have been his own son—born of a woman who’d stood by his side for years, after all. Meanwhile, my Iona is a child of his newfound choice, sprung from the womb of a wife he selected only recently. Nathaniel’s priorities will forever lie with Yoan and Hazel, never with me or my poor, overlooked girl.

Yoan’s husband, Carl, perished a year ago—his life claimed by grievous wounds from a night hunt. Yet even in death, Carl’s devotion to Yoan remained unshakable, flawless. And now, Yoan has my husband—Nathaniel—as her closest confidant. A man who dotes on her, who would move heaven and earth for her. A loyalty I’ve never been granted, though by every right, I should claim it.

Time and again, this bitterness towards Yoan and Hazel has gnawed at me. Even when I carried Iona—clinging to her as my body threatened to betray us both—it festered. Yet whenever I dared confront Nathaniel, he dismissed it as hysterics. Blind jealousy, he’d sneer, as though my anguish were some trifling melodrama.

But Nathaniel remains wilfully oblivious to the heart of it: his own daughter, who’s never known a father’s love. Half the pack whispers of it—this unspoken truth about Iona—yet he parades his indifference like virtue. No wrongdoing here, his silence declares.

And oh, how it stings. When he lavishes Yoan with jewels fit for a queen, I receive trinkets I could pluck from the market myself. It’s not the cost, Nathaniel. It’s the care—the absence of thought for the woman who’s sacrificed everything. For you.

Still, I dare not confront Yoan or her son. The Pearl Harbour Pack would sooner tear out my throat than see me as their Luna. Her they adore; me, they tolerate.

The microwave’s piercing beep jolts me from my misery. I busy myself packing two lunchboxes—overstuffed, as always—then gather laundry with mechanical haste. But my hands freeze mid-fold. His shirt. Nathaniel’s, worn last night. I press it to my face, and—

Scent of gladiol and musk. Her.

“Yoan’s,” Sky, my wolf, growls through the mindlink. No hesitation. No mercy.

The tears come then, ugly and suffocating.

He was with her. While I lay bleeding, mourning Iona’s eternal absence, he clung to her.

Every whispered promise, every “You’re my only”—ash in my mouth now.

The shirt slips from my grip as my knees buckle. All those lies, so deftly spun, and I… I believed.

Every suspicion I’d stifled for years razored open, raw and brutal.

I lurched to my feet, ribs cracking under the truth—her perfume cloying his collars, the bouquet he’d never brought me, the glacial distance between us. It wasn’t suspicion anymore. It was arithmetic.

I’d always been the third.

The mobile trembled in my grip, fingers slick with fury. How many times had we rowed over Yoan? How many times had he spun my pain into pettiness, made me grovel for daring to question his “loyalty”?

Not this time.

No more contorting myself into apologies. No more haunting my own bloody marriage.

I stabbed at the screen, dialling the number I’d ignored weeks prior—the one cryptic offer I’d dismissed, clinging to the delusion that Nathaniel might change. That I might still matter.

“Alpha Malcolm.” My voice was glacial, steady—a stark contrast to the fault lines fracturing my insides. “I’ve reconsidered your… proposal. I’ll be transferring back to the Black Widow Pack.”

A beat of silence. Then, deliberate, as though etching the words into the air itself, “Soon.”