Chapter 4

Evelyn

Outside Damon's office building, the late morning sun turned the glass façade into a wall of fire. I stood on the sidewalk, Ava's carrier heavy in one hand, the bag with his documents and food in the other, wondering if I'd made a mistake coming here.

This is ridiculous. I'm his mate and the mother of his child. I shouldn't be afraid to walk into his office.

But my heart hammered against my ribs anyway, a trapped bird beating against its cage.

The security guard at the front desk recognized me, his eyes brightening. "Luna Evelyn! It's been weeks." His gaze dropped to the carrier, and his smile widened. "And this must be the little one."

"Yes, this is Ava," I said, grateful for the warmth in his voice after weeks of Damon's cold silence.

"The Alpha will be pleased to see you both," he said, buzzing me through.

Will he, though? I wondered, stepping into the elevator. I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall—dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, wearing the first clean shirt I could find. Not exactly the put-together Luna I used to be.

As the elevator climbed, I rehearsed what I would say. I know things have been difficult between us. I want us to talk. Really talk. For Ava's sake, if nothing else.

Simple. Direct. No accusations, no tears.

The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. The familiar corridor stretched before me, lined with artwork from local pack artists—Damon's way of supporting the community. I'd helped him select most of these pieces, back when he still valued my opinion.

His assistant Marissa wasn't at her desk. Unusual for her to be away, but it made things easier.

I shifted Ava's carrier to my other hand and approached Damon's office door. Through the frosted glass, I could make out shadowy movements. He was there, and he wasn't alone. Probably in a meeting.

I hesitated, then raised my hand to knock. The porridge would be getting cold.

Knock first, I reminded myself. Don't just barge in.

My knuckles rapped against the wood, three quick taps. Without waiting for a response—a habit from years of coming and going freely in his spaces—I pushed the door open.

For one suspended moment, my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. Like looking at a painting that appeared to be one thing from a distance, only to discover it was something else entirely up close.

Damon was there, yes. But he wasn't in a meeting.

He stood with his back against his desk, his shirt half-unbuttoned. And wrapped around him, her legs straddling his thigh, her hands in his hair, was a woman. They broke apart at the sound of the door, two pairs of startled eyes turning toward me.

The flask of porridge slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud, the lid popping off, hot food spilling across the polished hardwood.

But I barely noticed. Because the woman disentangling herself from my mate, smoothing down her skirt with practiced ease, was Susan.

My sister.

The same sister who had held my hand in the hospital. Who had promised to help me. Who had looked me in the eyes and lied.

"Why?" The word escaped me, small and broken.

Susan didn't answer. She didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. Instead, she stepped away from Damon, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes meeting mine with an emotion I couldn't name. Something cold and foreign that had no place in my sister's face.

I turned to Damon, searching. Regret or apology. Anything that would make sense of this nightmare.

"Of all people, it had to be you," I said to Susan, my voice steadier than I expected. "You, Susan. My own Sister."

In front of me, Damon's hands settled on Susan's waist, casual and possessive, as if I weren't even there. As if I hadn't just caught them in the act of betraying me in the most intimate way possible.

Susan's lips curved into something close to a smile.

My heart wasn't breaking. Breaking implied a quick, clean snap. This was a slow, excruciating compression, like being crushed from the inside out.

"How..." I swallowed, my mouth dry. "How long has this been going on?"

Damon shrugged, his eyes cold. "What does it matter? I really just don't love you anymore."

The words hit me so hard, I stumbled back a step.

"But I'm your fated mate," I whispered. "Remember when you marked me?" The night he'd claimed me, promised me forever. The first man I'd ever been with, the only man I'd ever wanted.

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of the man I'd fallen in love with, perhaps. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a hardness I'd never seen before.

"You can stop whatever games you're playing now and go to hell with that bastard of yours!" he spat, his voice rising. "We both know that child isn't mine."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "What bastard?" Heat rushed to my face as understanding dawned. I glanced at Ava, sleeping peacefully in her carrier, oblivious to the ugliness around her. "You can treat me however you want, but I won't forgive you for calling my precious baby a bastard!"

Before I could think, I was moving toward him, my palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed through the room. The sting in my hand was strangely satisfying.

I turned to leave, my fingers closing around the door handle, desperate to escape this room, this betrayal, these people I no longer recognized.

"Wait." Damon's voice stopped me. Not gentle, not apologetic. Just cold. "Evelyn, just you wait, so I can prove to you that your bastard daughter doesn't belong to me."

I turned slowly, confusion cutting through my anger. What was he talking about?

Before I could ask, he tossed something onto the floor between us. Photographs, dozens of them, spreading across the hardwood like fallen leaves.

I didn't need to bend down to see what they showed. The images were clear enough from where I stood.

Me, or someone who looked exactly like me, in a hotel room. In bed with a stranger, his hands on my body in ways that left nothing to the imagination.

"This is not me!" I gasped, bile rising in my throat. "I can't... recall being that way with a man, I—"

Damon laughed. "Are you that dull?" he sneered. "You can't recall, huh?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Take another look at those pictures and think back. Deep. Where were you, seven months ago, on a Friday night of the second week?"

The question hit me like I had suddenly been poured a bucket of Ice water. Seven months ago. The timing of my pregnancy. And that specific date...

I looked to Susan instinctively, the way I'd always looked to her when I needed help. We were supposed to be in this together because I was with her that same night.

That night when we'd gone out for drinks. When I'd woken up the next morning in a hotel room with no memory of how I'd gotten there. Susan had been there too, had assured me nothing happened, that we'd just had too much to drink and decided to get a room instead of driving home.

"Susan..." I began, reaching for the one person who could corroborate my story, who knew I would never cheat on Damon.

But Susan stepped away, her eyes cold. "Don't expect me to cover your dirt for so long. My conscience is beginning to judge me."

She brushed past me, heading for the door. As she passed, she leaned close, her lips nearly touching my ear.

"That look of your blood boiling over just makes me happy," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. "Now let's see who becomes Luna between us."

My blood ran cold. This wasn't just an affair. It was a calculated takedown. By my own sister.

I turned to face Damon, the man I'd once believed would love me forever. The stranger who now looked at me with contempt.

"I want a divorce," I said, the words clear and final.

In that moment, with the weight of their betrayal pressing down on me, it was the only truth I had left.

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