Chapter 2 The Confrontation

I waited until Ziki was distracted.

Marilyn had him in the garden, showing him how to plant flowers. Her hands were in the dirt. Her laugh was bright and fake. She was playing the role of the perfect aunt, the loving friend, the woman who could do no wrong.

I watched them from the kitchen window. Watched my son laugh with her. Watched her touch his hair. Watched her smile like she'd won something.

She had.

But I wasn't going to make it easy for her.

I found Ezekiel in his study. The door was open this time. He was sitting behind his desk, reading something. Probably pack business. Probably something that mattered more than me.

I didn't knock. I walked in and closed the door behind me. The click of the latch echoed in the silence.

He looked up. His cold gray eyes flickered with something—surprise? Annoyance? I could never tell with him. He'd spent years perfecting that mask of indifference.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

He set down his papers. Leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. "So talk."

Just like that. No invitation to sit. No concern in his voice. Nothing.

"When did it start?"

He didn't flinch. "What?"

"Don't do that. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." My voice was shaking, but I pushed through. "When did it start with Marilyn?"

He sighed. A long, tired sigh that said I was being dramatic. He didn't even have the decency to look guilty.

"Does it matter?"

Does it matter?

The words hit me like a slap. Of course it mattered. It was my life. My marriage. My trust. Everything I'd built with him was a lie, and he was asking me if it mattered?

"Ezekiel." My voice cracked. "Please. Just tell me."

He stared at me. For a long moment, I thought he might actually give me something. An answer. A shred of honesty. Anything.

But he just shrugged.

"A few months. Maybe longer. I don't keep track."

I felt something inside me break. A few months. Maybe longer. He'd been lying to me for months. Sleeping with her. Laughing with her. Probably talking about me. Probably mocking me.

And I'd been so blind. So trusting. So stupid.

"How could you?" My voice was barely a whisper now. "How could you do this to me?"

He stood up. Walked around his desk. Towered over me like he always did. Like I was the prisoner and he was the judge.

"Don't make this into something it's not," he said. "You knew what this was when you married me."

"Did I?" I looked up at him. My eyes were burning. "Because I thought I was marrying a man who loved me. I thought I was marrying my mate. I thought—"

"You thought wrong."

The words were flat. Cruel. He said them like he was stating a fact. Like I was an idiot for ever believing in anything else.

I took a step back. My hand hit the bookshelf behind me. A book toppled off the shelf and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Neither of us looked at it.

"Tell me why," I said. "Tell me why her. Why not me? What does she have that I don't?"

He laughed. Actually laughed. A cold, humorless sound that cut through me like glass.

"She sees me," he said. "She actually sees me. She doesn't just—worship me from a distance like some lovesick girl. She's not afraid of me. She's not—" He stopped. Shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't understand."

I wouldn't understand.

I spent years loving him. Years waiting for him. Years hoping he would one day open his eyes and see me. And this was what I got. Laughter. Dismissal. The blame laid at my feet like I was the one who'd failed.

"What about Ziki?" I asked. "What about our son? How do you think he's going to feel when he finds out?"

Ezekiel's expression didn't change. "He's five. He won't understand."

"Exactly. He's five. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to grow up in a broken home because his father couldn't keep his pants on."

He stepped closer. His voice dropped lower. "Watch yourself."

"Or what? You'll hit me? You'll throw me out? You'll do what, Ezekiel? What's left for you to take from me?"

We stood there. Facing each other. His jaw was clenched. His fists were tight. He looked like he wanted to hit something. I wished he would. I wished he would hit me. At least then I'd have proof. A bruise. Something to show the pack. Something to prove I wasn't the crazy one.

But he didn't hit me. He never hit me. He just looked at me like I was beneath him.

"Nothing's going to change," he said. "Marilyn stays. You stay. We play happy family. That's the arrangement."

"Arrangement? You mean I'm supposed to sit there and smile while you parade her around my house?"

"It's not your house. It's my pack house. You're Luna because I made you Luna. I can unmake you just as easily."

There it was. The truth I'd always known but never wanted to admit.

I was nothing.

I was Luna only because he allowed it. I was his wife only because he hadn't bothered to replace me yet. I was a placeholder. A convenient position that could be filled by anyone.

And he'd found someone he liked better.

"Does she love you?" I asked. "Does she actually love you, or is she just using you for the title?"

His eyes flickered. I'd hit something. A nerve.

"She's not like that," he said.

"How do you know? How do you know she's not just telling you what you want to hear?"

I saw it then—just a flash. A moment of doubt. He'd never considered it before. He was so used to being the Alpha, so used to being the one in control, he'd never stopped to think that maybe he was being played.

It was a small victory. But it gave me something to hold onto.

"I think she's using you," I said. "I think she's been using you for years."

"Enough." His voice was sharp. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" I stepped closer. "I know her better than you do. I know she's always been jealous. I know she's always wanted what I had. And I know she would do anything—anything—to get it."

"Even you?" His voice was mocking again. "Even you think she's that calculating?"

"I know she is."

We stared at each other. I was breathing hard. He was perfectly still. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Then he smiled. That cold, cruel smile I'd come to dread.

"Then maybe you should have been more careful about who you trusted," he said.

I felt it then. The final blow. The one that broke the last piece of me.

He was right. I had trusted her. I had let her into my home, my heart, my life. I had been so desperate for love, so desperate for connection, that I hadn't seen the knife in her hand until it was already in my back.

I had no one to blame but myself.

I walked out of his study without another word. My legs were numb. My arms were heavy. My whole body felt like it didn't belong to me anymore.

I went to my room—my room, not ours, because he hadn't slept in my bed in months—and I sat on the edge of the mattress.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something.

But I just sat there. Staring at the wall. Feeling nothing. Feeling everything.

I was still sitting there when Marilyn knocked on my door.

"Ymir?" Her voice was soft. Concerned. She was still playing the friend. "Ymir, I made tea. Can I come in?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer.

She opened the door anyway. Stuck her head in. She was holding two cups of tea—one for each of us. Like we were still friends. Like nothing had changed.

She walked over to me. Sat beside me on the bed. Placed the cup in my hands like I was a broken doll that needed fixing.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I never meant to hurt you."

I looked at her. Really looked. At her perfect blonde hair. Her perfect clothes. Her perfect act.

"Get out," I said.

"Ymir—"

"Get out of my room."

She didn't move. She just sat there, holding her tea, looking at me with those big, sad eyes. Like she was the victim. Like I was the one who'd hurt her.

"I know you're angry," she said. "I would be too. But I want you to know—I never planned this. It just happened."

It just happened.

Six months of sleeping with my husband. Six months of lying to my face. Six months of pretending to be my friend while she was slowly taking my life apart.

And it just happened.

"If you don't leave right now," I said, my voice trembling, "I will scream. I will scream so loud the entire pack will hear. And I will tell them everything."

She smiled. A small, sad smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Nobody would believe you, Ymir. You know that, right?"

She was right.

She was the charismatic one. The favorite. The one everyone loved. I was just the cold Luna, the one who couldn't keep her husband happy.

I was the problem. Not her.

She stood up. Set her cup on my dresser. Walked to the door.

"It's not personal," she said. "It's just—some women are meant to be queens, and some women aren't. I think you understand that now."

She left.

I sat there for a long time. Holding the cup of tea she'd given me. I wanted to throw it against the wall. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run after her and claw her eyes out.

But I just sat there.

Because she was right. I was nobody. I was nothing.

And nobody would believe me.

I was still sitting there when the sun went down. Still holding the cold tea in my hands. Still staring at the wall.

And then I heard it.

Ziki's voice. Running down the hallway. Laughing.

"Mama! Mama! Auntie Marilyn read me a story! She did the voices and everything!"

He burst into the room. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were bright. He was so happy. So innocent.

I forced a smile.

"That's nice, baby. Did you like it?"

He nodded frantically. "She's so good at voices! She does the wolf voice and the fox voice and the bird voice and—" He paused. Looked at me. "Mama, are you okay?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I'm fine, baby. I'm just tired."

He climbed onto the bed. Snuggled up beside me. Put his small hand on my face.

"Then I'll stay with you," he said. "I'll keep you company."

I wrapped my arms around him. Held him tight. Breathed in his scent.

He was all I had left.

And I was going to lose him too.

Because one day, he'd grow up. He'd learn what his father did. He'd realize what Marilyn really was. And he'd have to choose who to believe.

Would he choose me? The quiet, broken mother who couldn't keep his father's love?

Or would he choose them? The happy, smiling couple who'd already taken everything from me?

I didn't know.

I didn't know anything anymore.

But as I held my son in the darkness of my room, I made a promise to myself.

I wouldn't let them win. I didn't know how yet. I didn't know when. But I would find a way.

I would survive this.

I would survive.