CHAPTER 3

Fallon POV

Fallon Whitaker grips the leather steering wheel of her car, sliding the pharmacy bag carrying the pack test into her purse before her phone shrills against the console.

"Fallon, the courier just called from the Northstar Corporation gateway. They need the ceremonial moonstone artifact delivered by tomorrow morning," Winslow Hart says through the speaker.

Fallon frowns, her wolf shifting uneasily beneath her skin. "I told them we agreed on a full week for delivery."

"Something shifted on their end. The pack liaison said as long as the artifact arrives before the blood moon, payment is no object."

Fallon taps her manicured nails against the steering wheel. "Tell them we deliver the day after tomorrow, and add a fifty percent tribute tax."

"The liaison sounded quite desperate for it—"

"That is my absolute floor," Fallon cuts in sharply. "If they refuse our terms, return their deposit and let them look elsewhere."

"Understood. I will handle it immediately."

The second the call drops, Fallon's thumb accidentally brushes a trending feed notification flashing across her screen.

Callahan Pierce's name is plastered across the digital board.

#Alpha Callahan Spotted With Famous Songstress Sable Monroe—Romantic Week in Seabrook Bay Ends With Late-Night Return!#

The photograph is grainy, taken from a distance, but the razor-sharp jawline and the broad, unmistakable expanse of the Alpha's shoulders belong to no one else.

Fallon stares at the glowing screen, her chest tightening as a heavy ache settles over her ribs.

Without thinking, she swipes out of the feed and opens Sable Monroe’s public pack scroll.

Right at dawn, Sable posted a snapshot of the Seabrook Bay horizon bathed in amber light.

The caption reads: "Searched the entire wilderness, but I always end up right back in your arms. Glad you stayed the night."

Staring at the glowing pixels, Fallon can practically picture Callahan and Sable tangled in the sheets, watching the sunrise together after abandoning her bed in the dead of night.

So that was why he bolted from Blackridge Manor—to chase the dawn with the woman he actually claimed as his true desire.

A cold, humorless smile touches Fallon's lips.

She is a fool for ever expecting anything different from a mate bond forged in cold desperation.

At least Sable is back within the pack borders now.

Soon enough, Fallon tells herself, Callahan will finally demand the severance of their bond.

And perhaps that is for the best.

Once they sever the tie, she can vanish from his territory entirely—complete strangers once more, with nothing left binding her to his cruelty.

Maybe then, the lingering ghost of hope she buried deep in her chest will finally die.

Moments later, Fallon pulls her car into a temporary slot outside the towering iron gates of the Pierce Pack House.

She steps out into the crisp air, striding up the stone pathway while the pack servants she passes barely spare her a single respectful nod, hurrying past with thinly veiled disdain.

Fallon’s expression remains unreadable.

Five years as Callahan's hidden mate, and Blythe Callahan has treated her like dirt from the very beginning, with the entire pack household following her lead. If it were not for young Finley, Fallon would never willingly set foot near this oppressive estate again.

"Mom!"

A high, childish voice pierces the cavernous entryway just as Fallon steps through the double doors, and a small, familiar blur launches straight into her legs.

"Mommy, you finally came to fetch me!"

Five-year-old Finley clings to Fallon's waist like a lifeline, his little voice trembling with unshed tears. "Grandma Blythe just told me you aren't my real family anymore."

Fallon freezes, her gaze snapping up across the grand parlor.

Blythe Callahan sits regally at the head of the velvet settee, draped in heavy silver jewels and exuding absolute frost. Right beside her, poised and effortlessly stunning, sits Sable Monroe.

Seeing Sable sitting inside the Pierce Pack House strikes Fallon like a physical blow.

Yet, looking back at the headlines, it makes brutal sense.

Callahan is already parading Sable in front of the high pack elders, and Sable’s presence here means Blythe has officially welcomed her into the inner circle.

"Mom, why aren't you answering me?" Finley looks up, his amber eyes wide with panic. "Is what Grandma said true? Are you severing your bond with Dad? Are you leaving me behind?"

Fallon looks down into the boy's terrified eyes, feeling her chest crack open.

She has raised Finley as her own for five years—tending to every skinned knee, soothing every nightmare, and wiping every tear through the darkest nights. The bond between them is real, forged in blood and devotion, not some convenient lie.

The thought of walking away and leaving him in this cold house tears her apart from the inside out.

"Finley, come here this instant," Blythe commands, her voice cutting through the room like a jagged blade.

"I won't!" Finley buries his face deeper into Fallon's coat, his small fists clenching the fabric. "I'm going home with Mom!"

Blythe's face darkens into a vicious scowl, her tone dripping with venom. "How many times must I drill this into your head, boy? Fallon is nothing to you. This is your true mother—the honored pack songstress, Sable."

Fallon's breath catches hard in her throat.

Finley's biological mother is Sable?

For five years, Callahan swore to her that Finley was an orphaned pup whose parents died defending the southern border against rogues.

Had Callahan...lied to her face the entire time?