Chapter 3

My belly throbbed with a dull ache as I woke up in the clinic. Someone had moved me into a hospital bed while I was unconscious. The sterile smell assaulted my senses, and the overhead light was too bright, faintly buzzing. For a brief, merciful moment I couldn’t remember why everything hurt. Then the memories came flooding back, crashing over me: the pills, the cramps, the blood. So much blood. My hands flew to my stomach, pressing against it as if I could still feel the tiny life that had been there only hours ago.

Our baby. My baby. Was gone. Gone.

Mara, the healer, was looking over my charts on a clipboard. Her face was soft with something that looked dangerously close to pity. “You’re awake,” she said quietly.

I sat up. My body felt heavy. Mara reached out to help, but I waved her off. I needed to do this myself.

The door opened and Victoria swept in, impeccable as always in a navy silk dress, pearls gleaming at her throat. Her eyes flicked over me with my disheveled hair, tear-stained face, and hospital gown. Her mouth tightened.

“Good. You’re awake,” she said, as if I’d been napping. “It’s done. The… embryo was disposed of properly. No complications.”

Embryo. Disposed of.

Her words landed like blows. I stared at her, chest heaving with silent sobs I couldn’t voice.

She continued, her voice cool. “The tissue was very underdeveloped. Fragile. Honestly, it’s a blessing it didn’t go further. It looked weak. The last thing this pack needs is another liability.”

Weak. Another liability.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to lunge at her. I wanted to claw at those perfectly manicured hands that had forced the pills down my throat. But my body betrayed me. I was too drained. Too broken. All I could do was curl my hands into fists until my knuckles went white.

Hatred for Victoria burned hot through the fog of grief. I hated her. I hated Damien for letting her do this. But most of all, I hated myself. For believing, even for a second, that he might have wanted this baby. For not running the moment I knew I was pregnant. I should have packed a bag, and slipped away before anyone knew. Instead I’d stayed. I was naive and hopeful, clinging to a Bond that only ever seemed to hurt me.

Mara cleared her throat softly. “She should rest. I can keep her overnight–”

“No need, she’s Luna.” Victoria interrupted. “She can recover at home. The driver is waiting.”

She left without looking back at me.

Home. The word tasted like ash.

Somehow I got up, got dressed in my old sweats, and followed her. Every movement pulled at the soreness between my legs, a constant reminder.

The drive back to the Alpha house was silent. Victoria didn’t come with me; she had “obligations,” apparently.

When the car pulled up the long gravel drive, I froze.

The entire estate was lit up. Strings of fairy lights draped across the trees, lanterns glowing along the walkway. Dozens of parked cars lined the drive. Music drifted faintly from the back gardens, laughter and conversation spilling into the night.

A party?

I stumbled out of the car on unsteady legs. The driver hovered like he wasn’t sure whether to help. I waved him away and walked around the side of the house toward the noise.

The backyard had been transformed. Long tables covered in white linen, floral centerpieces, a string quartet playing soft cheerful music. Pack members in formal dress milled about with champagne flutes, smiling and chatting.

And then I heard it. Someone nearby laughing, “Happy birthday, Seraphina! Twenty-five looks good on you!”

Seraphina. My half-sister. It was her birthday. I’d completely forgotten.

Today - the day my baby died - was her birthday.

The realization hit me like a punch. Tears blurred my vision as I pushed through the garden gate.

While I’d been bleeding out our child in a clinic, Damien had been here. Hosting a party.

Celebrating her. The woman he’d rather be with.

I scanned the crowd until I found them near the center patio, beneath a canopy of lights.

Damien wore a tailored black suit, golden eyes glowing as he smiled down at the woman beside him. Seraphina. My half-sister. She looked beautiful. As always. She wore an emerald green dress hugging her perfect figure. Her long dark hair swept up away from her perfect face, her laughter bright and effortless as she touched his arm.

They looked… right together. Like they’d always belonged side by side.

Something inside me snapped.

I don’t remember crossing the lawn. One moment I was at the edge of the crowd, the next I was in front of them. My hands shook as I shoved Damien hard in the chest. He barely moved, but surprise flashed across his face.

I signed frantically, tears streaming down my cheeks. How could you? Our baby is dead because of you. Because of your mother. And you’re here celebrating with her?

The gestures came fast and emotional. I was overcome with grief. I knew my signs were hard to follow even on my calm days. Tonight, they were beyond chaotic.

Seraphina stumbled back a step from the force of my approach, catching her heel on the stone patio. Damien’s arm shot out instinctively, steadying her against him.

His golden eyes narrowed at me, irritation clear. “Liora, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Seraphina recovered quickly, pressing a hand to her chest with wide, wounded eyes. “Oh… she’s upset,” she said softly, voice trembling. “She thinks I’m trying to take her place. She said - she signed - that she’s jealous and wants to ruin my birthday because no one ever celebrates hers.”

I shook my head violently. No! That wasn’t what I said!

But Seraphina kept going, falsely translating with teary conviction. “She called me a home-wrecker. Said Damien should have chosen me from the start but now regrets being stuck with… with someone broken.”

Gasps rippled through the nearby guests. Heads turned. Phones discreetly angled our direction.

I signed again, slower, desperate. No! Our baby - your mother forced–

Damien’s jaw tightened. “Liora, stop. Don’t make a scene over nothing. It’s Seraphina’s birthday. Control yourself.”

Nothing.

He called the death of our child nothing. How could he?

The word echoed in my skull, louder than the music, louder than the whispers starting to spread like wildfire around us.

Damien sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose like I was a headache he couldn’t shake. “Go back to the house, Liora. We’ll talk later.”

I looked at him - at the man I’d loved since I was a lonely, voiceless girl he’d once offered a kind word to - and felt something inside me fracture.

Seraphina leaned into him slightly, dabbing at dry eyes. “I tried to be kind to her, Damien. I really did. But she’s always hated me.”

The crowd, mostly Seraphina’s relatives and friends from her mother’s side of the family, watched with open disdain. I saw it in their faces: the poor mute Omega making a fool of herself again. Jealous. Hysterical. Unstable.

No one stepped forward. No one asked what was really wrong. Why I was pale and shaking, why my eyes were red and swollen, why there was still a faint stain of blood on the inside of my thigh if anyone had bothered to notice.

I was alone in a sea of people who had never wanted me here in the first place.

The elegant, high-born guests whispered amongst themselves. Shaking with rage, I found myself being 'invited' to leave by two sturdy maids. Despite their deferential expressions, their grasp was brutal. I felt a dull throb in my arms, unable to break free. It was the same suffocating feeling this entire place forced upon me.

Behind me, I heard Seraphina’s soft voice:“I’m so sorry, Damien. I never meant to cause trouble between you two.”

And his low reply: “It’s not your fault.”