Chapter 6

Ella

His words hurt more than the slap. In all our years together, he had never thrown my status in my face like that. Never made me feel less than his equal.

At that moment, I saw the truth.

Whatever Ava had done to frame me, she had merely exposed what was already there: Marcus's true feelings about me, buried beneath years of pretense.

"This whole thing - it's a setup, isn't it?" I looked between Marcus and Ava, searching their faces. "You two planned this together, didn't you?"

Marcus's jaw tightened, but something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Fear?

"You wanted me gone." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "All those late nights at the office, the secret meetings, the way you kept me in the dark about hiring her - it wasn't just about work, was it?"

"You're delusional," Ava snapped.

"Am I?" I turned to Marcus.

"How dumb am I to fall into your lies all these years to love you and trust you, and not see through the fact that you just wanted a convenient omega to warm your bed and bear your children until something better came along." I let out a weak laugh, "Oh no I forgot. You don't even recognize your own son anymore."

Marcus's eyes flashed dangerously. "Take her away," he ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion I recognized. "Lock her and the boy up until the council decides their punishment."

"What?" I gasped as two burly pack members grabbed my arms. "Marcus, you can't be serious! Jackson is just a child!"

"A child raised by a traitor," Ava interjected smoothly. "Who knows what poison you've been feeding him?"

Jackson clung to my leg, his small body trembling. "Mommy, what's happening? Why are they mad at us?"

I knelt down quickly before the guards could drag me away. "It's going to be okay, baby. Just stay close to me."

"I'm scared," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

"I know, sweetheart. Me too." I pulled Jackson closer, memorizing his familiar weight against my side.

The guards yanked us apart, dragging us through winding corridors.

Faces blurred past—people I'd shared meals with, laughed with, and healed when they were sick. Now, they turned away, whispering behind raised hands.

"Please, he needs to stay with me," I begged as they separated us at the top of a creaking stairwell. "He's just a child!"

"Orders are orders," the guard grunted, his grip bruising my arm.

We went down into the building's bowels through a door I'd never noticed in all my years here. The air grew thick with mildew and decay.

The basement stretched before us, crude cells carved from stone and reinforced with steel bars.

They shoved me into one cell and Jackson into another across the narrow corridor. The doors clanged shut with horrible finality.

"Mommy!" Jackson pressed against his bars, reaching for me.

"I'm right here, baby." I stretched my arm through the bars, but our fingertips couldn't touch. "Let me see your hand - the one they pricked."

He held it up.

Even in the dim light, I could see the angry red around the small wound. "It hurts," he said in a small voice.

"Those monsters," I muttered. "They didn't even clean it properly." I rattled the bars in frustration. "He needs antiseptic! At least let me treat him!"

My words echoed off stone walls. No one answered.

They brought us meals twice daily - bowls of tasteless mush that made Jackson gag. I coached him through each spoonful, pretending it was a game. 

"Pretend it's ice cream," I suggested on the second day.

"Ice cream doesn't look like barf," he replied, and despite everything, I had to bite back a laugh.

However, by the third day, Jackson had stopped trying to reach through the bars.

He curled up in his corner, facing the wall. The distance between our cells felt like miles.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," I pleaded.

Silence answered. The wound on his finger had scabbed over, but I couldn't tell if it was healing properly.

Every time he winced or flexed his hand, my heart clenched with worry.

I kept requesting to see Marcus, to demand another test, to explain myself. The guards ignored me or laughed. Some muttered "traitor" under their breath as they passed.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours in this dank cell, watching my son's trust in me crack like ice in spring. But I wouldn't break. I couldn't. Not when Jackson needed me to be strong.

On the fourth day, I heard footsteps approaching.

I jumped up, hoping it was Marcus finally coming to his senses.

Instead, three council members stood at the bars, their faces grim.

"Ella Hawthorne," the eldest announced formally, "you have been found guilty of treason against the pack. The punishment is death. The sentence will be carried out at sunset tomorrow."

A flicker of discomfort crossed their faces. "The child is tainted by enemy blood. The council has determined he cannot remain within our borders."

"You're going to kill a six-year-old child?" I screamed, throwing myself against the bars. "Are you insane?"

"The sentence has been passed," was all they said before turning away.

I collapsed onto the floor, truly broken for the first time. "Please," I begged as they walked away. "Please just let me see Marcus. Let me explain. Let me take another test—a fair one! Please!"

My pleas echoed down the empty corridor, unanswered.

The truth hit me with stunning clarity. This wasn't just about stripping me of my Luna title. They wanted to get rid of me for good. They wanted me dead.

The next day dawned gray and dismal, matching my spirit.

Guards came early, binding my hands in front of me but leaving Jackson unbound.

"Where are we going, Mommy?" he asked, his voice small and frightened.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth. "Just stay close to me, okay?"

They marched us through the streets of the town I'd called home for years.

Faces I recognized, people I'd helped, laughed with, broken bread with, now stared at me with hatred and disgust.

"Traitor!" someone shouted, and suddenly, the air was filled with projectiles: rotten food, mud, stones.

I hunched over Jackson, trying to shield him with my body, but he was hit by a glob of something foul-smelling that splattered across his shirt.

"Make them stop!" he wailed, struggling against me. "I hate this! I hate you! You made everyone hate us!"

His words cut deeper than any stone. "Jackson, please-"

"This is all your fault!" he cried, tears streaming down his face.

We were led to the center of town, where a platform had been erected.

Marcus stood there, resplendent in his Alpha regalia, looking every inch the powerful leader. But his eyes were cold when they met mine.

The guards forced me to my knees before him. Jackson was pulled to the side, held firmly by one of the council members.

"Marcus," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Please don't do this. You know me. You know I would never betray you or our pack."

He looked down at me with contempt. His face—the face I'd caressed, kissed, and loved—twisted into something ugly and foreign.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear, words meant only for me despite our public audience.

"Did you really think I loved you?" he whispered, each syllable a knife between my ribs. "I only used your status to show people I'm a nice Alpha. You were never worthy. Just a convenient prop in my rise to power."

I stared up at him, seeing a stranger where my husband had once been. The warmth I'd found in those eyes had frozen over, leaving nothing but glacial indifference.

At that moment, I realized I'd been mourning a man who had never truly existed. The nights he held me, telling me how he loved me were just all lies. He looked so sincere, so genuine. How could I find out he didn't mean that?

"Any last words, traitor?" he asked, drawing a ceremonial blade from its sheath.

"I trusted the wrong person, and I'll pay for my lesson with my own life. I hope you live the rest of yours in peace, Marcus," A single tear slid down my cheek.

I was too exhausted to fight anymore. "Just take care of Jackson. He's innocent in all this."

Marcus remained silent. A moment later, he raised the blade.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

After everything that had happened, after all the accusations and betrayals, I felt strangely calm. The crowd's jeers faded into white noise as I focused on my breathing—one last breath, one final moment.

The blade never fell.

Instead, a deep voice cut through the chaos like thunder across still water. "I heard that you have my woman and kid?"