1. Divorce

Camilla.

The scent of copper and cheap hospital disinfectant was the first thing that clawed its way into my consciousness.

My eyes fluttered open, weighed down by a crushing exhaustion. The world was a blur of fluorescent lights and sterile white ceiling tiles, spinning lazily until my vision finally locked onto a dark figure standing at the foot of my bed.

"Ragnar..." I rasped. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

Every inch of my body throbbed with a dull, sickening ache. Memory came back in violent, fragmented flashes—the screeching of tires, the violent spin of the car, the horrifying sound of crumpling metal. But through the fog of pain, relief flickered in my chest. He was here. My husband had come.

I swallowed hard, forcing my stiff hands to move toward my stomach. Beneath the thin hospital gown, my palms rested over my lower abdomen. 

The doctor hadn't confirmed it yet, but I knew. I had known for three days, waiting for the perfect moment to tell him. ‘We were going to have a baby.’ After three long years of cold nights and a marriage built on silent indifference, I had hoped—foolishly, desperately—that this little miracle might finally melt the ice around his heart.

I loved him. God help me, I had loved Ragnar from the moment he was named Alpha King. For three years, I had endured his distant glances, his late nights, and the painful reality that he never truly saw me as his Luna. I had given him everything, holding onto the faint hope that time and devotion would earn me his affection.

"Ragnar, the ba—" I began, my voice trembling with fragile hope. "I need to tell you—"

Before the words could fully leave my lips, a heavy white envelope hit my chest, hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs.

I winced, looking down. The thick paper rested against my abdomen.

"Sign them," Ragnar said.

His voice was devoid of any warmth, sharp enough to cut glass. I forced myself to sit up, every nerve ending in my torso screaming in protest. 

I looked from the envelope up to his face. Ragnar stood tall and imposing, clad in his black tailored suit, untouched by the chaos that had just shattered my world. His storm-gray eyes were cold, devoid of an ounce of care or concern.

"What...what is this?" I asked, my fingers trembling as I pulled the papers from the envelope.

The dark, bold print at the top of the page seemed to burn into my retina: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.

Divorce.

"Ragnar, I don't understand," I whispered, tears immediately spilling over my lashes, hot and stinging against my bruised cheeks. "I just woke up. I was in an accident... what is happening?"

"Stop playing the victim, Camilla," he sneered, stepping closer. The sheer aura of the Alpha King pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. "You know exactly what you did."

"What did I do?" I blinked, completely lost. "I was driving... the car lost control. I don't know what happened to the brakes—"

"You tried to kill your sister!" he roared.

The sudden violent boom of his voice made me flinch violently. The accusation hung in the air, absurd and terrifying.

"What?" I gasped. "Pamela? No! No, Ragnar, you have to believe me! Pamela was in the car with me, yes, but I would never hurt her! She’s my twin sister! I don't know how the accident happened, I swear to you! The car just wouldn't stop—"

SMACK!

The force of his hand striking my cheek snapped my head to the side. A sharp, burning heat exploded across my skin, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. 

I gasped, clutching my throbbing face, staring at him in utter shock. In all three years of our marriage, he had been distant, harsh, and unfeeling—but he had never laid a hand on me.

"Shut your mouth!" Ragnar snarled, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. Venom dripped from every word. "Do not lie to me. You have always been pathetic, jealous, and scheming. You couldn't handle the fact that Pamela was better than you in every single way, so you engineered a crash to take her out."

"I didn't..." I sobbed, shaking my head violently, tears blurring my vision until his dark face was just a shadowy silhouette. "I didn't try to kill her...I love everyone around me..."

"You love yourself," he spat, straightened his posture, and looked down at me as if I were something vile he had stepped on. "You forced your way into my life, Camilla. You pulled your little tricks three years ago to trap me, maneuvering yourself into the Luna title that was never meant for you."

His words hit harder than the physical blow, tearing through the fragile remains of my heart.

"I have spent three agonizing years trapped in a marriage with a bitter, desperate woman," Ragnar continued, his voice dropping to an icy, deadly whisper. "I never loved you, not for a single second.” He paused. “I was always supposed to marry Pamela, as she was the one I wanted and the one who deserved to be my Queen. If you hadn't manipulated your way into my bed and my pack, she would be standing beside me today."

Each sentence was a dagger, twisting deep into my soul. 

‘Three years.’ 

Three years of trying to be the perfect wife, three years of waiting up for him, three years of holding onto the delusion that he might one day look at me with tenderness. It was all a lie. 

I was just an obstacle standing between him and the twin sister he had always preferred.

He didn't care that I was lying in a hospital bed, battered and bruised. He didn't ask if I was in pain. He didn't care if I lived or died. The only thing he cared about was Pamela, and using this tragedy to finally rid himself of me.

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hands, tears dripping onto the crisp white pages, smudging the black ink. Beneath them, my hand still rested over my belly—protecting the quiet, fragile life growing inside me.

I had been about to break the news to him. I had dreamed of his cold face breaking into a smile, of him holding me, of us finally becoming a real family. But looking at the murderous disgust in his gray eyes, the cold reality crashed over me with brutal clarity.

If I told him about the baby now, he wouldn't care. Or worse, he would view my child as just another scheme, another desperate attempt to trap him.

"Sign the papers, Camilla," Ragnar commanded, throwing a pen onto the bed beside me. "Your reign as my Luna ends today. Get out of my sight, and get out of my pack."

I stared at the pen, my heart bleeding out in the quiet, sterile room. The man I had loved with every fiber of my being didn't just break my heart—he incinerated it.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, I picked up the pen….