Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

Sylvia's POV

Today was the day my husband Damian became Alpha King. His Luna Queen was supposed to be me.

Instead, I was dying. The bedroom was cold and smelled like medicine, I'd been bedridden for weeks.

The door swung open, Damian walked in with his arm around my young stepmother, Leona. She wore a white ceremonial gown, her dark hair swept into a perfect updo. A gold crown sat on her head. The Luna Queen's crown.

"Surprise," Leona said. She didn't bother hiding her smile. "I wanted you to hear it from me. Today's Luna Queen coronation? It's mine."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. My face burned.

"You can't be serious." I looked at Damian, my voice came out as a rasp.

He looked me up and down, the way you'd inspect something you were about to throw away. "Leona is my fated mate. She always has been. "

My head began to pound, and probably for ten seconds, I couldn’t hear anything.

"She's smarter, more fun, more capable than you ever were." He adjusted his cufflink without looking at me. "Honestly, Sylvia. You were useful once. But you've been nothing but a boring housewife for years. A flower vase. I got tired of looking at you."

Trophy wife. I was an Alpha Daughter. Top of my class. I could have done anything—but I married him not long after graduation. Because I loved him. Gave up my career. Handed over my Pack’s resources. Convinced my father to sign the merger. Damian was a mid-tier Alpha. But it was my family’s territory and connections that turned him into a real contender for the throne.

A worthless housewife. That's what he thought of the woman who made him king.

The blood drained from my face. My fingers went numb against the sheets.

Then rage hit.

"I gave you everything!" I screamed. My throat tore but I didn't care. "I merged our Packs. I funded your entire campaign. Without me, you'd still be nothing!"

Damian reached into his jacket and pulled out a small glass bottle. The liquid inside was clear.

"Let's not rewrite history." His tone was flat, bored. "I became Alpha King on my own merit. But you did help, so I'll be generous — I can make this painless. For you and your father both."

Poison.

So that's it. My body was wasting away because Damian had been slipping chronic poison into my food. No wonder the Pack healer could never truly "cure" me.

Three years of marriage, and this was what I had to show for it. A slow death in a room nobody visited.

"You wouldn't dare." I gripped the sheets until my knuckles went white. "The Alpha Council will never allow this. Even the Alpha King can't just kill people."

Leona stepped forward, a thick folder in her hands. She held it up so I could see the official Council seal stamped across the cover.

"Evidence of treason," she said brightly. "Yours and your father's. Correspondence with enemy Packs, embezzlement — all very well-documented." She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "And honestly? I'm still in my thirties, I'm so relieved to be done pretending with that old man. You have no idea how exhausting it was."

My chest caved in.

"I'll see you both in hell," I spat.

My wolf surged forward. She'd been weak for months, starved and poisoned alongside me, but in that moment she threw everything she had left into one final lunge. I hurled myself off the bed. My legs buckled. I kept crawling.

Damian caught me by the throat. He lifted me off the floor with one hand, and I clawed at his wrist, my nails scraping uselessly against his skin.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he said.

He pressed the bottle to my lips and tipped it back.

The poison hit my tongue first. Bitter. Chemical. Then it burned. Down my throat, into my chest, spreading through every vein. My body seized. My back arched off the floor and my fingers scraped across the marble, nails cracking against stone.

My wolf tried to howl. The sound came out thin, broken, then nothing at all. I couldn't feel her anymore.

Through my blurring vision, I saw Leona wrap her arms around Damian's waist and lean her head against his shoulder. They watched me die the way you'd watch a candle go out.

Moon Goddess. If you can hear me. Please. Give me one more chance. I swear I'll make them pay. I'll protect my father. I'll tear their world apart.

Just let me try again.

Everything went black.

...

I heard singing first.

Not Leona's mocking laughter. Not the flat boredom in Damian's voice. Singing. Off-key, warm, slightly drunk.

Happy birthday to you...

The dark was heavy and tangled. Somewhere in it, I drifted. The singing grew louder. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed too hard at a bad joke.

My eyes snapped open.

A cake sat in front of me. White frosting, pink sugar roses, two wax candles shaped into the numbers two and three.

Twenty-three.

I stared at the flames until they blurred. The banquet hall stretched out around me, warm and golden, packed with Pack members in cocktail attire. Chandeliers scattered light across the marble floor.

I wore a fitted burgundy dress.

No trembling. No burning. I could breathe.

I pressed my fingers to my throat. Smooth skin. No bruises. No fingerprints from the man who'd choked the life out of me.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought they'd crack.

Am I dead? Is this what dying looks like?

"Happy birthday, baby."

The voice hit me like a fist to the chest.

Damian stood at the head of the table, wine glass raised, smiling at me. The same smile. The exact same smile. His suit was navy blue. His hair was freshly cut. He looked exactly like the man I'd fallen in love with at twenty.

"Thirty days until our wedding," he said, lifting his glass to the room. "Once we're married, our Packs will officially merge. And tomorrow, I'll start taking over some of Moonriver's daily operations. Give your father a well-deserved rest."

The room murmured approval. My father sat near the end of the table, tired but still handsome, still strong. He smiled at me. Proud. Trusting.

Alive.

I stared at Damian. His smile. His glass. His easy, polished charm.

And I seemed to see that poison again, as if I could feel his hand crushing my windpipe — the fire eating through my insides while he watched.

I moved before my mind could catch up.

I knocked the red wine out of his hand.

"NO!"