02

Sophia.

Seven days, that was how long I had been avoiding the place I once called home.

I kept telling myself I was managing fine, that I could function, could do my job as Luna, could pretend everything wasn't falling apart. But the truth was much uglier, I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating. I was just existing in the spaces where Ethan wasn't.

The Luna duties kept piling up on my desk. Pack matters, dispute resolutions, and charity events that needed planning. Things that used to energize me now felt suffocating, I would sit in my office for hours, staring at paperwork without actually reading it, my brain replaying that moment over and over like a broken record.

"The baby is mine."

How long had it been going on? Days? Weeks? Months? Had he touched her the way he touched me? Had she heard the same words of love I thought were only mine?

I had moved into the guest bedroom on the second night, telling myself it was temporary. Just until I could figure out what to do, but temporarily had become permanent, and now there was a Victoria's presence in the east wing of my home, growing larger with each passing day.

A knock on my bedroom door snapped me out of my spiling thoughts. "Go away," I called out, not bothering to look up from the papers scattered across my lap. "I am not in the mood."

The door opened anyway, of course it did. Cynthia stood in the doorway with that determined expression I knew all too well. She looked exhausted, like she had been carrying the weight of this situation alongside me. Her brother's infidelity had to be a mess for her, too, but right now, I didn't have the energy to care.

"You can't keep doing this," she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

"Doing what?" I kept my voice flat, deliberately cold. "Working?"

"Falling apart alone." She moved closer, and I could see the worry etched into the lines of her face. "You haven't eaten in days. You look like a ghost. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, Olivia." I set the papers aside, finally meeting her eyes. "Your brother knocked up another woman. I amm barren. End of story."

She flinched at my bluntness, but she didn't leave. Cynthia had never been good at taking hints.

"How are you actually doing?" she asked softly, and something about the genuine concern in her voice cracked the thin walls I'd been desperately trying to maintain.

I felt my chest tighten, tears threatening to spill over. "I am dying," I whispered, and I meant it. Every part of me was shutting down, piece by piece.

Once I started talking, I couldn't stop. The words came pouring out like poison, and I couldn't contain them anymore.

"I love him, Cynthia. I have loved him since we were kids. And he, he looked at me like I was nothing. Like all these years meant nothing because my body couldn't do the one thing it's supposed to do." My voice cracked. "And the worst part? The absolute worst part is knowing that she can give him what I can't. She can give him a baby. She can give him everything I promised."

Cynthia wrapped her arms around me, and I completely fell apart. All the composure I had been holding to shattered, and I let myself cry, the kind of crying that came from deep in your chest, that made it so hard to breathe.

"I can't sleep in this house," I sobbed into her shoulder. "Every room reminds me of him. I can't eat because I feel sick when I think about what he did. And I definitely can't look at him without wanting to scream."

She didn't say anything, just held me while I let it all out. That was what real friends do, they just listen.

When I finally pulled away, wiping my face with the back of my hand, I felt hollowed out, empty.

"I need to be alone now," I said quietly.

Cynthia looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded and left without pushing. At least she understood that.

Alone again, I stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This bed had been my sanctuary for a week now, the place where I could disappear from everything, from everyone, especially from Ethan.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes, but time felt meaningless. The door opened again, this time, it was him.

Ethan stood in the doorway like he had every right to be there, like his presence wouldn't make my skin crawl, like he hadn't completely destroyed everything we had taken time to build together.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice carrying that commanding alpha tone that used to make me feel safe.

It didn't anymore.

I actually laughed, it was a harsh, bitter sound that didn't even sound like me. I stood up to face him directly, needing him to see me eye to eye when I said this.

"Ethan," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos building inside me, "I honestly don't have anything to say to you."

The look on his face, he was surprise, confused, and maybe even hurt. It would have mattered to me a week ago. Now, it just felt hollow. He had made his choices, and so now I had to figure out what my own choices would be.