CHAPTER 9: The Campaign Begins

"Did you hear? She refused to terminate."

The pack grapevine moves faster than wildfire. By noon, everyone knows I defied the Alpha.

I walk into the healer's office where I've worked for four years, and the conversation dies. Sarah and Emma stand by the supply closet, their heads close together. When they see me, they spring apart like they've been caught doing something wrong.

Sarah's face flushes. "Iris. We didn't expect you today."

"It's Tuesday. I always work Tuesdays."

They exchange a look. The kind of look that says they've been talking about me. The kind that says whatever they were saying wasn't kind.

I move to my station and start setting up for the day. Checking supplies. Organizing instruments. The familiar routine that usually settles my nerves does nothing today.

Behind me, the whispers start again. Quieter now, but not quiet enough.

"How dare she? The Alpha commanded it."

"Selfish omega. Thinking of herself over the pack."

"Two babies at once. The resources..."

Each word is a needle in my spine. I keep my hands steady. Keep organizing. Keep breathing.

Emma clears her throat. "Iris, maybe you should take some time off. Until things settle."

I turn to face them. "Things?"

"You know." Sarah won't meet my eyes. "The situation. With Damon. And Clarissa. And the... pregnancy."

The way she says pregnancy. Like it's a disease. Like it's something shameful.

"I'm fine to work."

"Are you though?" Emma's voice is gentle. Pitying. "You seem stressed."

"I'm not stressed."

"You're very pale."

"I've always been pale."

They exchange another look. This one says she's in denial. This one says they're worried about me, which means they're worried about what I might do. Not for me. Against me.

The door opens.

Clarissa walks in carrying a basket covered with a cloth. She's dressed in soft colors, her hair pulled back, her face arranged in an expression of gentle concern.

"Good morning, everyone." Her voice is warm. Sweet. Like honey poured over poison. "I brought muffins. Thought you might all need something nice this morning."

Sarah and Emma light up. "Oh, how thoughtful!"

Clarissa sets the basket on the table and starts distributing muffins wrapped in cloth napkins. She hands them out with smiles and small touches. A hand on Sarah's arm. A pat on Emma's shoulder.

She doesn't offer me one.

"I'm so glad I caught you all together." Clarissa leans against the table, casual. "I wanted to talk about Iris."

My stomach drops.

"I'm standing right here," I say.

She turns to me with that same gentle, concerned expression. "I know, sweetie. That's okay. We're all family here."

Sweetie. She's never called me that before.

"I'm worried about you." She addresses the room as much as me. "You've been so stressed lately. And I think the pregnancy hormones are affecting your judgment."

"My judgment is fine."

"Is it?" She tilts her head. "You defied Damon's direct order. You've been isolating yourself. The other day I saw you crying in the garden for no reason."

"I wasn't crying."

"You were, dear. I asked if you were okay and you barely responded." She turns to Sarah and Emma. "I'm worried she might hurt herself. Or the baby. Damon is concerned too."

The lie is so smooth. So believable. Wrapped in concern and delivered with perfect sincerity.

Sarah's face softens. "Oh, Iris. If you're struggling..."

"I'm not struggling."

"It's okay to admit you need help," Emma adds. "Pregnancy is hard. Especially when it's complicated."

Complicated. That's what they're calling it. My husband's affair with his half-sister. His child growing in her belly while mine grows in mine. Complicated.

"I don't need help." My voice comes out harder than I intend.

Clarissa sighs. Sad. Patient. "See? This is what I mean. She won't accept support. She's pushing everyone away."

"I'm not pushing anyone..."

"You're being defensive right now." Clarissa's voice is so kind it makes my teeth hurt. "That's a symptom of prenatal depression. I was reading about it."

She's setting a trap. Every word carefully chosen. Every expression perfectly calibrated. If I stay calm, I'm in denial. If I get angry, I'm unstable. There's no way to win this.

I turn away and focus on my work. It's the only thing I can do.

Behind me, Clarissa's voice continues. Soft. Concerned. Poisoning the well.

"Just keep an eye on her, okay? Let me know if you notice anything concerning. I want her to be safe."

The door opens again. Beta Rowan stands in the entrance, his expression neutral.

"Iris. The Alpha requires your presence."

The words fall like stones.

Clarissa's face arranges itself into sympathy. "Oh dear. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No."

I follow Rowan out into the hall. My heart is hammering. My hands are cold.

He doesn't speak as we walk through the pack house. Down the familiar corridors. Past wolves who stop and stare. Past conversations that die when we approach.

Everyone knows. Everyone's watching.

Rowan stops outside Damon's office. Knocks once.

"Come in."

The voice is Damon's. But when Rowan opens the door, it's not just Damon inside.

Elder Silas sits in one of the chairs facing the desk. Elder Vera beside him. And Dr. Kemp, the pack doctor, standing by the window.

An ambush.

My feet stop moving. Every instinct screams at me to run.

"Iris." Damon's voice is cold. Professional. "Sit down."

I don't move.

"We need to talk," Elder Silas says. His weathered face is set in stern lines. "About your situation."

"What situation?"

"Your pregnancy." Dr. Kemp turns from the window. "We have concerns."

"I'm healthy."

"Are you?" He pulls a file from the desk. My medical file. "Your weight is down. Blood pressure elevated. You're showing signs of stress that could endanger both you and the fetus."

He says fetus. Not baby. Clinical. Cold.

"We think you should reconsider the termination," Elder Vera says. Her voice is gentler but no less final. "For the good of the pack. Two births simultaneously would strain our resources."

"Then we'll manage."

"You're not thinking clearly, girl." Elder Silas leans forward. "The Alpha has made his wishes known. You have a duty..."

"My duty is to my baby."

"Your duty is to this pack." His voice rises. "To your Alpha. You're being selfish."

"We're worried about your mental state." Dr. Kemp is watching me like I'm a specimen. "Omega pregnancies are high-risk. In your current emotional condition, termination might save your life."

The words are designed to sound medical. Reasonable. But they're wrapped around a threat.

"I'm perfectly healthy."

"Are you?" He exchanges a look with Damon. "You seem paranoid. Delusional even. Clarissa mentioned you've been acting erratically."

There it is. Clarissa's poison, delivered through official channels.

"I'm not delusional."

"Then why are you defying your Alpha's direct command?" Elder Silas again. "Why are you putting yourself above the pack's needs?"

Damon has been silent through all of this. Sitting behind his desk. Watching. Letting them do his work.

"You have a say in this," I tell him. "Tell them I'm fine."

He looks at me with empty eyes. "Are you?"

The betrayal hits fresh. Even after everything, some part of me hoped he'd defend me.

"We're trying to help you, Iris." Dr. Kemp's voice is patient. Condescending. "We're building a case that termination is medically necessary. For your protection."

Building a case. The words echo in my head.

They're not trying to help me. They're building justification to force me.

I stand. The chair scrapes loud against the floor.

"I'm leaving."

"Sit down." Elder Silas's voice cracks like a whip. "We're not finished."

"I am."

I walk to the door.

"Iris." Damon's voice stops me. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."

"Good."

I pull the door open and step into the hallway.

Behind me, Elder Silas is calling me back. Rowan is moving to follow. But I'm already walking. Fast. Not quite running.

I make it ten steps before I hear Clarissa's voice through Damon's office door. I must have left it ajar.

"Poor thing. She's more unstable than we thought."

Damon's response is quiet. Cold. Certain.

"We'll handle it."

Handle it. Like I'm a problem to solve.

Like I'm something that needs to be dealt with.

I keep walking until I can't hear their voices anymore. Until the hallway is empty and I can finally stop. Until I can press my back against the wall and let myself shake.

They're going to force me. One way or another.

And I have no one to stop them.