Stolen Nursery

Dominic never came back.

The grandfather clock in the corridor struck one, then two, then four. Each chime sounded like a death knell in the cavernous, empty bedroom.

I sat on the cold floor by the bedside, my trembling fingers resting over my flat stomach. A tiny life was quietly blooming inside me, completely unaware that its father was spending the night in the infirmary, hovering over another woman and another child.

Outside, the packhouse was alive with hushed celebration. Servants hurried back and forth carrying fresh linens, hot water, and tonics. Not a single person knocked on my door to ask if their Luna had eaten, or if she was even alive.

An orphan with no wolf, no bloodline, and no powerful family to back her up. To them, my five years of devotion meant nothing against a swollen belly carrying the Alpha’s bloodline.

Exhaustion finally dragged me under, my head resting against the edge of the mattress, my cheeks crusty with dried salt.

I was startled awake by loud crashes and the sound of heavy boots downstairs.

My neck throbbed with a dull ache. Rubbing the sleep from my swollen eyes, I pulled on a robe and hurried down the spiraling staircase to find the main floor overrun.

Half a dozen servants were hauling boxes, heavy carved wooden wardrobes, and ornate fur rugs down the corridor toward the east wing.

Standing right at the center of the hall, directing the chaos, were Dominic and Vivian.

Vivian leaned against him, her shoulder brushing his broad chest, dressed in a soft silk robe that made her look deliberately fragile. Dominic had one arm loosely hovering behind her back to steady her. The sight drove an icy dagger straight into my ribs.

“What is going on here?” My voice cracked, raw and harsh.

Dominic turned, his face lined with dark circles, but his jaw remained stubbornly set. “Daciana. You’re awake.”

I ignored him, my gaze darting past them toward the open double doors of the sunlit room at the end of the hall.

My heart seized.

The room had been stripped bare.

The hand-painted pastel walls, the soft cream rocking chair I had assembled myself, the delicate mobile of wooden wolves and crescent moons I spent three months carving with my own blisters, gone. All of it was piled haphazardly into coarse wooden crates in the hallway like junk.

“What have you done to the nursery?” I gasped, lunging toward the doorway.

“Daciana, calm down,” Dominic commanded, stepping into my path and gripping my upper arms. His touch, usually warm and comforting, now felt suffocating. “Vivian had complications last night. The pack doctor said her wolf is weak from the battle injuries. The pup was under severe stress.”

He looked down at me with an infuriating mix of pity and stubbornness. “For the pup’s safety and stability, Vivian needs to be close to my Alpha scent. She’s moving into the master suite’s adjoining wing.”

“Into this room?” I wrenched my arms out of his grasp, staring at him in sheer disbelief. “This was supposed to be our child’s room! I poured my heart into every inch of it!”

“Oh, please,” a cool, mocking voice chimed in.

Vivian stepped around Dominic, a faint, smug smirk playing on her lips. She gestured dismissively toward the crate holding my carved mobile.

“Look at this clutter, Daciana. Soft lace, flimsy wooden toys, pastel ribbons... it’s pathetic. The future heir of the Whiteridge Pack will be a warrior, born from Alpha and Beta blood. Raising a pup in a room designed for a weakling will only ruin their instinct.”

She tilted her chin up, crossing her arms over her chest. “You cry over every little thing. When I was at the border taking rogue claws to my ribs, bleeding out in the mud next to Dominic, I didn't shed a single tear. Yet here you are, throwing a pathetic tantrum over a coat of paint. You have no wolf, no strength, and you can’t even bear an heir. You were never fit to be Luna.”

Every word felt like a deliberate slash across an open wound.

Five years. Five years of waking up early, managing the pack’s logistics, tending to wounded warriors, and swallowing every biting insult from the elders with a polite smile, just to prove I belonged at Dominic’s side.

And now, the woman who had wormed her way into my husband’s bed was lecturing me about honor.

A cold, dark fury sparked in my chest—hotter than anything my meek Omega nature had ever felt before.

“A warrior?” I sneered, stepping right into Vivian’s space. “Is that what you call yourself? You were so brave on the battlefield that you had to crawl on your back into another woman’s husband’s bed to secure your glory?”

Vivian’s face flushed crimson.

“You’re nothing but a scheming, shameless bitch,” I spat, my voice ringing clear across the hallway, silencing every servant within earshot. “Get out of my sight. Get out of my house!”

“How dare you!” Vivian gasped, clutching her belly and staggering backward against the wall as if I had physically struck her. “Dominic and I share the sacred bond of comrades-in-arms! We bled together while you stayed safe behind the walls! The pregnancy was an accident—a twist of fate! You're the Luna, yet you act like a petty, jealous shrew!”

My vision blurred with rage. My hand twitched, desperate to slap that righteous smirk off her face.

“Enough!”

Dominic’s roar shook the chandelier overhead. His Alpha aura flooded the hallway, thick and suffocating, making my knees tremble under the sheer weight of his dominance.

He glared down at Vivian first, his voice sharp. “Vivian, watch your mouth. She is your Luna. Remember your place.”

Vivian lowered her lashes, hiding a triumphant glint behind fake submission.

Then Dominic turned his heavy glare onto me.

“And you, Daciana—stop this immediately. It’s just a room. I can have the carpenters build you ten more nurseries whenever you want. But right now, the pup inside her needs its father’s aura to survive. Vivian is staying here until she delivers. Once the child is born and handed to you, she will return to the warrior barracks.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if I were an unruly child exhausting his patience. “Be reasonable. Pack your things and let them finish moving her in.”

Just a room. Handed to you.

He honestly believed he could rewrite reality with a snap of his fingers. He truly thought I would sit by, play mother to Vivian's bastard, and thank him for the privilege.

I didn't yell. I didn't scream.

I walked over to the wooden crate, bent down, and picked up my carved wooden mobile with trembling hands. I scooped up a tiny knit blanket I had spent weeks weaving in secret.

Without looking at Dominic, and without sparing Vivian another glance, I turned my back on them and walked slowly up the stairs.