0005. Kid's First Betrayal

ALICE’S POV

The Blue Moon Festival was Lucian’s idea of heaven and my four-year plan of endurance.

He’d been talking about it for weeks—the lanterns, the fireworks, the honey cakes from the booth near the stage. When he’d asked, he’d pressed both hands together like he was praying, eyes wide, and I’d said yes before I even finished the thought. Benjamin had already agreed. Children who might be dying get their heaven when they ask for it.

So I stood at the edge of the festival grounds in a simple blue dress, watching my son drag his father toward the lantern booth as if he could pull the whole night closer if he just moved fast enough.

“Slow down, Lucian. Remember what the doctor said.”

He didn’t hear me. Or didn’t listen. His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes bright, and for ten seconds I let myself not count his breaths.

“I’ll watch him,” Benjamin said, glancing back. “Go eat something.”

Not warm. But civil. I’d learned to take what I was given.

I turned toward the refreshment tent, already running through the checklist in my head: water for Lucian first, check his color in an hour, healer’s number in my pocket if needed. The list settled me. It always did. One task to the next, and the feelings stayed where they belonged.

I didn’t see Lisa until she was already beside me.

“Well.” Her voice was honey over barbed wire. “The Luna graces us with her presence.”

She stepped out from between two booths—wine glass in hand, diamonds glittering at her ears, wearing a dress that probably cost more than I spent in a month. Her smile stopped well short of her eyes.

“Lisa.” I kept my voice flat. “Enjoying the festival?”

“Immensely.” She fell into step beside me without invitation. “I’ve missed this. The celebrations. The community.” A small, precise pause. “Benjamin especially.”

“I’m sure he’s glad his friend is back.”

“Friend.” She laughed—a sound like something delicate breaking on purpose. “How sweet. You know, Alice, I’ve always admired it. The way you hold on. Even when you know.”

I stopped walking.

Strings of fairy lights hung between the trees, throwing soft gold across everything. She looked beautiful in them. She knew it.

“What do you want, Lisa?”

“Nothing at all. Just catching up.” Her voice dripped false concern. “How’s the little one—Lucas?”

“Lucian.”

“Right. Lucian.” Her tone softened into something that pretended to be sympathy. “I heard such a terrible rumor. Someone said he was ill. Really ill. But you’re here celebrating, so it can’t be as serious as all that.”

“He’s wonderful.”

“Is he?” She sipped her wine. “Because I heard the word terminal. And if I had a child who was terminal, I don’t think I could be here laughing. Celebrating. Using him to hold onto a man who—”

“Say ‘using him’ again,” I said quietly.

My hands stayed at my sides. I’d spent four years in a house where everyone decided things about me without me in the room. I had learned that the best response to provocation was to answer only what was actually said.

She’d wanted a flinch. She wasn’t getting one.

A cluster of pack members had slowed nearby. I felt the attention shift—the conversations dimming, eyes turning toward us. I knew exactly what they whispered when my back was turned. I’d known for years.

Trapped him. Tricked her way in. The child was never the point.

I stood still and let it settle. Let Lisa have the audience she’d positioned herself for.

“He won’t stay,” she said, warmth gone. Only the wire remained. “When your thirty days are done. When your son is gone—and he will be, Alice, everyone knows it’s only a matter of time—you’ll have nothing. No title. No husband. No one in this pack will even remember your name.”

“Leave my mommy alone!”

Lucian appeared at my side before I’d even registered him moving. His small body planted itself squarely between me and Lisa, fists clenched, face far too pale. He was shaking, but his voice held steady.

“You’re mean,” he said. “You’re lying. My mommy is the best mommy in the whole world.”

“Lucian—”

He shook off my hand.

“Daddy loves us. He reads me stories. He took us to the market. He’s coming to my birthday.” His jaw tightened. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about everything.”

Something flickered across Lisa’s face—recalculation.

“How precious,” she said, pitching her voice for the growing crowd. “Your mother’s told you such lovely stories.”

“Stop talking to my son.” My voice was ice. “Right now.”

“Or what?” Her hands spread wide, unbothered. “You’ll go to Benjamin? He’s never believed you before.”

Then Lily appeared.

She materialized at Lisa’s side like she’d been waiting for her cue. She looked at Lucian with the casual cruelty only children can weaponize when taught early.

“Daddy loves us,” she said sweetly. “He told my mommy he wished she was his real mate. He said your mommy tricked him. He said he hates her.”

“That’s a lie!” Lucian’s voice cracked. “Daddy’s my daddy. Not yours. He said—”

“He said it. He said—”

“Enough.”

Benjamin’s voice sliced through the music, the whispers, and both children at once. He strode toward us—Alpha stride, jaw set—already reading the scene. Who was crying. Who was standing rigid. What the crowd could see.

“Daddy!” Lily ran to him and wrapped herself around his leg. “The mean boy was yelling at Mommy!”

“Dad, I was defending her! She was saying horrible things about—”

“Benjamin.” Lisa’s voice broke, soft and wounded. A single tear balanced perfectly at the corner of her eye. She was very good at this. “I don’t know what happened. We were just talking, and then it escalated so quickly. I tried to keep things calm, but…”

She let the silence do the rest.

I watched Benjamin take it all in: Lisa with her perfect tear, Lily’s face pressed into his thigh. Then me—standing straight, hands still, saying nothing. And Lucian, trembling beside me.

I watched him make his decision.

“Apologize.”

He was looking at me.

“What?”

“To Lisa. And make Lucian apologize to Lily.”

“Benjamin, she was the one who—”

“I don’t care who started it.” The Pack Alpha voice. Final. “Apologize. Or the arrangement is over.”

The arrangement.

Thirty days. Lucian’s thirty days—the bargain I’d made so my son could have something that looked like a family before we found out if he got to keep his life.

I looked at Lisa.

For a split second, her mask slipped. Underneath was cold, clean satisfaction. She’d planned this, or she’d seen it coming and let it unfold. Either way, she had won.

I knew what fighting back would cost. I’d run the numbers before he finished speaking. Benjamin had spent four years believing the worst of me. One more sentence from my mouth wasn’t going to change that. It would only end the thirty days. Lucian’s lanterns. Lucian’s birthday. Lucian’s thirty days of having a father.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

The words tasted exactly as I knew they would.

“Mommy, no—”

“I’m sorry, Lisa. For any offense we caused.”

Lisa smiled sweetly. “Apology accepted. Isn’t that right, Lily?”

“I guess,” Lily sniffled.

“Lucian.” I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong—”

“Lucian. Please.”

The fight drained out of him beneath my palm. I felt the exact moment a four-year-old learned that the world doesn’t run on what’s right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Benjamin nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now let’s all enjoy the rest of the festival. Separately.”

He put his arm around Lisa’s shoulders and led her away. Lily trailed behind them, shooting one last smug look over her shoulder at Lucian.

Lucian didn’t cry. He just stood there, staring after his father, small hands trembling.

“He didn’t believe me,” he whispered. “He believed them instead.”

I knelt and pulled him into my arms.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

“He’s supposed to love us. He promised. He promised to be a good daddy.”