The Mark of Lies

 

I woke up later than usual that Friday. It was a holiday. No alarm clock to interrupt the silence of the house, no rush to make coffee, pack lunchboxes, or force smiles that no longer came naturally. Tiago could sleep late. And Carlos, as he always did on these days, would probably work locked in his office—far from me, from the kitchen, and from anything that smelled like domestic life.

But there was something wrong in the air.

And I realized it as soon as I put my feet on the floor.

The mattress felt lighter than usual, as if he had never been there. There was a sound coming from the kitchen—not a normal noise, but voices... laughter. And among them, one that sent shivers down my spine. Carlos's voice.

He didn't laugh in the morning. He didn't sit at the table to talk. He didn't even come into the kitchen to get a glass of water. It was always me. Or one of the omegas. Carlos wasn't part of that space—he never was. And yet, there he was.

I walked silently down the hall. Each step heavier than the last, as if the air were pushing me back. When I reached the kitchen door, my feet froze on the floor. So did my chest.

Carlos was at the table, relaxed, smiling in a way I hadn't seen in too long. In front of him, Maura was flipping a pancake as if she owned the house. The omegas were smiling, saying how wonderful it smelled, and, to my complete disgust, calling Maura “ma'am,” as if they had forgotten who I was.

She was the first to see me. She turned slowly, her smile perfectly formed, as if she had rehearsed it in front of the mirror.

“Camila! You don't mind, do you?”

Her voice sounded too soft.

“Yesterday, Carlos mentioned that he missed my pancakes... so I came to make them for him. I thought you wouldn't mind.”

The way she said “my” hurt me more than I'd like to admit.

Carlos always said he hated pancakes. It was one of the first things I learned about him. And so, quietly, I stopped making mine. I gave up that breakfast I loved so much... for him. And now, there she was—serving the dish he said he hated, while he laughed as if it were normal.

Before I could answer, Tiago appeared at the top of the stairs, hunched over with one hand on his stomach.

“Son?”

I went to him, bending down to look at him. “What's wrong? Are you in pain?”

“My tummy hurts a lot...” he whimpered, leaning against me with his hot little face.

I stroked his hair, trying to stay calm.

“It must have been the ice cream yesterday. You know you're allergic to lactose, Tiago. That's why—”

“It must have been the shock,” interrupted Maura, as if my diagnosis didn't matter. “You came in screaming, didn't you? My mother always said that shock causes indigestion.”

She smiled. Tiago looked at her for a second... and then moved away from me.

"Yes! That's it! My mother is so annoying, she doesn't let me do anything!

That must be why I got sick!“

His words pierced me like a dagger. He ran to Maura, nestled into her arms without looking back. And Carlos... just watched. He said nothing. He didn't defend me. He didn't correct his son.

”Don't take it seriously,“ he finally muttered. ”He's just a child."

But I did. Every word.

Every gesture.

Every silence.

In that kitchen that should have been mine... something inside me began to die.

Tiago stopped in the middle of the room, his hands clutching his stomach, his face already pale.

Maura bent down to hug him again, stroking his hair, trying to keep up the perfect act in front of everyone.

But then...

The dry sound came before the reaction.

And the hot vomit exploded right into her lap and arms.

Maura froze. The expression dripping along with the acidic contents that stained her dress, her chest, her hands.

“My God!” she screamed, standing up as if she had been hit by acid. “How disgusting... what— what—”

Tiago whimpered, confused, and cowered at the same moment.

But I was already there.

I didn't think. I just acted.

In two steps, I reached my son. I picked him up, hugging him tightly, as if I could protect him from the shame he didn't even understand. His little face rested on my shoulder, hot with fever and guilt.

“Like I said... it was the ice cream. He's allergic to lactose.”

I looked directly at Maura. The liquid was still dripping from her dress. For the first time, she didn't smile.

I went upstairs with Tiago before any other comments could be made.

As I prepared his bath and medicine, something inside me boiled.

What kind of Luna was I being?

Letting another woman mark her territory inside my own home, cook in my kitchen, laugh with my partner while I was treated like the intruder?

It wasn't just wounded pride. It was identity.

I was a lyccan.

But the wolf inside me... remained silent. Ignored for so long, she was fading away. And what hurt the most was that I felt it.

The image of Dr. Rodrigo flashed through my mind like lightning. His words echoed louder now: “You need to know. For yourself.”

When Tiago was clean and in his dry pajamas, he curled up in bed, muttering:

“Aunt Maura was right, it wasn't the ice cream. It was the scare. You yelled at me...”

My chest tightened, but I swallowed hard.

He was sick.

It was not the time to argue.

I ran my fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

But inside me, nothing else slept.

I walked down the stairs with steady steps. My body still carried Tiago's lavender scent, but my mind was already flooded with the bitter taste of revolt.

The kitchen was empty.

No sign of Maura. No sign of Carlos.

I held my breath for a moment.

Of course. The princess had run home. Surely the vomit of someone else's child was not part of her plans for morning domination. That made me smile—inside, a fierce smile.

But the relief was short-lived.

I wanted to talk to Carlos. Look him in the eye. Set a limit once and for all. Not allow another woman to dictate the rules in my son's life.

But as I approached the office door, Carlos' voice reached me. Low. Restrained. Intimate.

I stopped.

My heart raced—an instinct. A premonition.

With my fingertips, I pushed the half-open door... silent as a shadow.

And what did I see?

Carlos had his back to me, shirtless, his body marked with sweat and desire.

Maura was wearing his shirt. That was all. Her hair was loose, her makeup smudged.

The image was so intimate... so brutal... that I couldn't breathe.

She was crying.

“I'm sorry, Carlos...” she whispered. “I should never have left you.”

He didn't answer. He just stared at her as if fighting against his own will — anger, desire, and doubt stamped on every muscle.

“If only you... hadn't marked her,” Maura continued, her voice breaking.

His answer came like a knife.

“I didn't mark her.”

The floor seemed to disappear beneath my feet.

“She's an omega. I couldn't really mark her.” Carlos took a step forward, his tone growing colder. “I lied. I gave her something to sleep. When she woke up, I said I had marked her. That's all.”

Maura gasped. And laughed.

“And she believed you?”

“Of course she did,” he said, shrugging. “But it doesn't matter. Either way... she's mine.”

My body froze.

Each of his words was engraved like a hot iron on my wolf's skin.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run to him and slap that rotten arrogance.

But all I could do was stand there.

Motionless.

My heart in pieces.

Because, at that moment... I knew.

What bound me to him... was not a bond.

It was poison disguised as a tie.

And I drank every drop, believing it was love.