Chapter 1

Liniluna stepped out of confinement at dawn.

The door behind her closed with a soft click, sealing away seven days of heat, silence, and solitude. Her body still felt tender, worn thin in places that had learned to expect another presence—and then learned to survive without it.

The corridor smelled of food.

Rich, warm, unmistakably familiar.

She paused at the threshold of the dining room.

The long table was filled with her favorites. Steamed grain rolls brushed with honey. Slow-cooked root stew seasoned exactly the way she liked it. Crisp flatbread folded around spiced greens. Her mother’s doing. Every dish spoke of care, of quiet apology, of love that didn’t know how else to express itself.

But the table was also filled with people.

Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Pack elders by blood if not by title.

And at the head of the table sat her father.

Rethan Vale did not look surprised to see her.

He looked displeased.

Conversation slowed as she entered. Then stopped.

“So,” one of her aunts said at last, eyes sweeping over Liniluna’s pale face, the loose sleeves meant to hide heat marks that no longer existed. “You’ve finally come out.”

Liniluna inclined her head politely. “Good morning.”

Another voice followed, sharper. “Alone again, I see.”

Her mother rose quickly. “She’s just finished confinement. Let her sit. Let her eat.”

Liniluna moved to her chair anyway, pulling it out herself. She sat with her back straight and her hands loosely folded in her lap.

Someone laughed. Not kindly.

“An omega spending her heat alone,” a cousin muttered. “This is what divorce brings.”

Rethan’s gaze never left her. “You chose this.”

Liniluna met his eyes. Calm. Steady. “Yes.”

That seemed to irritate him more than denial ever could.

“You suffer now,” an uncle said, leaning forward. “No alpha. No bond. No protection. This is the consequence you refused to see.”

Liniluna picked up her spoon. She did not eat yet.

“I am not suffering,” she said quietly.

A scoff rippled around the table.

“You locked yourself away for seven days,” the aunt snapped. “Your scent sealed, your body unattended. Don’t pretend that isn’t punishment.”

Liniluna finally looked at her. “It was peaceful.”

Silence fell again—thicker this time.

Rethan’s hand came down on the table. “Do not lie.”

“I’m not,” Liniluna replied, voice even. “I rested. I slept. I lived.”

“You endured,” he corrected. “Like an omega forced into foolish pride.”

She turned back to him. “I endured my heats even when I was married.”

Her mother inhaled sharply.

The table stirred.

“What did you say?” Rethan asked.

Liniluna’s fingers tightened briefly around the spoon. Then relaxed.

“After the first heat,” she continued, calm as rain on stone, “I never let Huda stay with me again.”

Gasps. Murmurs. Shock edged with anger.

“That is a lie,” someone hissed.

“It is not,” Liniluna said. “I did not trust him enough to be that vulnerable.”

Rethan stood. “Non sense”

She looked up at him. “You asked why I chose this. This is why.”

Her voice did not rise.

It did not need to.

“I trusted myself more than I trusted my bonded alpha. I trusted solitude more than presence. And I trust this life more than the one I left.”

“You shame this family,” an aunt said, trembling with outrage.

Liniluna nodded once. “I know.”

Rethan’s jaw tightened. “You speak as if you are proud.”

“I am relieved,” she answered. “There is a difference.”

“I spent my heat alone,” she finished softly. “And for the first time, I was not scared.”

No one spoke after that.

Anger simmered. Judgment burned. But Liniluna lifted her spoon, tasted the stew her mother had made with shaking hands and love, and ate.

Whatever they thought, whatever they said—

She had survived worse than their words.