Chapter Two

I stood in the doorway.

My brain knew what I was seeing. My eyes registered every detail with crystalline, horrible clarity. But my body—my body refused to accept it.

He didn't stop.

Desmond's eyes locked onto mine. His wife. Standing three feet away. And his hips kept moving. Kept driving into her. His fingers dug deeper into her flesh like he was making a point. Like he wanted me to see. Wanted me to understand exactly how little I meant.

The room smelled like them. Like sweat and sex and her perfume—something expensive and floral that made my stomach heave.

Thrust.

I couldn't look away.

Thrust.

My hands went numb.

Thrust.

His face contorted, and he let out a sound I used to think was sacred. A groan that vibrated through the room, through my bones, through what was left of my heart.

Only then did he pull away from her. Slowly. Taking his time.

My knees buckled. I grabbed the doorframe so hard a splinter drove under my fingernail. I didn't feel it.

"What the hell are you doing here, Luna?" His voice was steady. Casual. Annoyed, like I'd interrupted something important. "I told you to sleep at the hotel."

The blonde turned around, and the world tilted sideways.

Liora.

No.

Liora, who used to braid my hair at pack gatherings. Liora, who I'd helped pick out a going-away dress six years ago when she left for the city. Liora, who Desmond had cried to me about when she left. She's like a sister to me, Luna. I'll miss her so much.

She was smiling.

Not embarrassed. Not ashamed.

Smiling.

"So this..." My voice cracked. The words felt like broken glass in my throat. "This is the urgent work you had? This is what kept you from our anniversary?" My voice was rising now, breaking apart. "You're fucking your childhood friend in our bed? Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

I looked at him. At Desmond. At my husband of thirteen years. Trying to find something in his face. Remorse. Guilt. Anything.

There was nothing.

"Luna, stop being dramatic." He reached for his pants, pulling them on with steady hands. "Sleep in the guest room."

"Dramatic?" The laugh that came out of me didn't sound human. "I'm being dramatic?"

"I'm really sorry, Luna."

Liora's voice was honey-sweet as she slid off the bed—our bed—and reached for the robe hanging on the bathroom door. The cream one with lace on the sleeves. The one Desmond gave me last Christmas.

She wrapped it around herself like it was hers. Like everything was hers.

"I didn't mean to sleep with him." She walked toward me, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. Her head tilted, sympathetic. Pitying. "But I was only helping you, really. Seeing as you're too weak to satisfy an Alpha." Her eyes went wide and glassy with fake tears. "Please don't fight with him because of me. I feel really bad."

Something inside me snapped.

My hand flew before I could think—

CRACK.

The slap echoed like a gunshot. My palm exploded with pain. Her head whipped to the side, blonde hair flying. A red handprint bloomed across her perfect porcelain cheek.

For one perfect second, there was only silence.

Then Liora gasped. She grabbed her face, stumbling backward—too perfect, too choreographed—and let herself fall to the floor like a doll with cut strings.

"Please, Luna!" She sobbed, her voice high and trembling. "I'm sorry! Don't hit me!"

"LUNA!"

Desmond's roar shook the walls.

I turned just in time to see him coming. His hand—the hand that used to hold mine, that used to cup my face gently—slammed into my shoulder with the full force of an Alpha.

I flew.

My body hit the wall with a sickening thud. Pain detonated at the back of my skull where it cracked against the plaster. White light burst behind my eyes. The air punched out of my lungs. My legs gave out and I slid down the wall, my dress riding up, my body crumpling. Something warm trickled down the back of my neck. Blood.

"Don't you dare lay your hands on her."

Through the blur, I saw him. Desmond. Standing over me. His chest heaving. His fists clenched. His eyes blazing with rage.

But not at himself.

At me.

He'd just thrown his wife into a wall, and he was angry at me.

"Why are you being so overly dramatic?" He raked both hands through his hair, pacing. "I'm sick and tired of it. You want to know the truth, Luna?"

No, I thought. No, please—

"Fine. Here's the truth." He stopped pacing and looked down at me like I was nothing. "I never loved you. I only married you because you were a good choice at the time when I needed a Luna. That's it. That's all you ever were."

Something inside my chest cracked. Not my ribs. Not my bones. Something deeper.

"I took a bullet for you," I whispered. My throat was raw. "A silver bullet. It destroyed me. It killed my wolf—"

"I never asked you to."

Six words that ended everything.

"What?"

"I. Never. Asked. You. To." He enunciated each word like I was stupid. "You threw yourself in front of that bullet without thinking. That was your choice, Luna. And you've been using it like you did something big for three years." He crouched down to my level. "It's exhausting."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Today was our anniversary," I choked out. "And while I dressed up and prepared and waited for you like a fool, you were actually fucking your childhood friend. In our bed."

I crawled toward him—God help me, I crawled—and pressed my hands against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Unaffected.

"Tell me, Desmond. Aren't I enough for you?" Tears poured down my face. "I gave you everything. All of me. I was ready to die for you. I gave up my life, my dreams, my family, my wolf for you." A sob tore out of me. "I birthed your pup even though it would have cost me my life—"

He grabbed my wrists and pried my hands off his chest like I was contaminated.

"And you did your duty." His voice was ice. "Giving birth to my pup was your duty. Saving me was you wanting unnecessary attention."

He dropped my wrists and stood, pulling away from me like I was diseased.

I knelt there on the floor. In the red dress I'd bought for him. With blood in my mouth and tears on my face and my hands empty.

So empty.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

The voice came from the doorway.

Ophelia stood in the center, regal in her silk nightgown, her silver hair perfect even though it was past midnight. Marcus loomed behind her, arms crossed. And Selene leaned against the doorframe.

Ophelia's cold eyes swept the room: me on my knees, blood on the wall, Desmond standing over me, Liora on the bed wrapped in my robe.

I watched her take it all in. Watched her decide.

"Mom—" I crawled toward her on hands and knees. "Mom, Desmond cheated on me. With her." I was sobbing now, ugly and desperate. "I gave him everything I had—"

My hand reached for her nightgown.

She looked at my hand. Then she pushed me.

Not hard. Just enough. Enough to send me sprawling backward. Enough to make her point.

"Is that what all this screaming is about?" Ophelia turned to Desmond, her voice flat. Clinical. Like I wasn't even there. "Really? Look at her, Desmond. She's not even fit to be the daughter-in-law of this family."

She gestured at me without looking at me. Like I was furniture. Like I was nothing.

"Liora is a good choice. This one?" She waved her hand dismissively in my direction. "She's just a weak, pathetic loser."

The words were delivered without emotion. Without heat. That somehow made them worse.

"I was never weak," I whispered, but my voice was so small. "Taking a bullet to protect your son—that made me weak. Giving birth to your grandchild—that made me weak."

They didn't even acknowledge I'd spoken.

"Oh, she's at it again." Selene pushed off the doorframe, looking at her mother instead of me. "The whole 'silver bullet' speech. As if a common silver bullet is some grand sacrifice." She examined her nails. "And besides, no one asked her to play hero. She did that for attention."

She turned to her father. "Isn't it a Luna's duty to birth heirs anyway? Other Lunas birth five, six, seven pups. She could only manage one." She said it like she was reading from a grocery list. "She really is a disgrace. Not fit to be Luna."

Marcus nodded, still not looking at me. "The alliance with Liora's pack would be advantageous. If Desmond married her, we could join forces. Become stronger."

"Exactly." Selene turned to Liora with a warm smile—the first genuine emotion I'd seen from her. "You're perfect for this family. She's just..." She glanced at me briefly, like I was a stain on the carpet. "Well. She took a silver bullet. She behaves like she did something extraordinary."

They were talking around me. About me. Like I was an object. A problem to be solved.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Mummy?"

The word cut through everything.

I froze.

That voice. That small voice that used to be my whole world.

I turned, and there he was.

Richie stood in the doorway in his dinosaur pajamas, his dark curls messy from sleep. Five years old. My baby. My reason for surviving.

"Baby." I wiped my face with trembling hands, trying to hide the blood, the tears. "I'm here—"

But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Desmond.

"Daddy, why is Mummy always crying?" His voice was small. Confused. "The kids at school make fun of me. They say my mummy is so weak and can't even shift."

He rubbed his eyes with his little fists.

"They say she smells weird. And I get bullied a lot." His voice cracked, and I could see he was trying not to cry himself. "Can't she just be strong? Like the other mummies?"

Desmond walked over and picked him up, not even glancing in my direction. "It's alright, son."

"Daddy's friend is really strong," Richie continued, his face buried in Desmond's shoulder. "She shifted into a black wolf. It was so cool." He pulled back and looked at his father. "I haven't even seen Mummy's wolf. Does she have one?"

The question hung in the air.

Desmond's jaw tightened. He didn't answer.

"I want..." Richie's voice got smaller. "I want Liora to be my mummy."

He said it like he was confessing something. Like he felt guilty but couldn't help it.

The world ended.

Not with a bang. With a whimper.

"Oh, sweetheart." Liora stood and walked over, and Richie reached for her immediately. She took him from Desmond, settling him on her hip. "It's okay."

She stroked his hair, and he buried his face in her neck—the way he used to bury his face in mine.

Her eyes met mine over his head.

And she smiled.

Not triumphant. Not vicious.

Just... satisfied.

Like everything had fallen into place exactly as it should.

"Well." Ophelia's voice was brisk. Businesslike. "I think we all know where we stand now." She turned to Desmond. "You're better off with her as a babysitter, if that. If she wants to continue in this house, she should be quiet and do as she's told."

She said it to him. Not to me.

Like I wasn't even in the room.

"Agreed," Marcus said, folding his arms. "No more drama. No more scenes."

"If she can manage that, fine." Selene shrugged. "If not..." She trailed off, the implication clear.

They all looked at Desmond. Waiting for his verdict.

He looked at me for a long moment. I was still on the floor, blood on my face, my dress torn, my body broken.

"Go to the guest room, Luna," he said finally. His voice was flat. Emotionless. "We'll discuss this in the morning."

Then he turned away.

They all turned away.

And I realized—sitting there on the floor in my ruined red dress—that I'd already disappeared.

I was already gone to them.

I was a ghost haunting a house that was no longer mine.

I stood on numb legs and walked to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back had hollow eyes and a split lip. Mascara ran down her face in black rivers. A bruise bloomed purple across her shoulder. Her hair hung limp and tangled.

She looked dead.

I started laughing. The sound was wrong. Broken. Unhinged.

What had I become?

Buzz.

My phone.

An email notification.

From: HexaTech Industries

Subject: We Need You

Your work as Phantom remains legendary. We're asking you to come back. Name your price.

I stared at the email.

Then I typed one word:

Yes.

The next morning, I packed.

The entire family was already in the living room when I came down the stairs with my suitcase. Like they'd been waiting. Like this was scheduled.

Ophelia on the sofa, tea in hand. Marcus in his chair with the newspaper. Selene on the loveseat. Desmond in his throne with Liora perched on the armrest, her hand possessive on his shoulder.

Richie played with his toy cars on the rug, making quiet engine noises.

I walked straight to Desmond and placed the manila envelope in his lap.

He looked down at it. "What's this?"

"Divorce papers."

The teacup stopped halfway to Ophelia's lips.

Selene's eyes flicked up from her phone.

Marcus lowered his newspaper.

Even Richie stopped playing.

The room held its breath.

Then Ophelia laughed—but it wasn't directed at me. She turned to Marcus. "Can you believe this? She thinks we'll take this seriously."

"Pathetic," Marcus agreed, shaking his head. "She'll be back in a week."

"Oh, definitely." Selene didn't even look at me. She addressed her mother. "She has nowhere to go. No pack, no family, no money. She's nothing without us. This is just another tantrum."

They were doing it again. Talking about me like I was a misbehaving pet.

Desmond stared at the envelope. Then he started laughing—low at first, then louder.

"Luna." He finally looked at me, and his eyes were cold. Amused. "What is this? You think I believe you'd actually leave?" He held up the envelope, waving it. "You love me too much. You've said it yourself—you gave up everything for me. You need me."

He leaned forward. "You can't even breathe without me."

"Please, Luna." Liora's voice was soft. Concerned. "Don't leave because of me. Where would you even go?" She tilted her head, and there was something like pity in her eyes. "You're too weak to survive out there on your own."

"What would she do?" Selene asked her mother conversationally, like I wasn't standing right there. "Sleep under a bridge? Beg for food?"

"She's an ungrateful bitch," Ophelia said flatly, sipping her tea. "Trying to manipulate my son with this stunt. She's not even useful anymore."

My face remained blank.

I'd cried all my tears last night.

There was nothing left.

"Listen, Luna." Desmond's voice hardened. "Stop this nonsense. Go back to the guest room. Put your things away." He tossed the envelope onto the coffee table without opening it. "We'll forget this happened."

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Desmond Cross. Alpha of the Silverfang Pack. The man I'd loved since I was nineteen. The man I'd built my entire world around.

He didn't know me at all.

He never had.

"Sign the divorce papers, Desmond." My voice was steady. Calm. Empty.

"I'm done with you and your family."

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.

Not love.

Not regret.

Fear.

Because he was starting to realize.

I wasn't bluffing.