Party Gone Wrong

Brynn Hollis' POV

The laughter swelled around me like a wave, and I was drowning in it.

I kept my composure. Barely. My hand stayed in my pocket, fingers curled around the pregnancy test. I pulled my hand out empty—the test stayed hidden, pressed flat against my palm.

"Dax." My voice came out thinner than I wanted. "Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Sera's smile widened. She leaned into Dax's side, possessive and deliberate. "How romantic. She wants a private audience."

Someone snickered. A man I didn't recognize—some visiting Beta with a cruel mouth—elbowed Dax in the ribs. "The little wife's got claws after all."

Dax didn't laugh. But he didn't defend me either. He just looked at me the way you'd look at a stain on a white shirt. Tired. Annoyed. Already calculating the cost of removal.

"Not now, Brynn." He turned back to Sera. "We're celebrating."

Celebrating what? The question burned on my tongue, but I didn't ask. I already knew I didn't want the answer.

"Please." I hated the way my voice cracked. "It's important. I wouldn't—"

"You wouldn't what?" Dax spun back around, and there was something ugly behind his eyes now. Something I'd seen before but always pretended wasn't there. "Interrupt? Make a scene? You're doing both."

The room went quiet. Not silent—music still played, glasses still clinked—but the bubble around us contracted. Wolves were watching. Waiting. Sera's hand rested on Dax's chest like she belonged there.

She used to, a voice whispered. Before you.

"I just need a few minutes," I said. My fingers dug into my palm. The test pressed against my thigh through the jacket fabric. A secret. A hope. A stupid, fragile thing I'd brought into a room full of wolves.

Dax exhaled slowly. Then he did something worse than yell.

He smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who had already decided to hurt someone and was simply choosing the weapon.

"You want to talk?" He raised his voice, projecting across the foyer. "Fine. Let's talk."

My stomach dropped.

"Everyone," Dax announced, spreading his arms like a showman. "You all know my wife. Brynn. The rogue I was cursed with three years ago."

The word cursed landed like a slap.

I stood frozen as heads turned. As eyes crawled over me—the cheap boots, the wrinkled sweater, the dark circles I couldn't hide. I looked like what I was. A woman who had never belonged anywhere.

"Some of you have wondered," Dax continued, circling me slowly, "why an Alpha would marry a rogue with no pack, no lineage, no power."

Don't. Please don't.

"The answer is simple." He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough to see the complete absence of warmth in his gaze. "Fated mates produce stronger offspring. The bond amplifies the child's power. Every Alpha in the region knows it."

My lungs stopped working.

"So I married her." He said it like he was discussing a business transaction. "She serves one purpose. One. And when that purpose is fulfilled—" He shrugged. "Well. We'll cross that bridge."

The room erupted in uncomfortable laughter. Wolves exchanged glances—some amused, some pitying, most just relieved it wasn't them standing in the kill zone.

Sera raised her glass. "To the womb with legs."

To the womb with legs.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered backward, my shoulder blades hitting a pillar. The room spun. The music warped into static. Someone was laughing—high and bright—and it took me a second to realize it was Sera.

And Dax was letting her.

He was standing there, arms crossed, watching me crumble like it was entertainment.

"Now," he said, soft enough that only I could hear, "go back to your room, Brynn. You've embarrassed yourself enough."

I should have fought. I should have screamed. I should have pulled out the pregnancy test and shoved it in his face and told him that his precious heir was already growing inside me.

But I was three years of silence deep. Three years of swallowing my own voice. Three years of telling myself that if I was just patient enough, quiet enough, invisible enough, he might someday see me.

He never saw me.

He never wanted to.

I turned. My legs moved without permission. The crowd parted—not out of respect, but out of the instinctive way wolves step aside for something wounded. Something bleeding.

I walked through the foyer. Through the hallway. Past the pack members who whispered behind their hands. Past the portrait of Dax's father hanging on the wall—stern, disapproving, probably grateful he hadn't lived to see his son marry a nobody.

The front door loomed. I pushed through it.

Cold air hit my face. The October night had gone sharp and bitter. Stars glared down like accusatory eyes.

I made it to my car. Got inside. Slammed the door so hard the windows rattled.

And then I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, waiting for the tears that wouldn't come.

My hand moved to my pocket. The pregnancy test was still there. Two pink lines. A life. A child. A person who would grow up knowing that their father had called their mother a womb with legs in front of fifty wolves.

I pulled out the test. Stared at it in the dim light from the dashboard.

I should hate you, I thought. I should hate you for existing at the worst possible moment.

But I didn't. I couldn't. This tiny cluster of cells was the only thing in the world that was truly mine.

I started the engine.

The car rumbled beneath me. The pack house glowed behind me, warm and golden and full of people who would never be my people. Dax was in there, probably with Sera's hand back on his arm, probably laughing about how pathetic his rogue wife was.

Drive, I told myself. Just drive.

I put the car in reverse. Pulled out of the driveway. Passed the border guards, who waved without really looking.

The road unspooled ahead of me, dark and winding. Mountain pass. Steep drops. Trees pressing in on both sides.

I didn't know where I was going. I didn't care.

I just needed to be somewhere he wasn't.