Chapter 3

Chapter 3

ANNALISA

Christiana’s fake smile cracked.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice trembling—this time with real agitation. Her eyes darted between us, wide and brimming with staged tears. "Antonio... I’m worried. She’s already lying about a pregnancy just to trap you—who knows what else she’ll do if you give her thirty days?"

Antonio wrapped a hand silently across her waist, pulling her flush against him. It was a gesture of protection, one I had spent four years craving.

"Trust me," he murmured into her hair, his voice softening in a way that made my chest ache. "She can't trap me, Christiana."

Then he turned to me, the tenderness vanishing, replaced by a smoldering, visible anger.

"And you will prepare the ceremony yourself. Every detail of the handover. The transfer of the Luna title. The guest arrangements. The ritual logistics. You will organize all of it with your own hands, and you will hand it over to Christiana yourself. You will show the pack that this is an amicable separation. Are we clear?"

I looked at him.

He was punishing me for making him say yes in front of her. For putting him in a position where he had to negotiate with me at all.

I did not flinch from the disgust in his eyes.

"All right," I said, shrugging my shoulders, either way I got my one month, I just needed the baby to survive this stage, and I'll be gone.

He blinked. That small flicker again. He had expected something else, and for a moment, I could see him rethinking this.

But I was already turning toward the door.

I walked out. I kept my steps even and unhurried. I did not let my hands shake until I was fully out of sight from them.

The moment I was alone, my composure broke. Tears came before I could stop them. I wiped them away quickly, over and over with the back of my hand, not letting them run down my face. But I couldn’t stop it. The pain in my chest was too much, and it hurt just to breathe.

I had spent years hoping for Antonio’s love. And in the end, he still didn’t believe me—still saw me as the one who caused this marriage in the first place.

I pressed my back against the wall and breathed through it, wiping my tears away again. That was enough. I would not do that again. I would not ask for his love again.

From now on, there was only the child.

The days after that blurred into silence.

One week passed in silence—waiting for Antonio to transfer certain responsibilities and authority over the ceremony to me. During that week, he barely came near me, perhaps because I had not yet begun any of the formal procedures required for the ritual.

And now, it was time to begin. I walked into the planning room with a notebook tucked under my arm and my hair pinned back in a tight, severe bun. I wore the mask I always used when performing tasks that brought me no joy—a look of cool, professional indifference.

Miriam was already inside.

She was seated at the head of the long oak table. Her hands were folded in front of her, her posture perfectly straight, and she looked up when I came in with the expression that I had gotten used to, growing up here, under the hands of Antonio's mother.

Christiana was beside her. Of course she was.

She was sitting slightly to Miriam's right, a cup of tea in her hands, and she looked up when I entered, interrupting the pleasant conversation those two were having.

Annalisa," Miriam said, her eyes tracking my simple attire with thinly veiled distaste. "We weren't expecting you this morning."

"Antonio asked me to manage the handover ceremony," I said, moving to the table. I pulled out a chair and flipped open my notebook, ignoring the way Christiana’s eyes narrowed. "I'm here to start the logistics for the guest list."

Miriam’s expression didn't change, but a glint of cruel satisfaction lit her eyes. She gave a slow, regal nod. "It’s appropriate, really—you being the organizer. You’ve always been better at managing schedules than actually being a Luna."

She took a slow, graceful sip of her tea before leaning in comfortably. "However, given your... delicate position, we’ve decided it’s best if you don’t handle the public-facing aspects of the coordination. You will only be required to appear on the day of the ritual to complete the rejection."

I froze, my pen hovering over the paper. "Antonio told me I was to handle the entire ceremony."

"Antonio was merely trying to give you something to do so you wouldn't spend your final month moping," Miriam said, her voice turning sharp and cold. "But several of the high-ranking noble families have expressed concerns. About the transition. And about you, specifically."

I looked up, meeting her gaze. "What kind of concerns?"

"Stability," she said smoothly. "The impression you’ve given over the years—wolfless, unable to produce an heir, a shadow in your own home. The nobles want to feel confident that Christiana’s ascension is a restoration of grace. For that to happen, it is best if you remain cooperative, gracious, and very, very quiet."

She reached under the table and pulled out a thick, heavy stack of papers, sliding it across the wood toward me.

"Since you’re so eager to help, do something practical. The banquet silver needs hand-polishing. The white roses for the altar need to be trimmed and prepared in the cellar. These are quiet tasks, away from the eyes of our guests. They suit you far better than leadership."

I stared at the list. It was a catalog of menial labor—work meant for omegas and servants. She wasn't just stripping me of my duties; she was trying to bury me in the basement for my final days.

Christiana stared into her tea, the picture of humble innocence, but I caught the small, triumphant curl of her lips.

"I understand," I said. My voice was flat, devoid of the tremor they were so clearly waiting for. I didn't care about their insults. My only priority was my child's survival, and for that, I would endure a thousand Miriams.

The door swung open before I could touch the list.

Antonio stood in the doorway, his dark gaze sweeping the room before landing on the stack of chores Miriam had pushed toward me.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice a low vibration that made the air in the room heavy.

"Planning," Miriam said immediately, her tone practiced and smooth. "Annalisa was just agreeing to handle the smaller details. We felt it best to oversee her—to ensure everything is up to the standard Christiana deserves. A woman like her can be dangerous, Antonio. Spiteful, once she realizes she is no longer relevant."

Antonio walked toward the table, his eyes fixed on his mother. "I didn't ask you to oversee anything."

"Antonio, the noble houses have raised questions about her cooperation—"

"I’ll deal with the nobility." He didn't raise his voice, but the weight of his Alpha authority hit the room like a physical blow. "Leave her to work. She does this alone."

"But Antonio, I would advise against this," Miriam pushed, her voice sharpening with desperation. "It is not a good idea to leave the logistics to her. She will spoil the ceremony just to hurt you. It’s best someone keeps an eye on her."

"That woman you are speaking about is still MY MATE, mother."Antonio snapped, his aura spreading through the room, heavy with Alpha dominance.