His Luna Was Never the Other Woman

Right before I lost consciousness, I had seen everything clearly. The obsidian carriage. Salvar in the passenger seat. And the she-wolf he had just kissed. She was the one behind the wheel, her scent of white jasmine and something faintly too-sweet still clinging to the air like petals already beginning to turn. He hadn't given me a chance to question him. Not even a single second. He had simply brushed it off, thrown out an excuse about the pack being too busy, and left as if I had imagined the entire thing. At the time, I thought he was avoiding me because he didn't know how to face me after striking me down with the carriage. But the truth was even more pathetic than that. I didn't matter enough to him. Not even enough for him to feel guilt. Still a little dizzy, I forced a polite smile onto my face, as if everything was perfectly normal. "Guess I was still a bit foggy when I woke up," I said lightly. "Didn't recognize you, Alpha." The word slipped out naturally, but it carried none of the warmth it used to. He barely reacted. The silver lighter kept moving over his knuckles, steady as a heartbeat. And I kept going along with it, as if this distance between us had always existed. As if there had never been anything more. He finally looked at me again, his brows drawing together slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. The Omega who used to cling to him over the smallest things, who would demand to be nuzzled over something as trivial as a scratch, was gone. In her place was someone quiet. Still. Unreachable. Somewhere deep beneath my ribs, my wolf had gone silent too. She wasn't whimpering. She had simply curled in on herself and stopped reaching for the scent of black cedar and cold iron that had always meant home. Salvar glanced around the room, making sure no one else was there. Even in a Healing Hall that answered only to his pack, old habits held. Only then did his expression soften a fraction, his voice dropping lower. "Selene," he said, almost gently, "these places are full of ears. And scent carries." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We can't risk anyone catching us like this." Like this. What we were had to stay hidden. Even now. The silence of the pack didn't just govern secrets of blood and territory. It governed me. "Just rest," he continued. "Focus on healing. Once you're back at the den, I'll make it up to you." I looked at him, then gave a small, composed smile. "Thank you… Alpha." I used to call him that as a joke, a teasing name when we were alone behind a locked door. Back then it had been playful, intimate, filled with something unspoken between us. Now, it felt completely different. Cold. Distant. Like a wall had been built between us, brick by brick, until there was nothing left to cross. He frowned slightly. He noticed it. Of course he did. Just as he was about to say something else, the door opened again and the moon-healer walked in for a routine check. In an instant, Salvar changed. The softness disappeared as if it had never existed. His posture straightened, his expression cooled, and the distance returned. He was once again the Alpha, untouchable and controlled, his aura settling over the room like a sudden drop in temperature. The silver lighter went still in his hand for one beat, then slipped into his jacket pocket. After exchanging a few brief words with the healer, he turned to leave. At the door, he paused. Then he looked back at me one last time. "Get some rest," he said. There was a slight pause before he added, his tone firm, almost like a warning. "And don't think your… special arrangement gives you any privileges inside my pack." His eyes held mine, steady and unreadable. "Everyone is treated equally. Everything follows the code of the pack." With that, he walked out, the door closing softly behind him, leaving the room colder than before. The trace of black cedar and cold iron faded from the air, and only then did my wolf stir, just enough to ache. The moon-healer glanced at the smile I was forcing onto my face and let out a light, teasing chuckle, like he could scent straight through it. "Your Alpha already left," he said casually. "No need to push yourself to keep smiling like that anymore." I didn't respond. "But I'll give him this," he added with a grin, flipping through my chart. "Stubborn mouth, soft heart. He already covered every last gold moon of your healing." My smile didn't disappear, but it shifted, subtly, almost imperceptibly, into something bitter. Salvar really did deserve to lead the howl for that performance. To everyone else, he was just a responsible Alpha overseeing the front den, someone who looked after his people out of basic decency. A wolf with principles. No one knew the truth. No one knew that behind the locked door of his private study at the forest estate, I had been bound to him for five years. Five entire years of secrecy, of compromise, of waiting for a neck-mark that never came. No one except a handful of his closest wolves. His inner circle. The ones bound by the same silence that bound me. I had asked him more times than I could count, always carefully, always hoping for a different answer. "When can we stop hiding?" Every single time, he brushed it off with the same vague excuse. "The timing's not right." I used to believe him. I used to tell myself that there was a reason, that the pack's politics demanded patience, that one day the moon would rise on something different. But today, I finally understood. When he thought I had lost my memory, the first thing he did was draw a line between us. I'm your Alpha. That was the truth. That was all I had ever been to him.

A she-wolf working the ledgers in his legitimate front den. A secret. My injuries weren't serious, so the moon-healer kept me under watch for three days before releasing me. Everything was routine. Quiet. Uneventful. The private healing den smelled of crushed herbs and old bloodline wealth, and the attendants moved with the particular carefulness of wolves who knew better than to ask whose name was truly on the account. The cost went through the Pack's care arrangement, and whatever was left over was refunded directly back to Salvar's account. Three days. Not a single visit. Not even a message. And then, on the day I was released, my communicator chimed. "You're out already?" Salvar's voice came through, casual, almost mildly annoyed. "You could've at least given me a heads-up." I held the communicator in silence. "I've got a council gathering today," he continued. "Can't come for you." "…Okay." That was all I said. I swallowed everything else. The questions that rose to my throat. The ones that used to matter. I didn't ask where he was. I didn't ask who he was with. Instead, I opened my communicator and checked his location. A lodging house. One of the ones on Pack-controlled ground, the kind with discreet staff and no watchers in the corridors. I didn't need him to explain anything. I didn't need confirmation. Then, faintly, through the receiver, I heard a she-wolf's voice. "Come dry my hair, will you?" The line went dead almost instantly. He cut it off. I stared at my communicator for a moment, unmoving. Somewhere beneath my ribs, my wolf went very still, the way a creature goes still when it has finally understood a thing it cannot fight. Not long after, two transfer notices surfaced on the screen. 1,314 gold moons. 1,520 gold moons. The numbers hit me harder than anything else. They weren't random. They meant something. They always had. 1314 meant forever. 1520 meant I love you. For years, I had wished for this. For him to send me those numbers, for something so simple and full of meaning. I had imagined catching it on a crystal screen, sharing it to the spirit network, just once, like everyone else. Just once, to show that I had something real. But every time I brought it up, he refused. He didn't like attention. He didn't want wolves asking questions. He didn't want anyone knowing. An Alpha's private life was a liability, he said. Something rival packs could use. And now… now that I had already decided to let him go, he sent them? I didn't know if it was guilt. Or habit. Or something else entirely. I opened his profile without thinking. The moment it loaded, I froze. His profile image had changed. It was a paired portrait. A bonded picture. But not with me. I didn't hesitate. I returned both transfers immediately. A few seconds later, my communicator buzzed again. A string of question marks. I didn't reply. When I got back to the den, nothing had changed. Everything was exactly the same as the night of the Blood Moon feast. The same shoes by the door. The same coat tossed over the chair. The same faint scent lingering in the air, black cedar and cold iron with an undertone of ash and bitter clove, the ghost of a world where decisions were made in back rooms and sealed with oaths that could never be taken back. Which meant one thing. He hadn't been back. Not once. I stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle around me. Then I took a deep breath, pushed down the tight ache rising in my chest, and started packing. It didn't take long. Piece by piece, the space began to empty. Five years. Five years of a life I had carefully built around him, dismantled in just a few hours. Most of what I packed were things I had chosen myself. Bonded things. Matching mugs. Coordinated clothes. Small carvings that hinted at something shared. Salvar had never liked any of it. He never wore anything that could suggest he was claimed. Never used anything too obvious. He said a wolf in his position couldn't afford to look soft. Couldn't give anyone a handle to grip. I used to joke about it. Saying he acted like some scout living under a false scent, hiding his name from the world. Now I realized. It was never a joke. He just never saw me as someone he needed to claim. No mark at the junction of my neck and shoulder. No warmth that would have glowed when he came near. Nothing. I was halfway through packing when I heard the door open. He came back. His scent reached me a breath before he spoke, and my wolf lifted her head once, then turned away. "Selene, what's this about?" he snapped the moment he saw me. "I've been calling you! I told you to come out for dinner. You didn't pick up or reply!" I didn't look up immediately. The scent reached me first. A she-wolf's scent. Not mine. Not even close. Without thinking, I lifted my hand slightly, stopping him from coming any closer. When I finally raised my eyes, they drifted to his neck. Faint red marks. Bite-bruises that were not a mate's claim. "Sorry," I said calmly, my voice steady. I smoothed the fold of a blouse flat against the lining of my bag, pressing the crease until it was sharp enough to cut. "I've been busy. Didn't check my communicator." He frowned, his gaze sweeping across the room. Only then did he notice the packed bags. The empty shelves. The missing pieces. "Don't tell me you've been busy tearing down the den," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "You just got out of the healing hall. You should be resting." His eyes landed on a few unopened boxes I hadn't gotten to yet. Inside were the bonded things I had bought recently. Still new. Still unused. "You don't want any of this?" he asked.

I bent down to pick one up. Before I could even straighten, he reached out and took it from my hands. "Fine, I'll throw them out for you," he said, almost impatiently. "But stop wasting money on useless stuff. What, do you think coin falls from the moon?" His tone was casual. Indifferent. Like none of this mattered. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, he added, "Go change. I'll take you out to eat." Like this was just another normal day. Like nothing was ending. Instead, I walked out to the balcony. From there, I watched him. He carried the boxes down and walked straight to the refuse pit behind the den, past the black sedan idling at the edge of the trail where one of his enforcers sat waiting with the engine running. No hesitation. No second glance. He tossed them in. Just like that. The same way he had thrown away our five years. Effortlessly. Like they meant nothing at all. At the eating-house, a quiet place on neutral ground where the pack sometimes kept private tables, he ordered several dishes without asking. Most of them were our usual favorites. The kind we always shared. The kind tied to memories. Late-night laughter, old films flickering on the couch, lazy days when time seemed to slow down and the world outside, with all its blood and territory and obligation, couldn't reach us. For a moment, it almost felt familiar. Almost. But then I saw it. One more dish. Bitter melon with scrambled eggs. The one I hated the most. He knew that. He had always remembered. Every little thing. Until now. My appetite disappeared completely, like something inside me had quietly snapped. Even my wolf went still beneath my skin, the way it always did when something was wrong and it didn't yet know what. The smell of the food, the low conversation at nearby tables, even the old crooning record drifting through the room all felt distant. I didn't feel like forcing myself anymore, didn't feel like pretending everything was normal. "Excuse me," I called gently to the attendant standing nearby, keeping my tone polite and controlled. "Could you take this dish off the table? I'll pay for it separately." The attendant hesitated for a second, clearly unsure, but before he could even reach for the plate, Salvar moved first. He dragged the dish back toward himself with a faint scoff. "Oh, come on," he said, his voice edged with annoyance. "I miss a few days while you're in the Healing Hall and suddenly you're acting like a drama queen?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Maybe if you were actually watching where you were going, you wouldn't have ended up under those wheels in the first place." The words landed harder than they should have. Because I knew what it looked like when he cared. I had seen it before. There had been a time when a fever took me in the dead of winter. He had panicked, lifted me onto his back, and carried me through the freezing dark to a moon-healer he trusted, his hands trembling, his voice breaking as he kept asking if I was still conscious. I still remembered the way he cried that night, like losing me would destroy him. Back then he wasn't the Alpha yet. Back then his hands still shook for reasons that had nothing to do with blood or silver. And now? Now he had been part of the thing that hurt me… and didn't even bother to come. He knew I hated bitter melon. For five years, he had never once ordered it, never once let anything remotely bitter near our table. He used to say even the scent of it made me frown too much, and that his wolf hated to see it. And yet now, like we had gone back in time to when we had just met, like none of those years had ever existed, he casually ordered it again without a second thought. I curled my lips into a faint, tired smile, the kind that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I really hate bitter melon," I said softly. "I can't even stand the smell." "Then don't eat it," he replied immediately, his tone sharp and impatient. "Simple." The irritation in his voice wasn't even hidden. The silver lighter appeared in his hand, turning slow across his knuckles, each rotation catching the candlelight like a small, indifferent blade. But I kept my expression calm, polite, the way I had trained myself to be over the years. "I think… we should—" I didn't get to finish. A woman's voice cut in smoothly from the side. "Salvar, after all these years, you still remember I love bitter melon!" I lifted my gaze. She stood right beside our table, perfectly put together from head to toe. Flawless face. Impeccable grooming. Her posture straight, chin slightly lifted as she looked down at me with a faint, unmistakable trace of disdain. One finger rested on the pearl at her throat, light as a breath, as if confirming something only she needed to know. And then her scent reached me. White jasmine over copper, and beneath it something faintly too-sweet, like petals just beginning to turn. My wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy without knowing why. Without waiting for any invitation, she stepped closer. With an easy familiarity, she nudged Salvar slightly inward on the booth, then slipped into the seat right next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The two enforcers at the bar didn't turn, but I could feel the room's attention tighten, the way it always did when the Alpha's table changed shape. "Let me introduce myself," she said sweetly, her voice smooth like syrup. "I'm Salvar's she-wolf. Adressa Thornwell."

I didn't respond. She leaned in even closer to him, her arm grazing his as if it was completely natural, then glanced sideways at me with a subtle, almost playful look. "Salvar," she said lightly, "aren't you going to introduce her? She's…" Salvar's expression stiffened instantly. It was clear he hadn't expected this. His eyes flickered toward me, a brief flash of unease, almost panic, before he forced himself to stay composed. Beneath the table his hand went still on the silver lighter he'd been turning. Something in his scent shifted too, the cold iron threading through the black cedar going sharp for half a breath. For a second, I almost laughed. "Selene Ashford," I said before he could speak, my tone calm and even. "I serve as a den liaison at Alpha Nightbane's front den. The hall was full, so we're just sharing a table." His head snapped toward me. That flicker of panic disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by visible relief. He let out a breath, then nodded quickly. The lighter resumed its slow rotation. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "This is Selene. One of my pack." Adressa smiled slowly. The kind of smile a wolf gives when it already has its prey pinned beneath its paw. "Miss Ashford must be very capable, then," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I've never seen Salvar sit at the same table with any she-wolf besides me." Her tone was light, but every word carried weight. Under the white jasmine of her scent ran something faintly too-sweet, like petals already beginning to turn, and my wolf stirred low in my chest, uneasy, a growl I swallowed before it could surface. Then she placed her crystal communicator casually beside her wine glass, nudging it forward just enough to be seen. It looked accidental. But it wasn't. I caught a glimpse of the screen. Her image. It matched Salvar's. A bonded pair. Even their colors today were coordinated. Same tones, same palette, down to the smallest details like the moonstone cuffs at their wrists. Everything was deliberate, curated, costly. The kind of matched presentation that in this world meant more than romance. It meant claim. It meant territory. Under the warm lamplight of the den hall, they looked perfect. Like a portrait of an Alpha and his Luna. I lowered my gaze, set my chopsticks down carefully, and stood up. I didn't want to stay. Before I could take a step, Adressa reached out and grabbed my wrist. Her fingers were slender, her nails long and perfectly manicured. They dug into my skin just enough to hurt, just enough to leave a mark, but hidden from Salvar's line of sight. "Miss Ashford," she said softly, her voice laced with feigned concern, "you're leaving already? Did I say something wrong?" Her eyes shimmered, almost as if she were genuinely apologetic. "Let me apologize, okay?" I didn't have the patience for this. Didn't have the energy to play along with someone pretending to be all sweetness and innocence. I pulled my hand back sharply, breaking free from her grip. Just as I lowered my eyes to check my wrist, I saw it: thin red marks where her nails had dug in, one of them already starting to bead with blood. Before I could even process it, everything happened in an instant. Adressa suddenly lifted her own hand and swung it outward. A loud smack echoed through the den hall. A little pup standing nearby was struck across the face. His cry broke out immediately, sharp and piercing as he clutched his cheek, tears spilling down as he began sobbing uncontrollably. Two fingers hooked into the hem of his sweater, twisting the fabric tight, and he couldn't look up. The entire room went quiet for a split second. The low music between songs. The clink of silverware stopping at three separate tables. A stillness that in any pack-favored hall meant someone of rank was watching. Adressa's expression changed just as quickly. Her face turned pale, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock. "Oh no!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Sweetheart, are you okay?" Salvar was already on his feet. He rushed over, apologizing repeatedly to the pup's parents, his tone urgent and sincere. Without hesitation he pulled out his communicator and transferred moon-credits, trying to smooth things over as quickly as possible. The Alpha handling lesser wolves. Keeping the peace in a public hall where the Nightbane name floated above every exchange like woodsmoke. But then the little pup suddenly pointed straight at me. "It was her!" he cried between sobs. "She grabbed that lady's hand and made her hit me! She should say sorry!" Every gaze in the den hall shifted. All at once. Adressa turned to me slowly, her eyes filling with hurt, her expression trembling just enough to look real. Her fingers drifted to the pearl at her throat again, holding it like a she-wolf afraid of being struck next. "Miss Ashford…" she said softly, her voice fragile, "I don't know what I did to upset you." She lowered her gaze slightly, like she was holding back tears. "If you have a problem with me, please… just take it out on me. Don't drag innocent ones into this…" Whispers began to spread. Low voices. Judging. Speculating. I could feel it. The weight of every stare pressing against my back. In a place like this, where half the room owed something to the Nightbane name, the murmur of the pack wasn't just opinion. It was verdict. Salvar turned toward me, his expression darkening instantly. The air around him thickened, his Alpha aura pressing down over the table like a sudden drop in temperature, and somewhere beneath my skin my wolf flattened low without my willing it. "What are you standing there for?" he snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "Apologize. Now." His tone left no room for argument. "Stop making a scene." Like I was the problem. Like I was the one who had embarrassed him. Like I was the one who didn't belong.

Backed by the murmured encouragement of the wolves crowded around him, the little pup broke free from his parents' hold and rushed toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and sank his teeth into it. Hard. The pain shot through me instantly, sharp and raw, and he didn't let go. My own wolf flinched beneath my skin, startled, but I held her still. "Hey—" someone gasped, but no one stepped in. The more gently Adressa crouched beside him, coaxing him in a soft, soothing voice, the deeper his teeth seemed to press into my skin, as if her words only fueled his stubbornness. Her tone was all concern, all patience, the picture of kindness. Beneath it, white jasmine and copper drifted toward me, that faint too-sweet edge like petals already beginning to turn. "Sweetheart, let go… okay? You're scaring me," she murmured, reaching out but never quite pulling him away. I stood there, frozen. I couldn't exactly throw a pup off me. Couldn't raise my voice. Couldn't bare my teeth without looking like the rabid one they already believed I was. So I swallowed everything. Swallowed the pain. Swallowed the humiliation. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, forcing the words out as evenly as I could. "I'm sorry, okay?" The pup finally loosened his grip, stepping back, still sniffling. My hand throbbed where his teeth had broken the skin, a dull, pulsing ache that quickly turned wet. But Salvar wasn't satisfied. He didn't notice the blood slowly seeping from the bite mark. Didn't notice the way my fingers trembled slightly from the pain. Didn't even glance at me properly. The scent of my own blood hung in the air between us, and he didn't so much as lift his head to it. All he cared about was salvaging someone else's dignity. He reached out and seized my arm just as I turned to leave. "Selene," he said sharply, his grip tightening. "Apologize. To Adressa." Adressa immediately put on that same gentle, self-effacing expression, tugging lightly at his sleeve as if trying to stop him. One finger drifted to the moonstone at her throat and touched it, barely, the way a wolf checks the wind before stepping into a clearing full of watching eyes. "Salvar, it's fine," she said softly. "Really, it's not a big deal. I'm okay." She paused, lowering her gaze with perfect timing, the practiced submission of a she-wolf who knew exactly who was watching. "It's just the little one… he got hurt, and he's probably scared." Her words were modest. Her tone was forgiving. And yet, they only made everything worse. Salvar's attention shifted instantly. His eyes dropped to the back of her hand, where a faint red mark had formed, barely noticeable, nothing compared to the blood on mine. But to him, it was everything. Something in his expression softened, almost pained. Then, just as quickly, it hardened again as he turned back to me. Black cedar and cold iron rolled off him, that ash and bitter clove undertone sharpening as his alpha aura pressed down over the table, and every lower wolf in the den dropped their gaze on instinct. Every wolf but me. Before I could react, he grabbed my injured hand and shoved it straight into the bowl of hot broth that had just been set on the table. The heat hit me instantly. The broth wasn't boiling, but it was scalding enough. The liquid soaked into the fresh bite wound, salt and heat combining into a sharp, searing pain that shot up my arm like silver under the skin. My entire body jerked. A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it. The pain was unbearable. It spread, burned, throbbed, every nerve screaming at once. My wolf threw herself against my ribs with a sound I'd never heard her make, low and broken. My fingers curled involuntarily, trembling as I tried to pull back, but his grip held me in place for a second longer. An Alpha's grip. The kind that didn't negotiate. "Selene, what is wrong with you?" Salvar hissed, his voice low but cutting. "You need to be taught a lesson." My vision blurred slightly from the pain. Still, I looked up at him. "Is that who I am to you?" I asked quietly, my teeth clenched so tightly they ached. I already knew the answer. But I still asked. Maybe some part of me hadn't fully given up yet. Around us, the whispers grew louder. The other wolves in the family-run den weren't even pretending to look away anymore. "Wait… so which one is his actual mate?" "Are you blind? Obviously the one he's protecting." "Yeah, look at them. Scents all tangled up together, matching everything… it's obvious." Their voices weren't even hushed anymore. Their gazes shifted toward me, heavy with something worse than judgment. Pity. "Hey, enough is enough," a wolf at a nearby table muttered. "Another few seconds and you're going to scald her hand to the bone." Only then did Salvar hesitate. I stood there, my lips pale, my body still trembling slightly from the pain, and yet, somehow, I was smiling. A faint, fragile smile. I looked straight at him. And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Unease. Just for a moment. Then he let go. He released my hand as if nothing had happened, reached for Adressa instead, and took her by the arm. "Let's go," he said quietly. And just like that, he walked away with her. Didn't look back. Didn't say another word. His scent thinned and faded toward the door, black cedar and cold iron pulling away from me until the place where he'd stood held nothing at all. When I got home, the den felt colder than usual. The hall was dark, the inner bolt still drawn the way he always left it, as though guarding the threshold mattered more than the wolf locked inside it. A notification flickered across my crystal communicator. He had sent a healer's salve for the burn, ordered through some courier, dispatched to my door like a parcel left for a stranger. I stared at it for a long moment before opening the message that came with it.

[Selene, please stop being so sensitive and antagonizing Adressa. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other. I hope you'll get along from now on.] I let out a quiet breath. So that was it. That was his solution. A jar of burn salve in exchange for silence. For obedience. For pretending nothing had happened. For accepting that he would keep both of us in his life, as if we were things he could arrange however he pleased. I didn't reply. I worked the salve into the wound silently, the coolness stinging against the scalded skin while my wolf paced low and restless beneath it, then lay down on the bed. Through the wall I could hear the faint tick of the den's ward-panel cycling through its nightly check, the low hum that kept the Alpha's territory sealed. The den was built for his convenience, warded for his safety. Not for mine. He didn't come home that night. The next morning, the moment I stepped into the front den of the Nightbane Pack, I could feel it. The change. Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Conversations cut off the second I got close, only to resume in hushed whispers the moment I passed. The hostesses. The floor runners. Even the barkeep who usually dipped his head good morning wouldn't look at me. Their scents had soured with something I knew too well, the thin nervous tang of a pack that smelled blood in the water. It felt like walking into a hive that had been violently shaken. As I sat down at my desk, Gianessa leaned over almost immediately, the corner of her order slate curling between her fingers as she twisted it tight. Her scent, fresh clover and warm bread, came tight with worry. "Selene… people are saying you tried to get with the Alpha," she whispered. "And his she-wolf caught you in the act. It's all over the spirit network." She slid her crystal communicator toward me. A recording was playing. The scene from the gathering hall last night. Someone had caught all of it on a crystal orb. At some point during the chaos, a new thread had been opened on the network just to spread it. Message after message scrolled past, speculation, accusations, mockery. Whispers on the floor made permanent. They painted me as some unmarked Omega who'd tried to claw her way into the Pack's good graces and got caught. I stared at the screen, my expression calm, even as something inside me went completely still. Somewhere deep down, my wolf had gone silent too, the way she did when a wound went bone-deep. Before I could take it in further, the front doors opened. Salvar walked in. With Adressa right beside him. The Alpha's lion-crest ring of succession turned slow and idle across his knuckles, catching the overhead light once, twice. His scent reached me before his voice did, black cedar and cold iron, ash and bitter clove, the way it always had. "Everyone," he said, his voice clear and carrying the weight of an Alpha used to obedience, "let me introduce our new front-den overseer. Adressa." So that was what he meant. When he said we would be seeing a lot of each other. He hadn't been exaggerating. He had brought her directly into the Pack's front den. As my superior. The room fell silent. Heads lowered, shoulders dropped, the floor going quiet under the press of his aura. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. For the past few weeks, ever since the last overseer severed ties and vanished beyond the border grounds, I had been the one carrying most of the responsibilities. Everyone assumed I would move up in the ranks. It seemed obvious. Until now. Salvar added Adressa to the den's internal thread right there in front of everyone. Almost at once, both of them sent messages. Their portraits appeared side by side. Matching. A mated pair. Smiling. Perfect. The implication couldn't have been clearer. The rest of the morning passed in a haze of whispers and sidelong glances. No one was really working. Everyone was watching. Talking. Judging. But I didn't care anymore. I was leaving. Before midday, I drafted my letter severing ties from the pack and sent it through the proper channels. With nothing left binding me here, I stood and walked to the back room. I needed something warm. Something simple. I brewed myself a cup of honeyed grapefruit tea, watching the steam rise slowly, the scent soft and calming. Sweet. Light. Nothing like the bitterness I had just left behind. I had barely taken two sips when the door opened again. Adressa walked in like she owned the den. Confident. Unhurried. She poured herself a coffee, then crossed to me and sat down right beside me, folding one leg over the other as if settling onto a throne that had always been hers. White jasmine drifted off her, copper beneath it, and something faintly too-sweet, like petals beginning to turn. Her presence filled the room. Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth and sweet, but underneath it, there was something sharp. "Selene," she said, her lips curving slightly, "I know you've been Salvar's little secret for five years." She tilted her head, studying me. "But I'm his she-wolf now. Out in the open, where the whole pack can see." There was a pause. "I'm back," she continued softly, "and it's time for the mistress to know when to leave." Her smile didn't waver. "As long as you keep your mouth shut like you always have," she added lightly, "I won't make things harder for you." The threat was gentle. Polite. But unmistakable. As she spoke, Adressa casually unlocked her communicator and tapped a voice message, holding it just close enough for me to hear. The recording played. It was the little boy from yesterday. His voice was bright, sweet in that practiced, childish way, but there was something smug underneath it, something that didn't belong to innocence at all. "Auntie Adressa, wasn't I awesome? Don't forget the toy you promised me!" The message ended with a soft click. And just like that, everything fell into place. Every detail. Every movement. Every perfectly timed reaction from last night. It hadn't been an accident. None of it had.

My instincts screamed at me to leave. To get out of there immediately before things escalated further. But before I could even take a step back, Adressa moved. Fast. She snatched the cup of tea straight out of my hands. Before I could react, she tilted it and poured it over her own head. The liquid splashed down her hair, soaking through the strands and dripping over her face, her neck, her blouse. It wasn't hot anymore, the tea long gone cold, but that didn't matter. The effect was exactly what she wanted. Then, without hesitation, she slammed the ceramic cup onto the ground. Right at my feet. It shattered instantly. The sharp crack echoed through the den as fragments of porcelain exploded outward. Several pieces skidded across the floor, a few slicing lightly into my ankles. A sharp sting followed, but I barely registered it. Adressa stood there, drenched, her hair clinging to her face in messy strands, her blouse soaked and sticking to her skin. The white jasmine of her scent had gone sharp, almost too-sweet, the copper underneath rising as she worked herself toward the picture she wanted. She looked utterly disheveled. Pitiful. Humiliated. Perfect. This she-wolf wasn't just ruthless. She was terrifying. Before I could move past her, she stepped forward, blocking my path completely. And then she screamed. "Selene! What are you doing?! Why would you hurt me like this?!" Her voice was high, shrill, and filled with raw, trembling emotion. It carried. Through the front den, past the half-open doors where Nightbane wolves nursed their morning brews, into the back rooms where enforcers and runners kept their heads down and their ears pricked. Within seconds, the whole den began to stir. Doors opened. Chairs scraped. Wolves rushed in from every direction, drawn by the commotion, nostrils flaring to read the air. But Adressa wasn't done. Not even close. She picked up her coffee, her hand trembling just enough to make it look real, and splashed it across her own chest. The dark liquid spread quickly across the fabric, staining it unevenly. Then, just like the night before, she lifted her hand to her neck and began scratching. Hard. Red marks bloomed instantly across her skin, raw and irritated, as if someone had grabbed her violently. I stood there, watching. Something inside me finally snapped. My own wolf, who had crouched silent and seething through every second of this, surged once against my ribs. Enough. Before I could think it through, before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped her. Hard. The sound rang out, sharp and clear. Everything went silent. The kind of silence that only falls in a den run by wolves who understand violence. The kind where nobody breathes until they know whose side to take. And that was the exact moment Salvar walked in. He saw everything. Or at least, what it looked like. Me, standing there, upright, composed. And Adressa, soaked, disheveled, trembling, like a fragile creature that had just been attacked. There wasn't even a second of hesitation. His hand came down across my face. The force sent my head jerking to the side, a sharp sting blooming across my cheek. Black cedar and cold iron flooded my senses, his Alpha aura crashing down over the room like a dropped weight, pressing every lower wolf toward the floor. "Selene!" he snapped, his voice cold with anger. "If you don't want to be here anymore, then get the hell out." He didn't wait for a response. Still visibly furious, he shoved me aside, his shoulder hitting mine hard enough to make me lose my balance. Then, without another glance in my direction, he bent down, scooped Adressa up into his arms. A perfect bridal carry. Like a male rescuing someone who needed saving. And carried her straight into his office. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, and the silver lighter he'd left on the edge of his desk didn't so much as rattle. It just sat there, still. I staggered back from the force of his shove, my body colliding with the edge of a nearby desk. Pain shot up my spine instantly, sharp and blinding. My vision blurred for a second as tears welled up in my eyes. But I didn't cry. I just stood there. The front-den overseer, who had been hesitating over my severance papers just minutes ago, now stepped forward without a word. His expression had changed completely. He picked up the document. Signed it. Stamped it. Approved. No questions asked. No delay. Salvar didn't even come out. He didn't look at the form. Didn't ask anything. Someone brought it into his office, and while he was busy soothing Adressa, he scribbled his signature across the page without even glancing at it. Then tossed it aside like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing. The ledger-keepers moved quickly after that. Too quickly. Always eager to stay on the good side of whoever held power in the pack's front den, they rushed to process my final pay, efficiency driven not by duty but by their desire to please the Alpha's favorite. I still had work to finish. A stack of client materials from the border-route accounts that needed to be handed over properly. So I sat down, sorted everything, organized the files carefully, and prepared to send them to Salvar. But the moment I tried to log into my account, access denied. I tried again. Nothing. My account had already been deleted. Completely wiped. There was only one wolf who had the authority to do that. Salvar. I paused for a second, staring at the screen. Then I pulled out my communicator. I sent him a message. No response. I called. The call didn't even go through. Blocked. The spirit-link channel. Blocked. Everything. Every possible way of reaching him, gone. And beneath it all, the place where his scent should have lingered in my memory had gone cold, as if even that thread had been cut clean. My wolf made no sound at all. She had simply gone still, the way a creature goes still when it understands the den it trusted is no longer its own. I stood there for a moment, completely still. Stunned. But only for a moment. Then I exhaled slowly. I smoothed the edge of my skirt until the crease was sharper than anything I could bring myself to say. Picked up my bag. Packed the last of my things. Cleared every trace of myself from what I could still access in the system. And walked out. No hesitation. No looking back. Past the wolves who wouldn't meet my eyes. Past the corridor where an enforcer held the door open for me with the careful neutrality of a male who had already chosen whose name to forget. Past the front entrance of the Nightbane den, where the awning cast its shadow over the path like a territory line. I didn't go home. I went straight to the airfield.