Isla's POV
The car speeds through the darkness, and behind us, Dante's howls get louder.
He's changed. He's hunting us.
"Drive faster," I tell Moira's driver, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"He can't catch us, child." Moira's voice is calm beside me. "The car is spelled. Old magic. He'll lose our trail at the territory line."
Magic. Bloodlines. Ancient power. Twenty minutes ago, I was just Isla—the unwanted mate, the replacement mother, the fool who loved too much. Now I'm supposedly an heir to some famous family, running from my husband with my daughter in my arms and my son left behind with the woman who stole everything.
"I don't feel powerful," I whisper. "I feel broken."
"Broken things can be reforged stronger." Moira touches my hand. "But first, you have to let yourself shatter totally. Stop holding the pieces together."
As if her words give approval, something inside me cracks wide open. The sob comes from somewhere so deep I didn't know it existed. Seven years of swallowed tears, ignored pain, quiet suffering—all of it floods out at once.
"I almost died for him." The words pour out between sobs. "When Kieran was born, I hemorrhaged. The doctors said I flatlined twice. And Dante visited me in the hospital twice. Not to see if I was okay. To check if his son survived."
Lyra stirs in my lap but doesn't wake. My sweet girl, who asked where her daddy was five times at her own birthday party.
"When I woke up after the surgery, I was alone. No Dante. No flowers. No comfort that I lived." I'm ugly-crying now, but I don't care. " The nurse felt so bad for me she brought me flowers from the hospital gift shop. She didn't even know me, and she showed me more care than my own mate."
Moira says nothing, just holds my hand while I break apart.
"I told myself he was just raised wrong. That his father taught him feelings were weakness. I made reasons for seven years. But you know what? He found feelings for Serena. He found fire and warmth and everything he swore he couldn't feel. Just not for me."
"Because he's a fool," Moira says quietly. "But his foolishness doesn't define your worth."
"Then why does it hurt so much?" I look at her through my tears. "Why does it feel like I'm dying when he's the one who deserves to suffer?"
"Because you loved honestly. Completely. The way the Moon Goddess meant mates to love." Her violet eyes are sad but kind. "He's the one who failed, Isla. Not you. Never you."
The car crosses something—I feel it like a wave through my body. The howls behind us cut off suddenly.
"Territory border," the driver says. "We're clear."
I should feel relieved. Safe. But all I feel is numb.
"What about Kieran?" The question has been burning in my throat since we left. "I can't just leave him. He's five years old. He's my baby, even if he doesn't know it anymore."
"Serena used dark magic on that boy." Moira's voice hardens. "Blood magic, specifically. She's been feeding him potions since he was two years old, slowly rewriting his memories, his bonds, his very understanding of who his mother is."
My stomach turns. "That's possible?"
"With illegal magic, yes. It's why he pulls away when you touch him—his body knows you're his mother, but his mind has been twisted to reject that truth." Moira's face is grim. "Breaking that kind of spell takes time and distance from the caster. If you'd stayed, she would have finished the process. He would have forgotten you entirely."
"So I had to leave him to save him?"
"You had to save yourself first. You can't fight for your son when you're drowning." Moira squeezes my hand. "But once you're strong, once you know who you are and what power flows through your veins—then you can fight for him. Then you can break Serena's hold and tell your son who his real mother is."
It's not enough. It'll never be enough. But it's something to hold onto in the darkness.
Lyra wakes as the car pulls into a private airstrip. "Mommy? Where are we?"
"We're going on an adventure, sweetheart."
"What about Daddy? And Kieran?"
The questions stab like knives. But I force a smile. "Right now, it's just you and me. Is that okay?"
She thinks about this seriously, then nods. "You're my favorite person anyway."
The simple honesty breaks me and heals me at the same time.
We board a private plane—apparently, being a secret heir comes with means I never imagined. Moira puts us into leather seats while the pilot prepares for takeoff.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Silver Moon City first. Then the Morven farm on the coast." Moira's smile is almost aggressive. "You have so much to learn, granddaughter. About your bloodline, your power, your true ability. And while you're learning, we'll be building something your dear husband never expected."
"What's that?"
"An empire." She pulls out a tablet, showing me papers, bank accounts, business holdings. " The Morven family controls more wealth and power than the Blackthorn Pack has ever dreamed of. You're not just an heir, Isla. You're a queen who's been playing farmer. It's time to take your throne."
I look at the numbers on the screen. The buildings. The companies. The sheer power at my hands.
All of this was mine the whole time, and I never knew.
"What if I'm not ready?" My voice is small. "What if I can't—"
"You carried two children. Survived two near-death events. Held a pack together while its Alpha fell apart. Walked away from a mate bond that should have killed you." Moira's violet eyes blaze. "You've been ready, child. You just didn't know it."
The plane takes off, and I watch the Blackthorn area disappear below us. Somewhere down there, Dante is probably losing his mind. Serena is probably happy. Kieran is probably sleeping, thinking of a mother who isn't me.
And Lyra is curled against my side, trusting me fully to lead us somewhere safe.
"Moira?" I say quietly. "What happens when Dante comes for us? Because he will."
"Let him come." Her smile is sharp as a blade. "By the time he finds you, you'll be someone even an Alpha has to kneel before. And then, my dear niece, he'll finally understand exactly what he threw away."
My phone buzzes. A text from Marcus: He's losing his mind. His wolf is going wild. Whatever you did to him, Isla—the mate bond is eating him alive.
I stare at those words and wait to feel something. Guilt. Regret. Satisfaction.
But there's only nothingness where my love used to live.
I type back: Good. Now he knows how I felt for seven years.
Then I turn off my phone and let myself disappear into the night.
Below us, in the darkness, a wolf howls in pain.
I close my eyes and don't look back.