"Mom, I'm glad you're back," a child's voice rang out, sharp with relief and fear. "This vile woman wanted to take me away."
"Don't worry, little champ," another voice answered gently, firm with authority. "No one can take you away from us. Your father would never allow it."
The voices reached Luna Seraphine long before she could open her eyes.
They drifted in and out of her consciousness, echoing through her mind like fragments of a dream she did not want to remember.
When her lashes finally fluttered open, the familiar wooden beams of the pack house ceiling came into view, recognizable, yet distant, as though she were seeing them through water.
How she had gotten here, she had no idea. The last clear memory burned vividly in her mind: her knees giving way, her body collapsing as the maternity test result slipped from her trembling fingers and hit the floor.
But that made no sense. No, her heart thundered painfully against her ribs. She had been pregnant after that night. The night Ravyn forced himself on her.
The night that bound her to him in a marriage she always desired.
She carried that pregnancy for nine long months, enduring the pain, the nausea, the exhaustion, and every other discomfort that came with it.
She went into labor, screamed, bled. She heard the sharp, unmistakable cry of a newborn before the world went black and exhaustion dragged her under. She had given birth so what exactly was going on?
Alpha Ravyn's cold, merciless eyes were the first thing she saw clearly. They bored into hers with unrestrained fury. "How dare you try to steal my son from me?" he growled. "Do you have a death wish?"
Seraphine's face remained eerily calm as Beta Corvine stepped forward, helping her sit upright. Every muscle in her body ached, but she ignored it, her mind already racing.
Across the room, Daisy stood quietly. A sly, victorious smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction she did not bother to hide.
"Ravyn," Seraphine said slowly, her voice steady despite the storm tearing through her chest. "I had a son that night. If Bryan isn't mine, then where is my son?"
A harsh scoff escaped Ravyn's lips, but the coldness in his eyes deepened, turning lethal. "You really think," he said cruelly, "that after tricking me into bed that night, I would allow you to keep my child?"
His words struck with surgical precision, slow, deliberate, deadly. "Daisy was also in labor that night," he continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "I made sure we got rid of yours."
Something inside Seraphine shattered. With a feral cry, she lunged at him, her restraint snapping. Her hands clutched his neck, her fangs elongating instinctively, ready to sink into flesh.
But Ravyn was faster, stronger. With brutal ease, he flipped her off him and slammed her to the ground.
She hit the floor hard, the impact rattling her bones as pain exploded through her body.
"You might be strong," Ravyn said coldly, towering over her, "but don't forget I am still the Alpha. My strength is unmatched."
Seraphine pushed herself up slowly, her limbs trembling, her mind mercilessly blank. "No," she whispered hoarsely. "Where is my son?"
"You mean your daughter," Ravyn corrected without hesitation. "I made sure she never saw the light of day. Her ashes were used to lay the foundation of this pack house."
The room tilted, her knees buckled beneath her weight, her vision blurring as the meaning of his words sank in. All this time, she had been raising a child who was never hers.
She had given up everything for Bryan, including the antidote to his rare congenital condition.
She had sacrificed it without hesitation for a child whose parents had murdered her own.
Understanding crashed into her with devastating clarity. If she had accepted the divorce earlier, this truth would have stayed buried forever. Ravyn would never have told her.
"I never tricked you," she said, her voice breaking for the first time. It was unusual for her to defend herself, but she thought that maybe, that was the reason she was going through all this. "You forced yourself on me that night."
"Liar," Ravyn snapped. "There's proof. You paid a waiter to spike my drink. If not for you, Daisy would have been Luna. You should have known better than to cross me."
Seraphine's face drained of all color. She regretted trying to explain it. Ravyn's mind had been carved with what he chose to believe, and Seraphine's words were never a part of it.
It was one thing to lose the man you loved, and another to discover that the same man had murdered your child. There were no words for that kind of pain.
"Even if I did everything you accuse me of," she said faintly, tears finally shining in her eyes, "that child was still your blood. How heartless can you be?"
Ravyn's gaze remained glacial, unmoved. "Yes," he replied flatly. "My blood, and that is exactly why she should never have been born. Why do you think I never touched you again after that night? You are naïve, Seraphine."
She had endured the political marriage in silence. There had been no affection, no warmth, but every single day, she tried. She tried to become what he needed, what the pack demanded.
And she had refused the divorce six times because of their son. Single parenting wasn't something she cherished.
Now that everything had been a lie, she no longer knew how to gather the shattered remnants of her heart.
Daisy finally spoke, her tone deceptively gentle. "Luna Sera, it's alright. I'm not complaining. You can continue raising Bryan as your son. After all, you've taken such good care of him all these years, even with his rare condition."
Her words sounded kind, but beneath them lay poison. 'Even as I killed your child, you are still saving mine. And I still have the antidote you gave.'
What Daisy did not know, just like everyone else, was that the medicine was not permanent. It was not a cure. It was a tether.
As long as Bryan took it, he would live like any other child, running, laughing, growing strong. But if he missed even a single dose, the illness would return without mercy.
That was why Seraphine had tried to take him away. Now that the truth had surfaced, she no longer cared.
A strange calm washed over her, fueled by raw adrenaline. She lifted her head and met Ravyn's eyes without fear.
"Even as you killed my child," she said quietly, "I gave life to yours. May the Moon Goddess judge between you and me."
She turned and walked past him, each step heavy but resolute, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the pack house.
But just as she reached the entrance, she collided with someone solid, muscular, immovable, radiating lethal authority.
As she looked up, cold, ruthless eyes met hers. Eyes sharp enough to kill. Seraphine froze where she stood.