Izara's POV
We never sealed the bond. No Luna ceremony, no wedding—because Alpha Mavros never planned for me to be the Luna of the Amunar pack.
That wedding eight years ago? A joke. A damn performance to keep my parents happy. They wanted their precious daughter to settle down with her fated mate. They trusted him. Believed he’d take care of me, Vivian, and the pack. But me? I wasn’t fooled.
Deep down, I knew he resented them. Hated them for not helping the Avalons when their pack was slaughtered, leaving him a blood-soaked orphan. I begged my parents to take him in. Me. And now, here he was, glaring at me like I was dirt under his boots, his lips curling into that cruel, condescending smirk.
“What’s this tantrum, Izara? Pathetic, as usual. Another empty threat? First, you use your son, and now you’re using yourself?”
The words cut deep, but I was used to them. Mavros always acted like Kallias’s illness was my way of manipulating him. Guilt-tripping him into showing up. But he didn’t get it. He never got it. Kallias wasn’t a game. He was our son. His illness was real—the healer said as much. And all my boy wanted was his father. Just once.
Every time Kallias’s face lit up, waiting, hoping... only for that hope to shatter when Mavros didn’t come—it broke me.
I felt the tears building, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. I tightened my grip on the suitcase and straightened my back.
Mavros scoffed, pure disdain etched on his face. “Go back to your room, Izara. Your tears don’t move me, and your threats don’t scare me.”
And there she was—Vivian. My sister. Smirking from the couch like the queen of his world. She loved this. Thrived on it. Vivian, the golden child. The one who always shone brighter. Prettier, smarter, more loved. And now? Now she had him, too.
But blood or not, I wasn’t letting her win.
I wiped my face, keeping my voice steady. “I don’t care what you think anymore, Mavros. I’m leaving.”
I turned, dragging my suitcase toward the door.
Behind me, Vivian’s sugary voice piped up, fake concern dripping from every word. “Alpha Mavros, is Sis Izara upset because you missed the Moon Festival? I heard she and Kallias were hoping you’d come.”
“You’re unwell, Vivian,” he said gently, his tone soft—comforting. For her, of course. Not for me. “Izara can celebrate next year. She’s just being dramatic, as always.”
Dramatic. Guilt-tripping. Manipulative. I bit down the bitter retort clawing its way up my throat and reached for the door. My fingers barely brushed the handle when his hand gripped my arm.
“What are you doing, Izara? Enough of your—” His words cut off as he stared at my face, tear-streaked and angry.
For a moment, I thought I saw something—his eyes softening, guilt maybe? Regret? But then he said quietly, like he was reasoning with a child, “It’s just one festival. It’s not worth crying over. I’ll be there next year, I promise.”
Next year. He didn’t even realize what he’d said. Or what it meant.
I yanked my arm free, venom dripping from my words. “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Shock flickered across his face. He wasn’t used to me pulling away, to me standing up for myself. But tonight? I was done.
He reached for me again, but before he could, Vivian clung to his arm.
“I think Sis Izara’s upset because I’m taking you away from her son,” she cooed, her voice thick with fake sweetness. “She must be mad because Kallias is faking his illness, and now—”
The room tilted. Faking? My son? My Kallias?
Her words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. My vision blurred. My pulse roared in my ears. And before I even realized it, my hand cracked across her face.
The slap echoed through the room like a gunshot. Vivian’s head snapped to the side, and for a moment, she just stared at me, wide-eyed and stunned.
“Say that again,” I hissed, my voice low, trembling with barely contained fury. “Say it again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
