The next evening, Gareth waited at the bottom of the stone staircase in the pack hall. His hand stretched out, as he always did, expecting me to take it. But I didn’t.
For the first time in three years, I walked past him without a word. Gareth froze for a moment, surprise flickering in his sharp wolfish eyes, then quickly regained his calm, predator’s mask. He followed me in silence, sitting across from me in the carriage like a stranger I had never known.
Tonight was mine. It was the ceremony to celebrate my mother as the late Luna of the Silverfang Pack. I celebrated it by showing my hobby, knitting gowns. Six gowns I had spent years preparing.
Each stitch carried a memory of pain, of love lost, of a mother who had died broken.
The collection was my message to the world. It was a message no one could ignore. To the eight-year-old girl who watched her mother give up life while the pack ignored her cries.
One by one, the gowns appeared under the full moon’s silver light. The Ariadne gown was a soft pink, echoing my mother’s young love for my father. The Descent gown was shaped like a trapped bird, the moment she realized he had married her for power.
Meanwhile, the Unspoken gown was a deep cerulean gown that showed the night my father’s mistress was revealed and my mother was locked away for ‘causing a scene’.
After that, the Inheritance gown, a midnight black gown embroidered with thorned vines, the strength she passed to me through pain.
Last but not least was the Resurrection gown. It was a bright scarlet, sharp and fierce, the fire she had lit in my soul.
The pack applauded, howling in approval. But when the final gown appeared, my chest froze. Gwyneth stepped onto the stage. Wearing it.
The gown I had sewn with trembling hands, tears dripping onto the fabric. It held a piece of my mother. Her hair woven into the brooch at the collar. Her heartbeat. Her essence.
I gasped, horror slicing through me.
“No!” I stumbled forward, trying to stop her.
“She cannot wear that! She can’t! No!”
Before I could reach the stage, a hand gripped my wrist, bruising. I spun around. It was Gareth. His fingers dug into my skin. His eyes were unreadable, like a wolf who had already claimed its prey.
“Let go of me!” I hissed, trembling with rage.
“That gown carries my mother’s hair! And Gwyneth is my mother’s killer … why is she wearing it? Don’t you see?!”
He didn’t flinch.
“Do not cause a scene, Lady Freya. This is not about you.”
I yanked my arm free, staggering back as my world collapsed. Then, a deep voice rang across the hall. A tall man in ceremonial black stepped forward.
“My name is Alwin Oakwood, the Beta of Alpha Gareth, Alpha of the Grey Wind Pack,” he announced, bowing gracefully.
“Our Alpha believes all things beautiful should belong to their rightful owner. All these gowns belong to one person and that is Lady Gwyneth.”
Gwyneth pressed her gloved hand to her chest, pretending to be embarrassed.
“Oh … I had no idea Alpha Gareth would show me such honor. I am… deeply grateful. I hope to meet him soon. I have never seen him before.”
The pack members murmured, flashing their eyes with excitement.
“Gareth? The Alpha no one has ever seen?”
“And Lady Gwyneth has already captured his attention?”
“She must be special to earn such favor!”
I could barely breathe.
“What is this?” I whispered, voice sharp.
Before I could step closer, attendants rolled out the other five gowns. My other dresses, my life’s work, were hung carelessly on wooden racks, no reverence, no protection.
“All six gowns are gifts to Lady Gwyneth Greywind from Alpha Gareth,” the Beta continued.
“Who says Lady Freya should know her place and not interfere with the innocent Lady Gwyneth?”
The pack stared at me like I was a wolf trapped in a snare. Gwyneth looked around, wide-eyed, pretending innocence.
“Lady Freya … please don’t be mad. I never wanted to steal your spotlight. I’m sorry…”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear everything apart. Cry until my heart broke.
Gareth stood behind me, silent, watching. His eyes were cold, like a judge delivering punishment. He didn’t need words. He looked at me like I deserved this humiliation.
Public. Precise.
A lesson for daring to defy him.
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. When the ceremony ended, all my dresses were gone. My tribute to my mother stolen. My name was erased.
I didn’t watch Gareth leaning toward Gwyneth with admiration. I didn’t watch Gwyneth’s sly smile.
What I knew was that I shifted into my wolf form to the old countryside farmhouse, the one on the edge of the forest. I almost collapsed once I reached the farmhouse.
I went to the garden. My mother’s garden. The one she fought to keep from being destroyed for a hidden pack vault.
The jasmine had bloomed early. I stood beneath it, in heels and ruin, a woman left with nothing. And I cried. Not polite tears. Not quiet ones. The kind that shook the soul. The kind that came from the deepest part of a broken girl.
Not just because I had loved Gareth, my fated mate, with a fire he used to burn me.
Not just because the pack adored Gwyneth and marked me as a villain.
But because I had let go of every piece of love I had ever given to this pack. Every hope I had ever held.
My screams echoed through the forest, unanswered.
