Ellen’s POV
Two months had crawled by since Terry’s funeral, but the agony hadn’t dulled—it had just shifted. The grief itself was no longer the heaviest weight. What tormented me more was the hidden truth, festering in silence. Terry was never mine, and Jaime and Velma had been the puppeteers behind the cruel deception.
Each sleepless night was filled with thoughts of the child I had never met—my true daughter. Did she have dimples when she smiled? Was she safe somewhere, living a life she was robbed of? Or worse… was she even laid to rest with dignity?
These questions consumed me, slowly eroding the fragile composure I wore like armor. For a decade, I had poured my soul into loving and raising a child I didn’t give birth to, while two monsters spun lies behind my back.
The pack didn’t know the truth. After Terry’s death, they flocked around Jaime like he was the only one who’d lost something. Their pity fueled him. He wore mourning like a perfectly tailored suit, but his sorrow had an edge—one he directed at me.
“If you’d just kept her home that night,” he’d say again and again, each repetition meant to dig deeper into my guilt.
I let him lash out. Pretending to be the shattered widow was easier. Let him think I was too broken to fight back.
One lonely evening, I found myself in a smoky pub tucked along the outskirts of the werewolf capital. My fingers circled a glass of amber whiskey, the burn offering temporary relief. Then I spotted them—Jaime and Velma. They were seated intimately in a booth, completely exposed in their affair. His hand was draped over hers, their laughter low and secretive.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them like this, but the sting never faded. Velma had always lingered on the edges of our lives, even before Jaime and I were forced into marriage. Our bond was never forged in love; it was a calculated move from my grandfather—Alpha Zach of the Brightstone pack—to unite two powerful clans. I had been nothing more than a tool to solidify political ambitions.
Unable to watch any longer, I downed the last of my drink and stepped outside. The city was humming with energy, but I walked through it like a ghost.
Then my phone rang.
“She’s dead,” came Moises’ voice—my grandfather’s most trusted man. His tone was low and burdened.
My breath caught. “Who?”
“The midwife. The one who delivered your baby. She disappeared, remember? We found out she was murdered the day after she vanished. It wasn’t random—someone silenced her.”
The world tilted beneath me. “Find out who did it,” I said, my voice ice-cold, trembling beneath the surface.
After ending the call, I made my way toward the Blackthorn estate. My grandfather was waiting in the entry hall, tall and commanding, his presence unmistakable.
“Where’s Jaime?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over me with practiced scrutiny.
“Resolving an internal dispute,” I lied smoothly, not missing a beat.
He narrowed his eyes but nodded. “When he returns, inform him that the council has summoned him to Brightstone for a meeting. And Ellen…” For a moment, his voice gentled, revealing the man who once read me bedtime stories. “I miss her too. Terry… she was precious to all of us.”
A knot formed in my chest. I forced a smile. “I know, Grandpa. I miss her every day. But I’m doing my best to keep going.”
He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “The elders will be expecting news soon,” he said, meaning only one thing. “It’s time to give the pack an heir.”
I gave a solemn nod as he pressed a kiss to my forehead and turned to leave.
Hours later, Jaime stumbled into the house, the sharp scent of liquor clinging to him like smoke. His shirt was half-untucked, and he barely managed to close the door behind him.
“There’s my beautiful Luna,” he slurred, draping an arm around me. “Still up? You visit Terry today?”
His touch made my skin crawl, but I responded with practiced grace. “I brought her daffodils. Your father stopped by earlier. He wants you at the next Brightstone council session.”
He grunted, waving his hand carelessly. “Always more meetings,” he mumbled, already swaying on his feet.
I reached up, cupping his cheek, letting my voice soften with false warmth. “Jaime,” I said sweetly, watching his pupils try to focus on me, “what if we tried again? For another child.”
His expression faltered, breaking through the fog of alcohol. “A… another baby?” he repeated, his voice uneven and cautious.
