When Sylvara glimpsed Red’s message, a flicker of warmth surged through her chest, chasing away some of the cold that had settled there.
She tapped a quick reply: [Okay.]
Yes, she thought, a full moon’s wait is far too long. One week—that’s all I need.
In just seven days, she would vanish from the Thorne den for good, severing every tie to Lucien and the pain he had caused.
As soon as she stepped back into the den, her nostrils caught the scent of arrogance before her eyes could register it. Tahlia lounged on the couch, draped in silk that belonged to Sylvara herself.
Her nightgown.
The door’s creak drew Tahlia’s gaze, and she let out a derisive smirk. “Back so soon? You look like a wolf barely dragged from the hunt.”
She rose gracefully, her steps deliberate, and tilted Sylvara’s chin with mocking precision. “Tsk. That face—pale as moonlight. Anyone would think you’d been mauled in the forest.”
Leaning closer, she bared her chest, the marks of last night on display like badges of conquest. “See these? All Mondy’s doing. Last night… was… unforgettable.”
Her words grew bolder, sliding into a mocking hiss beside Sylvara’s ear. “He said it himself—he only feels like an alpha with me. You? You lie there like a sleeping wolf, dull and lifeless.”
Sylvara’s eyes darkened to molten obsidian. Her palm shot out, striking Tahlia across the face with precision and force.
“Tahlia,” she snapped, teeth clenched, “know your place. I am still Lucien’s mate. You are… merely the interloper.
“Push me further, and I’ll expose you. Let the pack know you’re nothing more than a servant’s daughter, scheming to claim another wolf’s mate.”
Tahlia, however, had dug her own grave. She was far too eager to antagonize.
Just as she opened her mouth to strike back, her eyes widened in terror at the sight of Lucien advancing toward them. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled to the floor.
“Avy! I… I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have returned! I’ll leave tonight! I’ll die if it means I’m no longer in your way!” Tahlia whimpered.
Before Sylvara could respond, Tahlia surged forward, sprinting toward a stone pillar. Lucien intercepted her just in time, catching her in his arms.
“Yannie,” he barked, firm as a wolf’s growl, “I invited you here. If anyone has an issue with you, they answer to me!”
Sylvara’s lips curved into a bitter, almost hollow smile.
Lucien, still holding Tahlia, spun and commanded sharply, “Sylvara! Apologize to her—now!”
“I did nothing wrong,” Sylvara said, her voice steady, even as her chest burned. “I have nothing to apologize for. Lucien… aren’t you at least curious where I was last night?”
He scowled, fangs catching the dim light. “Did you—”
“I said, don’t you care—” she began.
“I don’t care where you prowled last night!” he snapped, cutting her off. “But you will not hurt Yannie! Fail to apologize this instant, and you’ll be suspended from your duties—until you admit your mistake!”
In his eyes, Sylvara was just a diligent subordinate. Suspension was supposed to sting. What he didn’t know was that she had never served for ambition—her work was a silent offering so that Lucien’s path remained untroubled.
Her gaze, weary but unwavering, pressed into him. For a moment, his chest tightened with guilt, but he turned away, taking Tahlia with him.
Before leaving, he ordered the pack servant, “Do not let her eat until she admits she’s wrong.”
Sylvara watched his retreating figure, silent tears tracing paths down her cheeks.
This was the wolf she had loved for seven long years. After this… she would never love him again.
For days, she remained locked within the villa’s enchanted walls. Three times each sun, the servant asked if she had realized her “error.” Sylvara never replied, only staring outward at the moonlit forest.
She counted down the days. Five more moons, and she would vanish from this den forever.
On the balcony swing, her comm-amulet buzzed incessantly. Every ping, a message from Tahlia.
Finally, on the day Sylvara intended to leave, another venomous note arrived:
*[Bitch, you couldn’t win over our mothers, and you can’t win over a mate. One word from me, and Mondy won’t come near you for a moon.] *
And she proved it.
For two full nights, Lucien did not return. Tahlia, however, sent proof of her conquest: videos of her entwined with Lucien under the silver glow of the moon; photos of him tending to her like a devoted alpha; intimate clips that burned with betrayal.
Once, Sylvara might have wept. But now… nothing. A wolf so shallow was better left behind.
On the fourth night, she still had not “admitted mistakes,” and the servant withheld food. She survived on water alone.
That evening, she wandered the frost-kissed garden, body weak from hunger. A golden wolfhound barreled into her, knocking her down. Normally manageable, but her frail state made her fall with force.
Pain erupted in her belly, sharp and unyielding. Blood soaked her legs. She knew immediately.
Two moons prior, during one of the rare moments of intimacy with Lucien, they had not protected themselves. Now, her womb rebelled, fire searing through her core. She sank to her knees, teeth gritted, and pleaded for the guards’ help.
The driver seized her trembling form and dashed toward the healers’ den—but the paths were barred.
“Mistress,” the driver stammered, “today is Tahlia’s birth celebration. Alpha Lucien closed the forest roads for her. We… cannot pass.”
Outside, her blood soaked her garments. Above, fireworks erupted, scattering like sparks over the dark canopy. All for Tahlia. All for Lucien’s displayed devotion.
Sylvara closed her eyes.
Summoning every ounce of strength, she ripped her silver wedding band from her finger and hurled it from the balcony.
Her mate, her marriage, the life she had once cherished—she wanted none of it anymore.
