Death had not been the end for me.
It had been a cruel joke.
The Moon Goddess, whether out of mercy or torment, had granted me another chance—a chance to rewrite my fate.
In my past life, I had been a fool. I had loved blindly, trusted recklessly. I had been chosen as the future Luna of the Waltz Pack, but on the day of my mating ceremony, Xander —the man I had given my heart to—abandoned me for Rhea.
The shock of betrayal had been too much for my grandmother, my only family, my only light. She collapsed that same night.
I had thought that was my lowest point. I was wrong.
Another man—my childhood friend, my sworn protector—Dante, had held my hand and whispered, "You still have me. I will never let you down."
I had believed him.
And then, I had married him.
I thought that was the end of my loneliness, that I had finally found someone who would never betray me.
But after I became his Luna, everything changed.
Dante grew distant. Cold.
At first, I told myself it was just the pressure of his role in the pack. He was the Beta, after all. He had responsibilities. He had wolves depending on him.
I reassured myself that his absence at dinner, his long nights away from home, and the way he barely met my gaze anymore weren’t personal. He was simply busy.
I made excuses for the silence between us, for the way his touch became rare, fleeting.
When we first married, he had been everywhere. I couldn’t take a step without feeling the warmth of his hand in mine, the weight of his gaze tracking my every move.
But as the weeks turned into months, that warmth faded.
And then, he stopped touching me at all.
I would wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. I would find his scent lingering by the door but never in our room.
I asked him once, just once—why he seemed so far away.
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and muttered something about stress.
I told myself to be patient. That things would get better.
That he still loved me.
But deep down, I knew.
A mate should not feel like a stranger in their own home.
And then came the whispers.
At first, they were easy to ignore.
Wolves talking in hushed tones as I walked past. Eyes full of pity whenever I entered the main hall of the packhouse. The way the older she-wolves would lower their voices when I approached.
I didn’t want to listen.
I couldn’t listen.
Because if I did—if I let myself hear the words they weren’t saying to my face then I would have to face the truth.
And I wasn’t ready for that.
So I kept pretending.
I smiled when I was supposed to. I fulfilled my duties as the Beta’s Luna. I told myself that I was imagining things.
That Dante wasn’t pulling away from me.
That our bond wasn’t unraveling thread by thread.
That it was my fault.
I thought he regretted our lack of pups.
The way his expression tightened whenever a pack member announced a new pregnancy.
The way his laughter dimmed, just slightly, when another wolf proudly spoke about their mate carrying their heir.
The way his hand would tense in mine, his thumb ceasing its gentle strokes against my skin, his breathing just a little too controlled—too practiced.
I told myself it was nothing.
That I was reading too much into it.
That maybe he was just lost in thought, distracted by the weight of his responsibilities, by the countless burdens he carried as an Alpha.
But then I saw the way he barely reacted when someone teased him about when we would start our own family.
The easy grin that never quite reached his eyes.
The way he would brush it off with a chuckle, effortlessly redirecting the conversation—yet his shoulders would stiffen, his jaw locking in that way I had come to recognize as a silent battle within himself.
And I knew.
I knew.
He was mourning.
Even if he never spoke of it.
Even if he never voiced the words.
I saw the disappointment in his eyes when I bled each month, a silent reminder that I had failed to give him what he wanted.
What the pack expected.
I told myself that if I could just give him a pup, everything would be okay again.
That he would love me like he did before.
That he would come back to me.
So I tried.
I tried so hard.
I changed my diet. I drank the herbal teas the elder she-wolves whispered about. I visited the pack healer in secret, hoping for a solution.
And every night, I waited.
I waited for him to reach for me. To pull me close and want me like he used to.
But he never did.
Because he was already reaching for someone else.
The truth came in the form of a scent.
Feminine. Sweet. Familiar.
Clinging to his clothes when he returned home late one night.
It was subtle, almost hidden beneath the layers of his own scent, but I knew.
I knew.
Because a wolf never forgets a scent.
And I had smelled that scent before.
Rhea.
My childhood friend. My once-sister in all but blood.
I felt like I was suffocating.
I followed him the next night.
And the night after that.
I told myself I was being paranoid. That I was imagining things.
But then I saw it with my own eyes.
Dante.
The mate I had trusted.
The mate I had mated.
Holding her the way he used to hold me.
His lips on hers.
His hands gripping her waist.
And worst of all—
The way he looked at her.
Like she was his world.
Like I had never been.
I don’t remember walking away.
I don’t remember how I got home.
All I remember is the way my heart stopped beating that night.
Because the truth wasn’t just in the betrayal.
It was in the way he hadn’t even hesitated.
There was no guilt in his eyes. No hesitation in his touch.
Just desire.
Love.
And it wasn’t for me.
It had never been for me.
The next morning, I didn’t cry.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t confront him.
What was the point?
I had spent my life trusting too much.
Believing too much.
And where had it gotten me?
Alone.
Dante came home, kissed my cheek like he hadn’t just spent the night in her bed, and I let him.
But that didn’t stop the ache in my chest.
