The cameras were already rolling when the first contraction hit.
I gripped the sides of the birthing chair, my knuckles white as pain ripped through my swollen belly. The pack meeting hall had been transformed into a makeshift delivery room, with medical equipment hastily arranged around the central platform where I sat exposed before dozens of cameras. The main screen displayed our livestream to the entire Silvermoon Pack and allied territories—hundreds of werewolves watching my most vulnerable moment.
"Please," I gasped between contractions, looking desperately at Dane who stood rigid beside the platform. "Turn off the cameras. Just for—"
"Silence." His Alpha tone crashed over me like a physical blow, forcing my protests back down my throat. "You wanted to prove your innocence, Iris. This is how you do it. Complete transparency."
Dr. Bennett moved between my legs, her face pale with professional distress. She'd been forced to induce labor with hormone injections, pushing my body into premature delivery for this spectacle. "Alpha, the baby is coming early. There could be complications—"
"The cameras stay on," Dane commanded, his dark eyes never leaving the main screen where pack members' comments scrolled past in real-time.
*Is that really the Alpha's child?*
*Look how she's crying—guilty conscience much?*
*Pathetic Luna can't even birth properly.*
Another contraction seized me, stronger this time, and I couldn't hold back the scream that tore from my throat. The pain was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—not just physical, but the agony of being stripped of every shred of dignity while hundreds watched and judged.
"Dane," I sobbed, reaching for him instinctively. "Please, I need you. Our baby needs—"
But he stepped away from my outstretched hand, moving instead to stand beside Lacey. She placed a comforting hand on his arm, her face a mask of sympathetic concern that didn't quite reach her calculating eyes.
"The Alpha must remain objective," she murmured, loud enough for the cameras to catch. "For the pack's sake."
The betrayal cut deeper than any physical pain. This was my mate, the man who'd promised to love and protect me, watching coldly as I endured the most traumatic experience of my life for the entertainment of his pack.
"Push, Luna," Dr. Bennett urged, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I can see the head."
I bore down with everything I had, tears streaming down my face as the comments on screen grew crueler.
*She's taking forever—weak bloodline.*
*My money says it's not even his.*
*This is what happens when Alphas choose mates beneath their station.*
The final push came with a rush of agony and relief. A thin wail filled the hall as my daughter entered the world—small, premature, but alive. Dr. Bennett quickly cleaned her before holding her up to the cameras.
"A female pup," she announced, her voice carefully neutral.
I reached for my baby with shaking arms, desperate to hold her, to comfort her after this traumatic entrance into the world. But Dane stepped forward first, his expression unreadable as he studied the tiny face.
The hall fell silent except for my daughter's cries. Everyone waited for the Alpha's reaction, for some sign of recognition or acceptance. Instead, Dane's jaw tightened.
"She's small," he said finally, his voice carrying clearly to every camera. "Premature births often indicate... stress. Or other complications."
The implication hung in the air like poison. Even now, even after witnessing our daughter's birth, he was still questioning her parentage.
"She's perfect," I whispered, finally gathering my baby against my chest. She was so tiny, so fragile, her little fists waving as she searched for comfort. "She's yours, Dane. She's ours."
But he'd already turned away, accepting congratulations from pack members who'd gathered at the edges of the platform. Lacey remained at his side, playing the role of supportive chosen mate while I sat bleeding and broken in the birthing chair.
The cameras kept rolling as I held my daughter close, her cries mixing with my own quiet sobs. This should have been the most joyful moment of my life—instead, it had become a public execution of my dignity.
Three days later, the pack gathered again for what should have been a celebration.
Finley's naming ceremony was traditionally a time of joy, when the Alpha would present his heir to the pack and formally acknowledge their bloodline. I stood on the ceremonial platform, my daughter sleeping peacefully in my arms despite the crowd's murmurs.
Dane took his place at the podium, his Alpha aura commanding immediate silence. But when he spoke, his words shattered what little hope I'd managed to rebuild.
"Pack members," he began, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "We gather today not to celebrate, but to address a matter of grave importance to our bloodline."
My blood turned to ice. This wasn't how naming ceremonies began.
"Questionable bloodlines cannot inherit pack leadership," he continued, his eyes finding mine across the platform. "Until paternity can be conclusively proven, this child will not be acknowledged as my heir."
The pack erupted in whispers and pointed stares. Some members openly laughed, their cruel amusement echoing through the hall. I clutched Finley closer, her small body the only warm thing in a world that had suddenly turned arctic.
"Stand forward, Iris Chapman," Dane commanded, using my maiden name like a weapon.
I forced my legs to carry me to the center of the platform, every step feeling like walking to my own execution. The pack's eyes followed my movement, some filled with pity, others with disgust, and far too many with cruel satisfaction.
"Let this serve as a reminder," Dane announced, his Alpha tone ensuring every word would be remembered, "that loyalty to this pack must be absolute. Betrayal, in any form, will not be tolerated."
As the pack members continued their whispered commentary and barely concealed laughter, I stood there holding our daughter—his daughter—and felt the last pieces of my world crumble around us both.
